Coco Lovelock And Demi Hawks — _top_

Demi shrugged. "You called."

"I don't know how to stop," Coco whispered. coco lovelock and demi hawks

Demi pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in three slow steps. She didn't sit beside Coco. Instead, she knelt in front of her, reaching out to take Coco's hands. Their fingers intertwined—Demi's calloused from guitar strings, Coco's cold from gripping the steering wheel too hard. Demi shrugged

"Then don't stop," Demi said softly. "Just… turn. Change direction. I'll walk with you." She didn't sit beside Coco

Coco Lovelock sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing her boots with deliberate, tired movements. Across the room, Demi Hawks leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching. The air between them wasn't thick with anger—it was worse. It was thick with understanding .

Coco let out a shaky breath, and for the first time that night, her shoulders dropped. She leaned forward until her forehead touched Demi's. They stayed like that—two eclipsed stars in a cheap room, holding each other up in the dark.

The motel room smelled like stale coffee and cheap jasmine air freshener. Outside, the neon sign buzzed, bleeding pink light through the thin curtains.