(Liam's POV)
Same day. Same school. Same peeling paint on the lockers and gum under the cafeteria tables. Different weight.
Attention was a thing Liam had always hated. All the spotlight. Every whisper like judgment, like the wrong thing on the wrong day, could blow his whole life up. Make it all go to shit again. It had been too easy, to be a target. Teachers with questions. Classmates looking for a fight. People waiting for him to mess up just so they could laugh about it later. He never went looking for it. It usually found him, anyway.
When whispers of his name started up in the halls and people stopped talking to stare at him when they walked by—when suddenly those whispers were followed by Elena's name—he knew it was trouble. Worse than usual. Like a storm on the horizon. He'd first seen it that morning, a crooked paper heart, hand-cut and drawn on with a red pen, taped to his locker. The edges curled up just a little bit at the sides, like whoever stuck it there didn't care to press it down.
The second he saw it, he knew it was a joke.
Sure enough, the guys in his math class snickered every time Elena walked by, eyes darting back and forth between her and him like the start to some kind of punchline.
He didn't say anything to them. Never did.
But he saw it all.
Elena's shoulders squared as she walked past them. The way her chin jutted out a little more than it should, like she was daring anyone to say something. Her hands shook only a little as she wrapped her books closer against her chest. She was acting like everything was fine, and she was good at it.
But he saw it.
Because he knew how to pretend to be fine like the back of his hand. It twisted in his chest, that much. Something he couldn't name.
"She's brash," Ben muttered next to him at lunch, low enough to be private but loud enough to jar Liam out of his head. Ben was one of the few people Liam didn't mind talking to, but even that had its limits. "Girl from St. Claire's just walks right next to you like she owns the place. What's that?"
Liam didn't answer right away. He bit into his sandwich, letting the dry bread and salty ham coat his mouth enough to buy himself some time.
"Hell, man," Ben said, nudging him in the ribs. "Are you two an item now or something?"
Liam glared at him. Ben had crossed the line, for sure. Liam narrowed his eyes. "No."
Ben's eyebrows shot up. He whistled, low and appraising. "You coulda fooled me. She looks at you like you invented gravity or something."
Liam shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and stood, tossing his lunch tray aside. "Drop it," he said, muttering.
Only those words didn't fall with Ben's command.
They followed Liam out the door, lingering around him all the way to the benches out back.
He hadn't planned to find her there. Honest to God, he couldn't have said where he had planned on going.
But there she was.
Elena.
Sitting under the bent-over tree, branches scraped against by a dozen years of bad weather. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, loose strands falling over her cheek every time the breeze came. Sketchbook in her lap, pencil scribbling long strokes down the page, Elena hadn't noticed him yet—or maybe she had, but was just ignoring him.
Liam stayed longer than he meant to, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket. He remembered that day. The way she'd asked him for directions, all while looking him in the eye. No condescension, no veiled insults. She'd never looked down on him, not even when other people did. She didn't recoil when he gave her an asshole answer. She didn't back down when Maeve accosted her that day. She didn't give up, not when he built up walls after walls between them.
And why?
That question had been echoing in Liam's head, even before Elena had started showing up at his school. Why did she put up with him? Why did she care?
He took a step forward, crunching leaves between his shoe and the pavement, and she looked up.
"You're not scared of her, are you?" Liam asked, voice lower than he meant for it to be.
She raised her brow. "You mean Maeve?"
He nodded.
"She's loud, not scary," Elena said, tone flat and just a little too easy. "And honestly? I think she's just scared I'll take something she thinks belongs to her."
Liam's jaw clenched. "Nothing here belongs to anyone."
She tilted her head to the side at him like she was trying to see what he meant but couldn't. "Don't lie. Maeve looked at me today like I was robbing her of everything."
Liam didn't reply right away. Truth was, he had known Maeve looked at him like that for a long time. Like he was the one good thing she had, like I was her ballast when everything else went to shit. For a long time, he let her believe it, mostly because he didn't know how to be anything but that for anyone.
But now…
now there was Elena.
Bright. Fearless. Too rich for this place. Stubborn as hell to stay.
"You should stop," Liam said, finally. "Before they really start coming for you."
She tilted her head to one side, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "You mean they haven't already?"
He looked down at the dirt by his shoes. "I don't want to be the reason your life gets harder."
"You're not," she said, in that quiet voice she used when she was being serious.
When he looked up, her eyes met his, clear and steady.
She meant it.
He'd never been looked at like that before—like he was worth staying for, worth fighting over, worth fighting with. Maeve had clung to him, yes, but it was a clinging of necessity. Necessity of two people bound together by a situation neither of them could change. Elena? She chose to be here. Chose him. Every day. Despite everything. Every fight. Every rumor. Every whisper in the halls.
And that scared him more than anything.
"You still didn't answer my question from earlier."
Liam frowned. "What question?"
"Why do you think I care?"
Liam shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, fabric bunching up around his knuckles. He stared at the horizon. Orange and pink streaks spread across the sky, the same color as the sunset had been on the day his mom left. The day his dad had drunk himself to sleep. The afternoons he'd wait outside for his brothers to come home from school. That same color. With Elena sitting in front of him, too pristine and clean for the graffiti-marred walls behind her.
"I don't know," Liam said. Quiet, but honest. "But I'm scared to find out."
She didn't pry.
She didn't fill the silence with something funny or sweet.
She just nodded, like that was answer enough for now.
And for the first time all day, Liam's head got quiet.
Later that night, in bed staring up at the ceiling where the paint had cracked and bubbled away from the rest of the wall, Liam thought about her standing her ground. Not shrinking in around Maeve. Looking at him like he mattered.
He closed his eyes, let her voice settle in his bones.
They weren't there yet.
But maybe… just maybe… he didn't want her to leave.