Julien's POV
Father is always on about "Footing". A Rousseau doesn't trip, he doesn't stumble and he definitely doesn't lose his cool. We're supposed to be the guys who stay blank-faced while everyone else is losing their minds. But watching Isabelle out there in the courtyard this morning? I felt like my skin was two sizes too small.
It wasn't just "protecting" her anymore. It was this dark, heavy possessiveness that felt way too much like the way Dmitri looks at her. I hated it. I hated that I was starting to feel like him. I saw those guys circling her like sharks, guys who didn't even know she existed last week and I wanted to put my fist through a locker.
By Monday afternoon, the music wing felt like a tomb. The air was thick and tasted like old wood and nervous sweat. Every time a door creaked down the hall, Isabelle jumped. Every time some shadow moved past the glass pane of the practice room, she'd stop her bow mid-note, her hand shaking. She was vibrating with this tension that made my own chest ache just looking at her.
I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd snapped at me over the weekend. I'm not a piece of glass, she had said. That hit me like a physical punch to the gut. I'd been trying so hard to be a shield for her that I hadn't noticed I was becoming her cage. I was "handling" her. I was hovering. I was being exactly what she didn't need, even if I thought it was for her own good. Today, I want to be something else. Something better to ease her mind.
"Get your coat," I said. My voice was louder than I meant it to be, cutting through the silence of the room like a blunt knife.
Isabelle looked up at me, her grey eyes wide and startled. "What? Julien, class is in twenty minutes. Music Theory. We can't miss it."
"Forget Music theory. I'm serious. We're leaving." I grabbed my keys from the music stand, the metal clinking loudly. "Just for a few hours. I'm taking you somewhere where nobody knows about your scholarship, or your violin, or your name."
She looked at me for a long, long second. She was looking for the "Golden Boy," the one who followed every rule, but I wasn't him today. I was just a guy who couldn't stand to see her look that small anymore. Finally, she slowly started packing her violin.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice so soft I almost missed it.
Getting off campus was a piece of cake. The guards at the gate don't check the Rousseau car. They just see the family crest and wave me through like I'm royalty. It usually makes me feel guilty, but today, I just used it. I drove fast, pushing the car harder than I usually do, putting miles between us and those limestone walls and the perfect, fake hedges.
Once the city skyline started showing up on the horizon, all glass and grit and real life, I saw her shoulders finally drop. She rolled the window down, and the messy, unrefined wind of the city tangled her hair into a mess. She closed her eyes and breathed. She looked... normal. Not like the usual scholarship girl, not like a target. Just a normal teenage girl.
I took her to this tiny, cramped bookstore in the old district. The floors were loud and creaky and the whole place smelled like old paper, vanilla and dust. It's the kind of place where you can get lost for hours and nobody cares who your father is. We just walked. We didn't talk much and for the first time in months, we weren't "the Golden Boy" and "the charity case." We were just two teenagers.
We both reached for the same worn-out copy of a poetry book at the same time. Our fingers touched. I froze. My heart started thumping against my ribs like it was trying to break out of my chest. The heat of her skin felt like a literal electric shock. I pulled back first, feeling way too hot, my face probably turning red. I'm a Rousseau; I'm not supposed to be this easy to rattle.
She didn't seem to mind, though. She had this soft, real smile on her face, giggling at some of the weird titles on the shelves like a little kid in a candy store. She laughed so quietly, this private, shaky sound that was meant only for the few inches of space between us. It was the best thing I'd heard all week. Better than any concerto.
We didn't talk much after that. Just drove around until we found this field on the edge of town. With long, dead grass and a sky that looked like a giant purple and gold bruise as the sun started to go down. We sat on the hood of the car, the metal still warm from the drive. The silence was so heavy I felt like I could lean my whole weight against it.
"I'm sorry," I said. I had to say it. The words had been sitting in my throat like a lead weight.
Isabelle turned her head, looking at me with this weary, tired curiosity. "For what?"
"For Saturday. For trying to 'handle' you. I realized I was being way too much. Treating you like some object I had to protect because I thought I knew better. You're the strongest person I know, Isabelle. I forgot that because I was too busy being terrified that you'd break. I was trying to fix a world that's fundamentally broken and I ended up making you feel like you were the one who was broken."
