Olivia's POV
It was raining. Harder than usual.
The kind of rain that felt angry—like the sky had been holding in tears for too long and finally cracked under the weight.
The clock read 8:03 PM. I was hunched over my desk, history notes scattered like leaves, trying to focus on the life and death of Inês de Castro while the storm outside screamed louder than the thoughts inside me. Mehusa had gone to her sister's for a few days. The house was silent, too silent.
Just me. Alone.
I was highlighting a quote—"Love is immortal when the soul aches for what it has lost"—when a loud, frantic knock shattered the stillness.
I jumped.
My heart punched my ribs as I stood. Another knock—louder this time, desperate.
I rushed to the door and flung it open.
There he was.
Sebastian.
Soaked to the bone. Bleeding. His eyes wide, chest heaving like he'd run through a storm straight from hell.
"Oh my god," I breathed. "Sebastian?"
He didn't speak. Just stared at me like I was the last place he ever wanted to be—and the only place left he could turn to.
I stepped aside. "Come in. Jesus, come in."
He stumbled inside, drenched and shaking. Blood trickled down the side of his forehead. A gash. There was more—on his arms, his hands. Bruises already forming. His shirt was torn at the shoulder. He was breathing so hard I thought he might pass out.
"What the hell happened?" I whispered, guiding him to the couch. "You need a doctor—I'm calling someone."
"No," he rasped, grabbing my wrist before I could reach for my phone. His hand was cold, but his grip was firm. His eyes—red-rimmed, wild—locked with mine. "Please. Don't."
"Sebastian, you're bleeding—"
"I said no," he said again, softer this time. Almost begging. "Don't call anyone. Just... help me."
My throat thickened. I couldn't breathe for a second. He looked broken. Not just physically—something in him had cracked, like he'd been hollowed out and filled with smoke.
"Okay," I said, barely above a whisper. "Okay. I'll help."
I ran to grab the first-aid kit. My fingers trembled as I opened it. He watched me, silent, his chest still rising and falling in uneven waves.
As I sat beside him and dabbed at the cut on his head, he winced—but said nothing.
I hated how close we were. Not because I didn't want to be. But because every inch between us was filled with what we weren't saying.
"Lift your shirt," I said, trying to stay calm.
He hesitated. But he obeyed.
And when he did, I nearly gasped.
His ribs were bruised. Ugly, dark purple bruises. Cuts along his abdomen. His skin looked like it had been in a war. My hand hovered over one of the bruises. I didn't even realize I was reaching until he caught my wrist again.
"Please don't," he whispered.
I froze. Nodded. My voice failed me.
I wrapped the bandage around his arm in silence. He didn't look away. I didn't either. Our eyes locked like we were waiting for the other to say something first. Anything. But we were both cowards in that moment. And the silence was deafening.
Once I was done, I handed him a dry T-shirt—one of Carter's, though I didn't say it. I led him to the guest room.
"You should sleep," I said, stepping back.
He stood there, silent for a second. Then:
"Can you stay?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Here," he said. "With me. Just... don't go."
It took everything in me not to break down then and there.
I nodded slowly. "Okay."
He changed, careful to turn away. I turned off the lights. Climbed into bed beside him, keeping my body stiff and my back turned. There was enough space between us to pretend we were strangers again. But it didn't last.
He shifted. Reached out.
And then he pulled me toward him.
My breath caught.
"Face me," he whispered, and I did.
His arm slid around my waist. He held me gently, but with a desperation that made my heart ache. His forehead pressed against mine, and I could feel every shiver, every breath.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
"I know," I whispered back.
"About the fight. About everything."
"I was scared," I said, voice cracking. "You disappeared. All of you."
"I know."
"You made me care," I choked. "And then you vanished."
"I didn't mean to." His voice trembled. "I didn't know where else to go."
"Don't," I said instantly, my voice suddenly fierce. "Don't come to me like this again."
His smile faltered.
"I mean it, Sebastian." I look into his eyes closer, my hands on his his "Don't come to me only when you're falling apart. Come when you're okay. Come when you're mad. Come when you're sarcastic and annoying and unbearable. But not just like this. Don't make pain the only language between us."
