Sebastian
She's laughing.
Not loud. Not attention-grabbing. Just soft—barely audible—but it's there.I hear it before I even turn the corner.
It shouldn't matter. It's a stupid sound.Except I haven't heard her laugh in months.
Not since I started tearing her apart.
She's sitting on the stone bench near the herb garden, behind the west wing—where the third-years usually smoke and gossip—but today it's just her. And him.
Leon Rivera.
Six foot one. Golden retriever smile.Too damn nice for someone in trauma surgery.
I stand in the shadow of the ivy-covered wall, watching them like a sick voyeur. She's got her arms tucked inside her sleeves again, shoulders hunched from the cold. Her braid's coming undone in places, strands of her hair catching the afternoon light like black silk.
Leon's sitting beside her—not too close, not inappropriately—but enough.
I hear him say, "You okay?"
She shrugs. "I'm fine."
Lie.I know it's a lie. I taught her to say it like that.
But Leon doesn't back off. He leans in slightly and offers her a protein bar from his pocket, still sealed. "You didn't eat at lunch. I saw."
She blinks. Then takes it. Slowly. Her fingers brush his.
He grins. "Don't worry, I'm not poisoning you. That's reserved for final exams."
She exhales a quiet laugh. Covers her mouth with her sleeve. And for a moment—just a second—her eyes crinkle the way they used to.
I feel something twist in my stomach.
Then she says, voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you."
Leon shrugs like it's no big deal. "You're always so quiet. People don't know what to say around you. But I think you're just... holding your breath."
She looks down. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
And then—he reaches out.
Touches her shoulder. Gentle. Warm. Like she's fragile.
She doesn't flinch.She doesn't pull away.
And I realize—this is the first time I've ever seen someone touch her without making her recoil.
My fists curl at my sides.
She's letting him in.
Not me.
Not the one who's been watching her since the day she wandered into campus looking like a ghost draped in moonlight.Not the one who memorized every way she tucks her hair behind her ear.Not the one who ruined her just to keep her close.
I want to walk over. Say something. Anything.Remind her he's not the one who stayed up all night rewatching the CCTV from the pathology wing just to make sure she got home safe.Remind her that I see her.Every day. Even when she wishes I wouldn't.
But I don't move.Because I know I don't deserve to.
Leon's laughing now. She's smiling.
And I realize with something sharp and cold in my throat:
She was never mine.
Not to keep.Not to touch.And definitely—not to break.Not Yours to Break
Sebastian
She's laughing.
Not loud. Not attention-grabbing. Just soft—barely audible—but it's there.I hear it before I even turn the corner.
It shouldn't matter. It's a stupid sound.Except I haven't heard her laugh in months.
Not since I started tearing her apart.
She's sitting on the stone bench near the herb garden, behind the west wing—where the third-years usually smoke and gossip—but today it's just her. And him.
Leon Rivera.
Six foot one. Golden retriever smile.Too damn nice for someone in trauma surgery.
I stand in the shadow of the ivy-covered wall, watching them like a sick voyeur. She's got her arms tucked inside her sleeves again, shoulders hunched from the cold. Her braid's coming undone in places, strands of her hair catching the afternoon light like black silk.
Leon's sitting beside her—not too close, not inappropriately—but enough.
I hear him say, "You okay?"
She shrugs. "I'm fine."
Lie.I know it's a lie. I taught her to say it like that.
But Leon doesn't back off. He leans in slightly and offers her a protein bar from his pocket, still sealed. "You didn't eat at lunch. I saw."
She blinks. Then takes it. Slowly. Her fingers brush his.
He grins. "Don't worry, I'm not poisoning you. That's reserved for final exams."
She exhales a quiet laugh. Covers her mouth with her sleeve. And for a moment—just a second—her eyes crinkle the way they used to.
I feel something twist in my stomach.
Then she says, voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you."
Leon shrugs like it's no big deal. "You're always so quiet. People don't know what to say around you. But I think you're just... holding your breath."
She looks down. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
And then—he reaches out.
Touches her shoulder. Gentle. Warm. Like she's fragile.
She doesn't flinch.She doesn't pull away.
And I realize—this is the first time I've ever seen someone touch her without making her recoil.
My fists curl at my sides.
She's letting him in.
Not me.
Not the one who's been watching her since the day she wandered into campus looking like a ghost draped in moonlight.Not the one who memorized every way she tucks her hair behind her ear.Not the one who ruined her just to keep her close.
I want to walk over. Say something. Anything.Remind her he's not the one who stayed up all night rewatching the CCTV from the pathology wing just to make sure she got home safe.Remind her that I see her.Every day. Even when she wishes I wouldn't.
But I don't move.Because I know I don't deserve to.
Leon's laughing now. She's smiling.
And I realize with something sharp and cold in my throat:
She was never mine.
Not to keep.Not to touch.And definitely—not to break.