Isabelle looked away, her fingers plucking at a loose thread on her navy cardigan. "I'm not that strong, Julien. I'm just... I'm so tired of being 'something' to everyone. To Arabella, I'm a target. To the school, I'm some mystery to solve. To you, I'm… I just want to be me. I just want to exist without it being a statement."
"You are you. You are Isabelle," I said. My voice went low. "And you should know something. I haven't been honest. About why I'm always hanging around. Why I can't seem to stay away from you."
I wanted to put my hand on her waist. I wanted to so bad, just to feel that she was real, but I kept my hand an inch away from the wool of her sweater. I was terrified of ruining the only good thing in my life. I was terrified that if I reached out, the dream would end. But the "Golden Boy" was done with the lies. I couldn't breathe behind the mask anymore.
"Just... just listen to me, okay? Don't say anything yet. I know this is a bad time. I know the whole school is being weird and you're stressed and the last thing you need is another person wanting something from you. But I can't keep this in. I've been thinking about you for months. In secret. In the middle of the night. Just... yearning for you."
She went dead still. She didn't move away, which I guess was a good sign, but she wouldn't look at me either. She was staring at the horizon as if she could disappear into it.
"I've tried to tell you a thousand times, but I'm a coward," I said, and I actually laughed at myself, a sharp, jagged sound. "I've loved you since the moment I first saw you. Not the 'violinist' everyone is obsessed with. Just you. Isabelle. The way you look at the world like you're trying to memorize every single detail. The girl who doesn't even realize how much better a room is just because she's standing in it."
I took a shaky breath. The composed Rousseau face was completely gone. I probably looked pathetic, but I didn't care.
"It's you, Isabelle. It's always been you. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you. Not because you're a project or someone who needs saving or something like that. But because you're all I can think about. When I'm in class, when I'm practicing, when I'm trying to sleep... you're like a melody I can't get out of my head."
I turned toward her, my eyes lingering a second too long, basically begging her to understand. I wanted to grab her, to tell her she never had to go back to those snakes at school.
"I don't want you to go back to them," I said and my voice actually cracked. God, I sounded like a mess. A total disaster. "I want you to stay right here. In this moment. Where it's safe. Where nobody can touch you. With me."
The silence that followed was brutal. It felt like an eternity. The wind died down, leaving nothing but the sound of my own heart slamming against my ribs. Isabelle finally looked up at me, her grey eyes looking kind of sad, kind of soft and totally heartbroken.
"Julien..." she started, her voice trembling.
"Please," I cut her off. I was desperate now. The words were just spilling out of me, messy and unrefined. "I... I like you. Like, I really, really like you. No. That's not even it. I care about you more than I care about myself. Okay, no. I... fuck, I love you, okay? I love you."
There it was. Raw. Messy. A total disaster of a confession. I didn't plan it this way. I wanted to be composed and use my words properly but I was just a guy on the hood of a car, sweating and shaking. I felt like I was on fire.
"Please... say something. Anything. Just tell me I haven't ruined everything."
Isabelle didn't say the words back. She leaned her head on my shoulder, her red hair brushing my neck and smelling like the city wind. She let out this long, shuddering breath that felt like she was finally letting go of a weight she'd been carrying for years.
"You're the only person who makes me feel like I'm not drowning, Julien," she murmured into the wool of my coat. "You're the only one who sees me. But everything is so loud right now. I can't even hear my own heart. I don't know what I feel, other than... I don't want you to go away."
I shut my eyes and rested my face against the top of her hair. It wasn't a "yes," and it wasn't the "I love you too" I'd been dreaming about, but it was enough for now. It had to be. I would wait. I would be her anchor even if staying in the friend-zone for another year killed me. I would be whatever she needed me to be.
"I know," I whispered. I found her hand and squeezed it, her fingers small and cold in mine. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. As long as you need. Forever, if that's what it takes."
The stars were starting to poke through the purple haze of the sky. I watched her from the corner of my eye as we sat there in the dark. A small, private smile appeared on her face when she thought I wasn't looking, a real smile. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I knew right then that I'd do anything just to keep her smiling like that.
I'd said it. The truth was out there, bleeding on the grass. And for the first time in forever, I felt like I could actually breathe.