His shoulders slumped like the words physically landed.
"I'm trying," he murmured.
"I know," I replied. "So am I."
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
"Please don't go," he whispered. "I'll tell you everything. One day. When I'm strong enough to face the demons."
I nodded against his chest.
And in the dark, with the rain pounding and my heart full of every emotion I couldn't name, I whispered, "Just don't break my heart, Sebastian."
His arms tightened around me, and for the first time in days, I felt a little less alone.
Sebastian's POV
She fell asleep beside me.I stayed awake.My arm around her. Her heartbeat echoing into my skin.
I didn't deserve this.I didn't deserve her.
But still—here she was. Staying. Holding the broken pieces of me like they didn't cut her.I don't know what I was doing here.
I could've gone to Luke's flat. Evelyn was probably already there. Safe. She always makes it before I do. Always knows when to vanish before it gets worse.
But me?I dragged myself through the rain and ended up here.
To her. To the one person I swore I'd stay away from—for her own sake. For my own.
And now... here I was. In her bed. Holding her as she slept.
What the hell am I doing?
Why am I doing this?
Why did I come here bleeding and broken, hoping she'd open the door and not slam it shut in my face?
Maybe because I knew she wouldn't.
Because Olivia has this maddening, terrifying way of looking at you like she sees you. Not just the parts you curate for the world, not the armor. She looks past it. Right into the spaces where the cracks live. Where the voices still echo.
And maybe some part of me—pathetic and desperate—needed that tonight.
Needed to be seen.
I could've just patched myself up in some back alley or fallen asleep on Luke's couch like I've done a thousand times. But that couch carries too many memories. Too many nights where I sat, fists clenched, praying the door wouldn't open again. That the yelling wouldn't start. That Evelyn wouldn't flinch at every sound.
God.
I wanted to tell her everything. About the bruises. About my father. About Evelyn. About the park. About how, years ago, a little girl in pink shoes sat beside me on a bench when I couldn't speak—and handed me a flower like that could fix my silence.
She didn't know it was me. I did.
And I never forgot.
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to hers. Her breath was warm. Steady.
Mine wasn't.
"I'll tell you one day," I whispered, too quiet for her to hear. "But not tonight."
Because tonight, I needed her warmth more than I needed words.
I closed my eyes and buried my face into the space between her neck and shoulder, letting the quiet consume me.
For once, the silence didn't feel like punishment.
For once, I wasn't afraid of it.
Because tonight, she stayed.
And so did I.
Even if I didn't deserve to.
Olivia's Pov
The first thing I felt was warmth.
A deep, humming kind of warmth, pressed against my back, steady and safe. The air smelled like rain and something familiar—his shampoo, maybe. That faint hint of smoke and something sharper, something him. My eyes blinked open slowly, and for a moment, I didn't know where I was.
And then I remembered everything.
The knock on the door.
The blood.
His broken voice.
The way he held me like he had nothing else in the world.
Sebastian.
His arm was still wrapped around me. Loose now, but still there. His breathing was quiet, almost even, and I didn't dare move. My body was still, but my heart was anything but. It thudded in my chest like it had been waiting for this—to be close to him without the weight of sharp words or angry glances.
I turned slowly, just enough to see him.
He was awake.
His eyes were already open, watching me.
We didn't say anything for a second. There was just... silence. A kind of silence that wrapped around the both of us, fragile and trembling. His face was still pale, and there were shadows under his eyes, but something about the way he looked at me made it feel like the chaos from the night before had paused.
"You're still here," he whispered, voice rough and quiet.
"Where else would I be?" I whispered back.
He blinked, like he didn't expect that answer. Like maybe, deep down, he thought I wouldn't stay.
I reached up, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. "You were shivering last night. I thought maybe you were dreaming something bad."
He closed his eyes for a second. "I didn't dream. I just... I kept thinking you'd disappear if I fell asleep."
I swallowed. "I didn't."
"I know," he said quietly, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his hoodie. "Sorry for showing up at your door last night I just… didn't know where else to go."
