Jean's Point of View
First day, and I was already clocking how many exits this cafeteria had. Three. The main hallway, the doors to the back courtyard, and the emergency one near the vending machines. Not because I planned to run. I just like knowing my options.
And then I heard the shouting.
I turned just in time to see Thorne shove Kieran against a table. Hard. The crash of metal legs against tile was loud enough to make half the cafeteria turn.
Kieran didn't stumble. He straightened up — eyes narrowed, jaw tight — and swung. A brutal right hook. It connected square with Thorne's cheek. The sound was ugly.
Someone shouted "Fight!" like it was the damn national anthem.
Two of Thorne's boys jumped in. Kieran dodged one of them, pivoted on his heel, and slammed his elbow into the guy's ribs. The dude folded like laundry.
But the other one came in from the side, catching Kieran in the jaw with a wild swing. His lip split, blood trailing down his chin — and for a second, he looked stunned.
And that's when I stepped in.
I didn't yell. I didn't scream.
I stalked into the circle of bodies like I'd been summoned.
"Touch him again," I said, voice a razor's edge, "and I'll break your arm."
Dead silence. Thorne turned toward me, smirking.
"Who even are you?"
I smiled — just a little. "Your last mistake."
Then I moved.
He didn't see it coming. I stepped in close and drove my knee into his thigh — dead muscle shot. He hissed and staggered.
He swung at me out of reflex. I ducked.
Kieran, now grinning like a devil, moved in beside me. We didn't speak. Didn't need to.
One of the guys lunged for me — I caught his wrist midair, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him against the nearest table. He shrieked.
Another tried to grab Kieran from behind — dumb move. Kieran threw his head back, skull to nose. Crunch. The guy dropped like a sack of bricks.
And Thorne — well, he was still trying to recover from the knee. I turned, grabbed a can of soda off a tray, and chucked it at him. It clocked him in the chest. He lunged at me, teeth bared.
He was sloppy. I wasn't.
He swung. I sidestepped and slammed my fist into his stomach. He buckled. I felt my knuckles scream in protest — skin splitting across bone.
Kieran saw my hand bleed and just laughed like it was the best part of his day.
Then someone grabbed me from behind and yanked.
Hard.
I went flying back, nearly slammed into a vending machine, vision swimming. Kieran yelled something I couldn't hear.
Next thing I knew, he was over me, fists swinging again. Protecting me like he was possessed.
Then came the shouting — teacher voices. Whistles. Arms pulling us apart.
It was over.
We were covered in sweat, blood, and cafeteria grime. Breathing heavy. My hand was definitely busted. Kieran's lip was split, his knuckles raw.
And all I could think was: Damn. We just wrecked them.
We didn't look at each other right away.
But when we did?
It felt like the start of something dangerous.
I sat on the clinic bed, the sting of antiseptic biting into my knuckles. Blood crusted under my fingernails, a mix of mine and theirs. My uniform sleeve was torn at the elbow, but I didn't care. The room was too quiet.
Across from me, Kieran lounged back like this was nothing new. Like getting into a fight before lunch was just… routine. He had a split lip and a butterfly bandage on his brow, one eye swelling a little.
And somehow, he still looked good. Annoyingly good.
I hated it.
The way the light hit his face made his jawline look sharper than usual. His messy hair was falling into his eyes — those stupid, stormy eyes. The kind you look into once and feel like you've known him for lifetimes, even if he can't remember knowing you at all.
His lips — cracked, bleeding — still curled in that crooked half-smirk like he was proud of taking hits and giving worse. I should've looked away. I wanted to. But my eyes were stuck there, tracing the damage like it was art.
He had scars on his hands — old ones, faded and healed — and I found myself wondering how many fights he'd walked into before this one. How many fists had he thrown before mine joined his?
God, I hated how effortlessly captivating he was. And not just because he was pretty — no, that would've been easy. It was the mess beneath the surface. The quiet chaos behind those eyes. The part of him that didn't even realize how loud he was in a silent room.
I looked away. For my own safety.
