Sophie had never known silence could be so heavy. The days after that rooftop confession passed like walking on cracked glass, every step sharp, every breath fragile. She kept her head low in the halls, her notebook buried deep in her bag, her eyes trained on the floor. But she could feel him. Always feel him. Marcus watched her like a shadow, eyes burning every time they met hers across a classroom or a crowded hallway. He didn't smile. He didn't smirk. He just looked at her like she was the only thing holding him together. And it both comforted and terrified her.
The rest of the school had its own ideas. Rumors swirled faster than ever, sharp as knives. Whispers that Marcus had finally snapped. That he'd been seen sneaking out at night, getting into fights downtown, slipping further into the darkness everyone had always believed he belonged to. And threaded through it all was her name. Sophie. The quiet new girl. The strange poet. The one who had somehow tangled herself into Marcus Hale's fire. She heard her name hissed in locker rooms, painted across bathroom stalls. Hale's girl. Hale's toy. Hale's mistake.
Ethan fueled it, of course. He leaned against walls with that endless smirk, eyes glinting every time she passed. He no longer needed to touch her to remind her he held power. The way he looked at her, the way he whispered just loud enough for others to hear, was enough. One afternoon, as she reached for her books, he leaned close, breath hot against her ear. "Tick tock, sweetheart. Secrets don't stay buried forever." She froze, heart pounding, but didn't respond. If she gave him nothing, maybe he would lose interest. But she knew Ethan too well now. He would never stop until Marcus was broken.
That night, she waited by her window. The hours dragged. Midnight passed, then one, then two. Still no sign of him. She tried to sleep, but her body trembled with unease. When the knock finally came, soft against the glass, she nearly cried with relief. Marcus climbed in, his hoodie soaked with rain, his knuckles raw again. Sophie's breath caught. "You're hurt." He shrugged, brushing past her. "Doesn't matter." "It does," she said firmly, grabbing his hand. "It matters to me." His eyes flickered, softer for a moment before hardening again. "You shouldn't care. Not about me." "Too late," she whispered.
He pulled away, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Ethan won't stop. He wants you scared. He wants me out of control. And he's getting what he wants." Sophie's chest ached. "Then let me help you." "You can't," Marcus snapped. Then, softer, breaking: "You're the only good thing I have left. And he'll destroy that just to watch me burn." She stepped closer, laying a trembling hand against his chest. "Then don't let him. Fight for me." His body shook under her touch. Slowly, painfully, his hands came up to grip hers, holding on like she was the only thing keeping him upright. "I don't know how," he whispered. Sophie met his eyes, steady. "Then I'll teach you."
He kissed her then, not with fire, not with hunger, but with something deeper, something that felt like surrender. Sophie clung to him, her tears wetting his cheek, as if by holding him tighter she could stop him from slipping away. When they finally pulled apart, Marcus leaned his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. "Promise me," he said. "Promise me you won't let go. Even when it gets worse." Her voice cracked, but she whispered, "I promise."
The days that followed tested that promise. Marcus's fights grew more frequent. He disappeared for hours, sometimes days, coming back with bruises, cuts, eyes darker than before. Sophie begged him to stop, to tell her what was happening, but he only shook his head. "You don't want to know," he muttered. "Trust me." But she did want to know. She wanted to carry his fire, even if it burned her. Every time he pushed her away, she pulled closer. Every time he tried to vanish, she searched until she found him. And every time he kissed her, she felt the world crumble and rebuild around them.
Then, one Friday afternoon, the silence broke. Sophie walked into the cafeteria to find a crowd gathered around the center. Laughter rang out, cruel and sharp. Her stomach dropped as she pushed through—and froze. Ethan stood on a table, holding her notebook high above his head. Pages fluttered like wounded birds as he read aloud, his voice mocking. "'A boy of shadows who bleeds into my veins. Fire that consumes, chains that bind, love that destroys.'" Laughter exploded around him. Sophie's heart stopped. Her world shattered. "Stop!" she cried, pushing forward, tears burning her eyes. But Ethan only grinned wider. "Look at this! The poet's masterpiece! Our Sophie, hopelessly in love with the school's resident psycho."
Before she could grab the notebook, a roar split the air. Marcus. He shoved through the crowd, his eyes wild, his fists clenched. The laughter died instantly. Ethan smirked, waving the notebook. "Looking for this?" Marcus lunged. Chaos erupted. Students screamed, tables overturned. Ethan tried to dodge, but Marcus was faster, fury burning through every strike. Sophie screamed his name, but the fire had consumed him. Teachers stormed in, dragging Marcus back, blood dripping from his knuckles, Ethan stumbling with a split lip. The cafeteria buzzed with shock, fear, excitement.
Sophie stood frozen, her notebook clutched to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Marcus's eyes found hers as they dragged him away. For a moment, she saw everything—the fire, the fear, the boy begging her not to let go. Then he was gone, swallowed by the chaos.
That night, Sophie sat by her window, notebook on her lap, heart in ashes. The storm outside raged, lightning cracking across the sky. She opened to a blank page, her hand trembling, and wrote until the ink blurred with tears. When silence breaks, it does not whisper. It screams. And when it screams, it takes everything with it. She closed the notebook, clutching it to her chest, as thunder shook the glass. Somewhere in the storm, Marcus was alone. And Sophie knew she couldn't save him from the fire. But she would burn with him anyway.