"You could've gone to Luke's," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He met my eyes again, this time with something raw in his expression—something that made my breath catch.
"I know," he said. "But… my feet brought me here."
And I didn't ask him why.
Because deep down, I already knew.
Even if he couldn't say it out loud yet.
We stayed like that a little longer, the quiet stretching between us, not uncomfortable but heavy.
Eventually, I sat up. "You need to eat something. You look like you've been dragged through hell."
He gave a soft huff of laughter. "I probably have."
"Well, welcome back. Hell missed you."
That earned a half-smile. The smallest curve of his lips, but enough to make my chest ache.
In the kitchen, I scrambled eggs while he sat at the counter, watching me like I might disappear if he blinked too long. He didn't say much, and I didn't push him. But every now and then, I saw his hand twitch, like he wanted to reach for mine. Like he just didn't know how.
"You don't have to hover," I told him lightly, glancing over my shoulder.
"I'm not."
"You're literally staring at me like I'm about to light the stove on fire."
"That's because last time you cooked, you did."
I turned, offended. "That was toast! It betrayed me!"
He smiled—actually smiled—and my chest tightened again.
He ate slowly, quietly. And when I passed him a cup of tea, our fingers brushed for a second. Just a second. But it was enough to make the space between us feel like it was buzzing.
"You really don't have to do this," he said after a moment. "Take care of me like this."
"You don't get to show up at my door bleeding and then say I shouldn't care."
His gaze dropped to his cup. "I didn't mean to drag you into anything."
"You didn't drag me. I was already here."
His eyes lifted. "Why?"
"Because..." I paused, forcing myself to say it. "Because it's you."
He didn't say anything to that. But the way his fingers curled tighter around the mug told me enough.
By the time we left, the rain had slowed to a light mist. I offered to drive, but he shook his head.
"I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
He gave me a soft look. "Yeah."
So I sat in the passenger seat, watching him grip the steering wheel like it was the only solid thing he had left. His jaw was tight. I didn't ask questions. Not yet.
Luke's flat was only fifteen minutes away, but it felt longer.
When we arrived, Evelyn was pacing in the hall like she'd been waiting all night. The moment she saw Sebastian, she rushed forward.
"Oh, thank God," she breathed, pulling him into a tight hug. "You scared the hell out of me."
He didn't say anything, but he hugged her back, and I could see the way his shoulders sagged just slightly.
Evelyn looked over at me. Her expression softened.
"Hey," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Hey."
It came out quieter than I meant. Stiffer. But I couldn't bring myself to smile. Not yet.
She hesitated, then took a step toward me, stopping like she wasn't sure if I'd let her. "Can we talk?"
I nodded, slow, cautious. My throat was tight, but I followed her anyway. We walked toward the edge of the porch, the world still damp and gray around us. Behind me, I could hear the faint sound of the door closing as Sebastian went inside.
Evelyn stopped near the railing, her fingers tugging at the frayed edge of her sleeve like it could anchor her. Her eyes didn't meet mine.
"I've been trying to talk to you," she said softly. "But you've been... you've been ignoring me."
I swallowed hard. "I know."
There was a pause. She looked up then, and her voice cracked just a little. "I get it, okay? I do. I just—" she shook her head, breath catching, "—I didn't want to lose you too."
That caught me off guard. My chest squeezed. "What?"
She bit down on her lip, trying to hold something in. "You helped me once," she said, voice trembling. "Years ago. At that football match—when I came to your school to watch my brother play. I didn't know anyone, and everything was so loud and overwhelming. I was just... standing there, ready to fall apart."
Her eyes flicked to mine, glassy now. "And then there you were. This girl in a cheerleading outfit with the loudest laugh and the softest smile. You didn't even know me, but you came up and asked if I was okay. Sat with me. Talked to me like I belonged there. You made me feel seen, Liv."
My throat tightened.
"I never forgot that," she whispered. "Even when you didn't remember me. Even when you were this quiet, distant storm at school. I recognized you instantly. And I thought... maybe I could do for you what you once did for me."