Because staring at Kieran for too long was like staring at the sun — blinding, burning, and somehow addictive.
He shifted on the cot, wincing slightly, and for a split second, his gaze flicked to mine.
Our eyes met.
Only for a second. But it was enough.
I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze to my bruised knuckles.
He didn't remember who I was.
But God… I remembered everything.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Flashback
It was one of those lazy summer afternoons. The kind where sunlight flickered through the trees, and the air felt thick with heat, almost as if it were holding its breath.
I sat on the grass, fiddling with a blade of grass between my fingers, trying to keep myself entertained. It was supposed to be a lazy day, but my mom had dragged me over to Kieran's house, saying something about it being a "playdate." I rolled my eyes. At that age, the last thing I wanted was someone else around. I was perfectly fine with my own company, thank you very much.
That's when I heard his voice, cutting through the air like it had always been there.
"Hey, what's your name?"
I turned my head and saw him standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts, his gaze fixed on me with that cocky, curious look. His eyes sparkled, mischievous—as if he had a secret he was just dying to spill.
"Jean," I replied, not bothering to add anything more. I was still feeling awkward about the whole thing.
He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Jean? Jean... what? You have a last name or something?"
"Jean Harrington," I muttered, starting to feel a little annoyed that he was pushing. It wasn't like I wanted to be friends anyway.
He laughed softly, stepping closer and kneeling down in front of me. I couldn't help but notice how easily he did it, how natural he made it all seem.
"Your name's too long," he said, his voice light and teasing. His eyes gleamed with that mischievous spark. "Can I call you 'mine' instead?"
I blinked, caught off guard. The way he said it was so casual, like he'd said it a thousand times before. It was playful—flirty, even. But at that moment, I had no idea what it meant. All I knew was that my heart skipped a beat, and for some reason, I didn't mind.
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to act cool, even though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "You can call me whatever you want," I said, my voice a little higher-pitched than usual.
And just like that, in that split second, the air between us shifted. Something clicked into place. Maybe it was just a childish joke, or maybe it was the beginning of something else. But the way his grin widened—like he knew something I didn't—stuck with me.
End of Flashback
____________________________________________________________________
I snapped back to the present, heart thumping in my chest as I realized I had been staring at him for too long. Kieran stirred slightly, and then his eyes fluttered open, a slight groan escaping his lips as he blinked up at the ceiling.
"Hey," he rasped, voice rough like gravel, but his eyes — God, those eyes — were searching. Haunted. Curious. "Did I... have I seen you before?"
The question cracked something inside me.I froze. My breath snagged like thread caught on a nail.Of course he didn't remember. Of course.But hearing it still felt like being slapped in a dream you can't wake from.
I opened my mouth, but my throat was sand. No words. Just a slow, shaky nod — the kind you give when you're lying with your whole body.
He squinted at me for a second longer, as if trying to piece something together from his foggy memory. "No, seriously," he continued, "there's this weird feeling. Like... like I've seen you somewhere, but I can't place it. You were pretty damn quick back there."
He motioned toward the bandages on his hands. His voice was quiet but filled with that same sharp edge I remembered from before.
"I never expected someone to jump in like that. Why'd you get involved in the fight? What's your deal?" Kieran's question hung in the air, heavy with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Why did I get involved?
Was it because of the memories? The connection that was still there, even if he didn't know it? Or was it just because I couldn't stand seeing him getting hurt?
But the truth... the real reason? I couldn't say it out loud.
"I didn't want to watch them tear you apart," I said.
Half-truth. Because the real reason — the one buried six feet deep in the part of me that still remembers summer grass and childish promises — that one?That one could shatter both of us.
I forced a smirk to cover the tremble in my voice. "Someone had to stop you from getting your pretty face rearranged."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. But then he let it go, staring up at the ceiling once more.
It was a quiet moment, both of us stuck somewhere between the present and the past, each with our own questions and doubts. And I couldn't help but wonder — did he feel that pull? The same one I did, tugging at the edges of my thoughts? Or was I the only one still haunted by who we used to be?
