The chicken had cooled slightly by the time i finished arranging everything in the container.
I had added a side of garlic rice, because i remembered he liked it crispy on the edges.
There was also a small sticky note on top with a doodle of a smiley face and the words, "Don't skip breakfast this time."
I almost scratched it out thought maybe it was too much, but decided to leave it. It wasn't like i'd said I love you.
It was just food.
Just care.
Just… us.
In our little world that no one else knew.
I carried the container with both hands, steadying it like it was fragile, like it was proof of something quiet and good.
Like us.
The hallway felt colder than usual.
I was wearing the hoodie he once left in my unit after we watched a horror movie and i got scared enough to steal it.
I hadn't returned it since.
Standing in front of his door, I hesitated for a second.
Then i pressed the doorbell.
One beat.
Two.
Then the lock clicked and the door opened—just a bit.
And it wasn't him.
It was a girl.
Tall.
Pale.
Pretty in that effortless, intimidating way.
She had sharp cheekbones and long lashes, and she looked like she belonged on a horse in some expensive equestrian magazine.
Her hair was damp, like she just got out of the shower.
Her brows lifted when she saw me.
"What?" she asked, flat and annoyed, like i was the interruption.
My throat tightened. "Uh, hi… is Sebastian here?"
She looked over her shoulder briefly, then turned back to me. "He's in the shower."
The words stung more than they should have.
I couldn't even explain why.
I blinked a few times and handed her the container. "Can you give this to him? It's for breakfast. He mentioned he might skip it."
She didn't move to take it right away, just stared at me like i was a misplaced item on her doorstep.
I gently pressed the container forward. "Please."
She finally took it. "Fine."
No thank you.
No smile.
Just the door closing in my face.
I stood there for a second, unsure of what i was feeling.
Then i turned around and walked to my unit like my legs were floating, not really attached to anything.
The hallway blurred.
My door clicked shut behind me, and i slid down to the floor before the tears even started.
I hated how easily they came.
But i couldn't help it.
It wasn't that i didn't trust him.
I did. I think i did.
But being a secret being his secret, meant i had no right to ask.
No right to be jealous.
No right to cry over a girl answering his door in damp hair and attitude.
Because i was nobody.
Not in public.
Not to the world.
And maybe… not even to him.
I buried my face in my knees and cried soundlessly.
Not the kind of crying that made you feel better.
The kind that just hurt.
I used to think the worst thing in the world was being hated online.
Being mocked, canceled, rejected by strangers who didn't even know you.
But maybe worse than hate… was feeling like you didn't even exist to the person who mattered most.
-
It was almost midnight when he knocked.
I didn't answer right away.
I debated pretending to be asleep.
But eventually, I stood up, wiped my face, and opened the door.
He was there, hair messy, hoodie zipped up, container in one hand.
"Hey," he said gently. "You gave me food."
I said nothing.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied my face. "You've been crying."
I looked away.
"Can i come in?" he asked.
I stepped aside.
He entered and sat on the couch like he belonged there.
Because lately, he did.
I sat across from him, silent.
"Margaux…" he said carefully, his tone more concerned than I'd ever heard. "Are you mad?"
"No."
"Then… what's wrong?"
"You tell me," I replied, keeping my voice even. "Who was she?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "Who?"
"The one who opened your door."
"Oh. You met Atasha."
I didn't reply.
He set the container on the table. "She's my sister."
My breath caught. "Your… what?"
"Anastasia Isabela Gutierrez," he said with a smile, like the name alone explained everything. "She just arrived this morning. She's been in America. She needed a break. She lost a big competition, I think it was horse racing or something. She won't talk about it. But she said she just wanted to see me. That's why she came."
The weight in my chest cracked, slightly.
"She's the only person in the family who makes me laugh when i don't want to," he added, tone soft. "I didn't know she was gonna be rude. Sorry about that."
I pressed my lips together. "I thought…"
"I know," he said quickly. "I get it. You don't need to explain."
"I'm not used to this."
"To what?"
"This," I gestured around vaguely. "Being a secret. Being someone who can't knock on your door without questioning if i even have the right."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then stood and walked over.
Kneeled in front of me.
"I hate that you feel that way," he said, voice low. "I hate that i can't just hold your hand in public or tell people how amazing you are."
My throat thickened.
"But if i had to choose between hiding this… or not having this at all, I'd still choose us," he said.
I swallowed. "Even if i doubt it sometimes?"
"I'll remind you every time you do."
His hands found mine.
"I'm yours, okay? Even if the world doesn't know it yet."
I let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry i cried."
"Don't be," he smiled. "Means you care."
I hit his shoulder lightly. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He leaned closer, forehead against mine.
And for that moment, everything felt okay again.
No lights.
No cameras.
No hashtags.
Just the quiet comfort of being seen.
-
The next morning, Atasha knocked on my door.
I hesitated before opening it.
She looked different, dressed in all black, hair tied up, sunglasses on.
"I came to say sorry," she said, not taking the glasses off. "I was jetlagged and grumpy. Didn't mean to be a bitch."
I blinked. "Oh."
She scratched the back of her neck. "I know about you. He talks about you. All the time, actually. I didn't realize it was you when i opened the door."
That made me pause. "He… talks about me?"
"Yeah," she smirked. "A lot. I thought he had a celebrity crush or something."
I laughed, a little awkwardly. "Thanks… for saying that."
She nodded once. "Don't hurt my brother."
"I won't," I promised.
"Good," she said. "He doesn't open up to a lot of people. I've never seen him like this."
We stood in silence for a bit.
Then she smiled faintly. "Next time bring dessert."
I grinned. "Noted."
She turned and walked away, leaving me stunned in my doorway.
Sebastian Gutierrez, global icon, talked about me.
And not just as his neighbor.
-
Later that night, he came over again.
We didn't talk much.
Just watched a movie on my laptop, curled up under a single blanket.
He fell asleep halfway through, his head on my shoulder.
I stared at him for a while.
The boy with too many fans and not enough freedom.
And somehow, in all the noise of our lives, we found something quiet.
Secret.
Soft.
Ours.
Maybe that was enough for now.