I looked away, blinking fast, but it didn't help. My chest felt full—heavy and warm and aching all at once.
"I barged into your life because it felt like you were fading," she continued, voice breaking. "And you were the one person who ever made me feel like I wasn't invisible. I just wanted to make your world colorful again, the way you did for mine."
"And maybe it's you who's saving my brother too."
I froze.
Evelyn looked at me with eyes too heavy for her age. "he didn't come to Luke's. He came to you."
My breath hitched. "He was bleeding when I opened the door."
"I know," she said, voice raw. "And the truth is... I don't think I've ever been more scared. He shuts me out more every day. He thinks he's protecting me, but he's not. He's disappearing, Liv. And I don't know how to stop it."
The air between us felt cold, sharp, like glass about to crack.
"I've seen him break before," she whispered. "He just hides it better now. But you—he lets you see it. He came to you."
"I didn't do anything," I murmured, feeling small.
"You opened the door," she said. "That's everything."
My vision blurred with sudden tears.
Evelyn reached for my hand—tentative, soft. "I know you're hurting too. I see it. But... if you can hold on to each other, even a little... maybe you'll both make it through."
She hesitated, voice trembling again. "Please... don't give up on him. I know he's heavy to carry. But he's slipping, Olivia. And you might be the only person left who can pull him back."
I couldn't speak. I just nodded, tears slipping down silently.
She gave a sad smile. "Thank you. For helping him."
I looked at her then, really looked. She wasn't just a fierce, confident girl who took over my life with a laugh and glitter pens. She was a sister trying to hold her world together. Just like me.
"Thank you," I whispered back.
She stepped back toward the door, pausing only once.
"He's breaking," she said. "Please... pick up the pieces before they scatter."
I couldn't speak. There was a lump in my throat the size of the moon.
Something broke in me then. Quietly. A kind of quiet breaking that doesn't make noise, just leaves a hollow echo inside your chest.
"I missed you," I said finally, voice small.
"I missed you too" she told me back
I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her. She sank into the hug like she'd been waiting for it, like maybe she needed it just as much as I did.
We didn't say anything for a while.
"Wow," Luke's voice cut in, not as sarcastic as usual—more tentative. "Do I walk into a therapy session or are we just crying on the porch now?"
Evelyn didn't move. Neither did I. But Emily glanced up from the hallway and gave him a warning look. Luke raised both hands like he got the message, but his eyes flicked to me.
He looked... softer than I expected. No grin. No teasing.
Luke glanced toward the closed bathroom door where Sebastian was changing, then back to me. "Thank you for taking care of him I'm glad he came to you."
Something in my chest cracked a little more.
A pause. Then his voice shifted, finding familiar ground in sarcasm. "And hey, you even got him to change clothes. Jesus. I couldn't even get him to change his socks."
The bathroom door creaked open just then, and Sebastian stepped out wearing a clean black hoodie and joggers. His hair was damp, eyes hollow. His skin looked pale against the dark cotton, the bruises on his neck and temple still fresh.
Luke took one look at him and whistled low. "Well, damn. You almost look human again."
Sebastian gave him a look. It wasn't exactly murderous, but it tried.
"Shut up," he muttered, brushing past him.
Luke raised his eyebrows at me. "You sure you want to save this one? He's moody, underfed, emotionally constipated, and probably has at least three broken ribs."
"Luke," Emily hissed under her breath.
"What? I'm being supportive," Luke said with mock offense. Then, turning back to Sebastian, he added with a grin, "You reek less, though.
Sebastian didn't respond. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly. But his eyes flicked to me—just a second, no more—and that single glance held so much weight I had to look away again.
"Anyway," Luke said, less teasing now. "We should get going. we will be getting late for school"
Emily gave me a small, reassuring smile, her expression still marked by everything unsaid between us. Evelyn, too, hadn't said another word since she'd whispered Please... pick up the pieces before they scatter.
But in that silence, something had shifted.
I followed them towards the car, Sebastian walking just a step behind me.
And though no one said it aloud—we were all thinking the same thing:
For now, he was here.
Still holding on.
And maybe... just maybe, that was enough.