The night after Ethan's taunting smile in the hallway, Sophie felt as though the walls of her house were closing in. Every creak in the floorboards, every gust of wind against the windows, every shadow stretching across her room seemed charged with menace. She tried to write, her notebook open on her lap, but the words bled together into incoherent scrawls. Her hand trembled too much to hold the pen steady.
Marcus hadn't come. She kept glancing toward the window, the pale glow of the streetlamp beyond it, hoping to see him standing there. But the glass remained blank, reflecting only her own anxious face.
When the clock struck two, she finally lay down, exhausted, though sleep was no refuge. Images chased her—Ethan's smirk, Marcus's trembling hands, the sound of the locker denting under his fist. In her dreams, Marcus's fists didn't stop. They kept slamming down, over and over, until Ethan was unrecognizable. Until Marcus himself was unrecognizable.
She woke with a start, the echo of fists still pounding in her ears.
By morning, she hadn't slept at all.
At school, Sophie felt the tension coil tighter. The whispers had sharpened overnight, their cruelty cutting deeper, almost gleeful. She knew what they were saying: that Marcus had finally snapped, that he'd nearly attacked Ethan in the middle of the hallway, that she was the reason. She could feel the weight of their eyes as she passed, as though everyone was waiting for her to break too.
She found Marcus leaning against the back wall of the gym, his hood pulled low, his gaze fixed on the floor. His knuckles were bandaged clumsily, the fabric already spotted with red. When she touched his arm, he flinched, then relaxed when he saw her.
"You didn't come last night," she said softly.
He shook his head, his voice rough. "I couldn't. I was—" He broke off, his jaw clenching.
Sophie waited, her heart aching.
"—afraid," he finally muttered.
She stepped closer, her hands brushing over his bandaged fists. "Afraid of what?"
His eyes lifted to hers, dark and haunted. "Of myself."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to tell him he wasn't the monster Ethan painted him to be, but the words stuck. Because she remembered the way his fist hovered inches from Ethan's face, trembling with a fury that had almost consumed him. She remembered the dent in the locker, the gasps of the students, the silence that had followed like the air before a storm.
Sophie swallowed hard and pressed her forehead to his chest. "Then let me carry that fear with you. Don't shut me out."
For a long moment, Marcus didn't move. Then his arms came around her, pulling her in so tightly she could barely breathe. His voice was low, desperate. "If I lose you, Sophie, there won't be anything left of me."
That night, he came to her window again. But this time, something in him was different.
He climbed in without a word, his hood thrown back, his eyes burning like wildfire. His movements were restless, sharp, as though he couldn't keep still. He paced her room, fists clenching and unclenching, his breath ragged. Sophie watched him, her stomach knotting tighter with each step he took.
"Marcus," she whispered. "What happened?"
He stopped suddenly, turning toward her. His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wild. "He followed me home. Ethan. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore. He wants me to see him. He wants me to feel his eyes on me, like I'm prey."
Sophie's chest constricted. "Did he do anything?"
Marcus laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and broken. "He doesn't need to. His smile is enough. Every time I see it, I want to rip it off his face. I can feel it—this hunger inside me. And Sophie…" He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "I don't think I hate it anymore."
Her breath caught.
"I dream about it now," he continued, his voice low, trembling. "Breaking him. Ending him. It feels like fire in my veins, and the more I fight it, the stronger it gets. Sometimes I wonder if Ethan's right—if I'm already gone."
"No," Sophie whispered fiercely, rushing to him, grabbing his face in her hands. "You're not gone. You're here. With me. Look at me, Marcus. You are more than his shadow."
But he shook his head, his hands clutching her wrists with a desperate strength. "You don't understand. When I picture his blood on my hands, I don't feel sick anymore. I feel relief. I feel alive. What does that make me?"
Her tears spilled, her voice breaking. "It makes you someone who's been hurt too much. Someone who needs love, not more scars."
He kissed her then—violent, hungry, full of fire. Sophie's hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her tears mixing with his fevered desperation. His body trembled against hers, every movement sharp and raw, as though he was fighting himself with every breath.
When they pulled apart, Sophie pressed her forehead to his. "You are mine to keep," she whispered fiercely. "And I won't let him take you from me. Not Ethan. Not the darkness. No one."