Kieran shifted slightly, trying to sit up, wincing as his hand grazed the side of the bed. I noticed the way he hesitated, the pain from the fight still fresh on his face, but there was something else there now. Something deeper, as if his mind was trying to make connections he wasn't sure he wanted to.
"You sure you're not hiding something?" Kieran asked, his voice quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself. His eyes stayed focused on me, but there was this subtle shift, as if he could sense there was more to me than I let on.
I swallowed, trying to mask the sudden surge of panic rising in my chest. He couldn't know. Not yet. Not with the past we shared, and especially not with what I had to protect him from.
"Look," I said, leaning forward just enough to break the silence, but careful to keep my voice steady. "You were in a mess. I just... I wasn't going to let it slide."
Kieran studied me with an intensity that made the air between us feel charged. The sound of the hospital room's hum seemed to fade, and all I could hear was the weight of his question lingering in the air.
"You didn't just step in to help," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You were ready to fight. You knew what you were doing. So why? Why you?" His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, as if he were piecing together something bigger than just this moment.
I clenched my fists under the table, nails digging into my palms, trying to hold it together. He was so close to the truth. It felt like a thread hanging by the tiniest stitch. I couldn't let him pull on it any harder.
I shifted, turning my gaze away from him for a moment to steady myself. "It's just..." I exhaled slowly, choosing my words carefully. "Some things just... they get to you. And when you see someone who doesn't deserve it—getting hurt, I mean—you do what you can."
"That's it?" Kieran asked, voice tinged with disbelief. "That's the only reason? Because I didn't deserve it?" There was a slight chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes.
I didn't respond right away, unsure of how to explain. The truth was more complicated than that. It was more than just seeing him getting hurt—it was the pull, the old connection, the unspoken bond that we had as kids. But I couldn't say that. Not yet. I had to keep him in the dark.
"Yeah," I said, the word coming out with a finality that I didn't quite feel. "That's it. Now, stop trying to read into it so much."
Kieran seemed to accept the answer, though I could see the confusion still swirling in his eyes. He leaned back on the bed, trying to get comfortable, but I could feel the weight of his curiosity pressing down on me. I hated how he was always one step away from figuring it out, from remembering who we used to be.
"So," he said, breaking the silence again, his voice softer this time, but still tinged with that underlying tension. "You really did help me out back there. I owe you one, I guess."
I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Don't worry about it. I didn't do it for you to owe me anything."
He smiled, though there was a hint of hesitation in it, like he was trying to figure out if I was being honest or not. But before either of us could speak again, the door to the clinic creaked open, and a nurse stepped in.
"How are you two doing?" she asked, glancing between Kieran and me.
I gave her a quick nod, but Kieran didn't seem to hear her, his focus still entirely on me.
"Jean..." Kieran's voice was quieter now, a different kind of weight behind it. "Are you sure there's no other reason?"
My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly averted my gaze. "I told you," I said, my voice a little too sharp. "It's just that simple."
He didn't push further, but the doubt was still there, lingering between us, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had said enough or if he'd pick up on the pieces I hadn't said yet.
As the nurse moved closer, checking his bandages and asking him questions, I felt a familiar ache stir in my chest. It was all so complicated. So messy. And every moment I spent here with him—talking, laughing, fighting—was just one step closer to something I wasn't ready to face.
"Alright, you two are free to go," the nurse said after a while, giving Kieran a gentle pat on the arm before turning her attention to me. "Just keep him rested for the night. Don't let him get back into any more fights, okay?"
I nodded, standing up and moving toward the door, but Kieran's voice stopped me just before I could leave.
"Jean." His voice stopped me like a hand on my shoulder. "You still haven't answered my question."
I didn't turn around.
Because if I looked back, I might say too much.And if I said too much, I'd lose everything.
So I smiled — tight, hollow, the kind of smile you wear when you're bleeding and don't want anyone to know.
"Maybe some questions are better left unanswered."
And then I walked out, before the truth found its way past my lips.