The sun filtered lazily through the blinds of Ronan's apartment the next morning, casting soft stripes across the messy couch where Aria lay wrapped in his flannel hoodie. She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting, muscles stretching like they hadn't in years. Not in peace like this.
Ronan was in the kitchen, barefoot and shirtless, flipping pancakes like a man who didn't have a care in the world. Except she knew better—his calm was just a surface, painted like a mask.
"Morning," he said without turning around, sensing her eyes on him.
"You cook now?" she teased, pushing herself upright.
"Only for girls who fall asleep in my clothes and don't snore."
She smiled, but there was a shadow behind it. A heaviness still wrapped around her heart from the night before—Liam's face, the threat in his voice, the way it felt to be watched, judged, doubted.
As if sensing her shift, Ronan turned and handed her a plate.
"I know it's not much. But food helps," he said, quieter now.
"It's more than enough," she said, her voice tight.
He didn't push. He never did.
And that was the scariest part.
Later that afternoon, Aria sat outside the art building, sketching under the old maple tree that was starting to bloom. Her strokes were slower now, more thoughtful. A profile—his. Messy hair. Defiant eyes. A jaw that looked like it was always clenched.
She was interrupted by a voice.
"Aria?"
She looked up.
It was Maddie—her roommate and the closest thing she had to a real friend on campus. Or at least, had before everything changed.
Maddie sat down without waiting for an invitation.
"So… it's true?" she asked softly. "You and Wolfe?"
Aria's lips pressed together. "Yeah."
Maddie sighed. "It's not the him part that bothers me. It's the you part. You've been quiet. Distant. You're not even in the group chat anymore."
"I didn't mean to shut people out."
Maddie watched her for a long beat. "You look different. Not in a bad way. Just… like you're holding your breath."
Aria didn't respond.
"I'm not judging," Maddie continued. "But the whole school is watching you fall for the guy who doesn't fall for anyone. People think you're going to be his next disaster."
"I'm not just 'falling for a guy,' Maddie. I'm… finding something. In him. In me. That I didn't know I needed."
Her voice cracked near the end, and Maddie didn't speak for a while. Just sat there and let Aria draw in silence.
Sometimes, friendship meant that.
That night, Ronan stood alone on the rooftop again.
He hadn't invited Aria. Not because he didn't want her there—but because something inside him had started to shift, something he didn't quite recognize.
He stared at the stars, fists tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the one she had worn the night before.
His phone buzzed.
Dad (2:13 AM): Need cash. Rent's due. Come home.
He didn't reply.
The apartment was a mess, last he saw it. Half-empty bottles on the table. Dirty dishes piling up like guilt. The old man hadn't been sober in months. Not really. Not since the crash. Not since the last court letter. Not since Ronan told him he was done playing savior.
He should've felt free.
Instead, he felt like he was waiting for something to fall apart.
Meanwhile, Aria found herself walking across campus toward the sports field—not because Ronan was there, but because she needed to see the place where he looked most alive.
Under the glow of the field lights, she found Carter, Ronan's teammate and roommate.
"Hey," she said, hugging her arms around her.
He glanced at her with tired eyes. "Hey. Wolfe's not here."
"I know."
Carter hesitated. "You care about him?"
"Yes."
Carter looked down at the turf. "Good. Because he's never brought anyone around. Not really. The others? They were just a way to feel something without getting too close. But you… you scare the hell out of him."
Aria blinked. "Why?"
"Because you matter. And when someone matters to him, that means he can lose them."
She didn't know what to say to that. So she just stood there, letting the silence fill the air.
Then Carter added, "He deserves something real. I think you might be the first real thing he's had in a long time."
Two days later, Ronan missed practice.
Coach was pissed. Carter covered for him, said he was sick. But Aria knew something was wrong.
She called him.
No answer.
Texted.
Nothing.
She skipped class and went to his apartment, knocking on the door until her hand hurt. Finally, it creaked open. He stood there, hoodie on, eyes bloodshot, face unshaven.
"Ronan," she breathed, stepping inside.
It reeked of smoke and anger.
He didn't look at her. Just sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees.
"What happened?"
He held out his phone. On the screen, a message from his father.
Dad: Don't bother. I'm done. You win.
Aria sat beside him. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Ronan said. "He was drunk. Said some stuff. Then the cops called. Said they found him passed out in the front yard. Neighbors called about yelling. Again."
He rubbed his eyes. "I'm so tired of this. Of carrying his weight. Of pretending it doesn't crush me."
She reached for his hand. He let her.
"You don't have to pretend," she whispered. "Not with me."
"I'm not good at this. At being someone people can count on."
"You've been that for me since the night of the party."
He looked at her then, eyes raw. "You deserve better."
"No," she said. "I deserve truth. And you give me that."
He leaned in, forehead against hers. Breathing her in like she was the only oxygen left.
"I don't know what this is between us," he whispered, "but I don't want to lose it."
"Then don't," she said. "Hold on. Even if it's messy."
That night, they didn't need to speak much.
They just held each other—him, with all his cracks; her, with all her bruises—and somewhere in the stillness between them, something whole began to form.
Not perfect. Not easy.
But real.
And for the first time, neither of them wanted to run.