Marcus closed his eyes, his breath shuddering. For a moment, the fire in him seemed to falter, replaced by something fragile, aching. He buried his face in her neck, clinging to her as though she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
Outside, the wind howled. And somewhere in the distance, Sophie swore she heard laughter—low, mocking, carried on the night air.
When Marcus finally fell asleep beside her, Sophie lay awake, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. She stared at the window, half-expecting Ethan's face to appear in the glass. Her notebook lay on the desk, open to a page she'd written earlier.
If love is a fire, then let it consume me. Better to burn with him than to freeze alone in the dark.
The words blurred as her eyes filled with tears. She clutched Marcus's hand tighter, whispering a silent prayer into the shadows.
But the shadows only whispered back.
Sophie woke to the sound of rain against the glass. The gray light of morning filtered weakly into her room, but Marcus was already gone. The sheets beside her were cold, the space empty as if he had never been there. Her chest ached with the absence, the silence pressing in around her.
She sat up slowly, clutching her notebook. The words from last night stared back at her, dark and jagged across the page. She traced them with trembling fingers, her heart whispering his name like a wound that wouldn't heal.
At school, Marcus was nowhere to be found. His desk sat empty, his seat untouched. The teachers barely acknowledged it; students whispered louder than ever. Sophie caught fragments as she passed—expelled soon,dangerous,going to end up in jail. Each word twisted deeper into her chest, each glance felt like a knife.
When she turned a corner, Ethan was waiting.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his smirk curling like smoke. "Looking for your knight in shining armor?" he asked softly.
Sophie's steps faltered, but she forced herself to keep moving, her gaze fixed ahead. "Leave me alone."
He pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. "You really think you can save him, don't you?" His voice was low, mocking but laced with something sharper. "You think your soft hands and broken little words can put him back together."
Her throat tightened, but she didn't answer.
Ethan leaned closer, his whisper brushing her ear. "He's already mine, Sophie. Every time he lifts his fists, every time he feels that fire, he's proving what I've known all along. He belongs to me."
Sophie spun on him, fury flashing in her chest. "He belongs to no one. Least of all you."
For the first time, Ethan's smirk faltered. Only for a second, but she saw it—a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. Then he laughed, low and cold. "We'll see."
That night, Sophie sat by the window, waiting. Hours crawled by, the rain turning into a steady downpour. She thought of Marcus alone somewhere in it, fists clenched, blood mixing with the storm. She pressed her forehead to the glass, her breath fogging the pane, whispering his name into the dark.
When the window finally rattled, her heart leapt. She threw it open, and Marcus stumbled in.
He was soaked, his hood clinging to his hair, his bandages gone. Fresh cuts marred his hands, his lip split, his eye swelling darkly. Sophie gasped, rushing to him, pulling him into the light.
"Marcus—"
"I told you," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "I can't stop."
She pressed her hands to his cheeks, her tears falling freely. "Then let me be the one who stops you. Please."
But his eyes were wild, his breath uneven. He grabbed her wrists, his grip trembling but strong. "What if I hurt you instead? What if one day this fire doesn't know the difference?"
Her heart cracked. "Then I'll burn with you," she whispered.
Something in him broke at her words. His forehead dropped against hers, his whole body shaking. He kissed her, desperate and raw, tasting of rain and blood and anguish. Sophie clung to him, her fingers digging into his soaked clothes, as though holding him tighter might keep him from vanishing.
When they pulled apart, Marcus collapsed onto her bed, his body curling inward. Sophie sat beside him, her hand stroking his damp hair, her notebook open on her lap. She wrote furiously, words pouring out like blood from an open wound.
You are not his shadow. You are mine. If you fall, I will follow. If you burn, I will burn with you. Better the fire than the silence.
Marcus's breathing slowed, his body trembling less as he drifted into uneasy sleep. Sophie closed the notebook, her tears blurring the ink. She held him through the night, her own eyes wide open, watching the shadows gather outside the window.
And in the pale light of dawn, she saw it again.
A figure under the streetlamp, still, waiting, watching.
This time, Ethan didn't move. He just stood there, his face tilted toward her window, his smirk visible even through the glass.
Sophie's blood ran cold.
She hugged Marcus tighter, her heart pounding, whispering his name against his hair. But her eyes stayed fixed on the figure outside. On the darkness that hunted them both.
And deep inside, Sophie knew the fire was spreading.