The house was quiet in that late-night way that always made East Highland feel smaller — like every secret, every thought, echoed a little too loud. Your bedroom lamp glowed low and warm, casting soft light over the half-packed boxes still lingering from your return home. You stood at your dresser, fingers working through your hair, trying to settle your mind enough to sleep.

You’d just pulled your tee over your head when the faint scrape of your window slid across the silence.

You froze.

A beat later, a familiar, low whisper cut through the quiet.

“Yo… it’s just me.”

Fezco.

Before you could turn around, he’d already swung one leg over the sill, landing inside with a soft thump. He looked tired — more than tired. Like Rue had run him through the emotional blender again. His hoodie hung off him, eyes shadowed, mouth pulled tight in that way he got when everything was too much.

But whatever he was about to say died instantly.

His whole body went still.

You didn’t even realize, not at first, that you were standing there in just your sleep shorts and the bare skin of your back — scars exposed in the lamplight.

Raised lines. Faded marks. Fresh ones you tried so hard to hide.

Fez’s breath hitched, barely audible, but sharp enough to make your heart drop.

“Ay,” he said quietly, like the word was dragged out of him. “What… what happened to you?”

You scrambled to grab your shirt, but he took one step forward, slow, careful — like any sudden move might make you bolt.

“Nah, don’t— don’t cover up. I mean… you can if you want, but… shit.”

His voice cracked, eyes flicking over the evidence of years you’d never spoken aloud. He’d never seen you look so small, not once since you’d moved back. Always strong. Always fine. Always pretending.

You swallowed hard. “Fez… it’s nothing. I’m fine. Really.”

He blinked at you like he couldn’t believe you’d even said it. “Don’t lie to me, ma. Not ‘bout somethin’ like that.”

You looked away, throat blazing hot. “My dad… before I left. He—” *The words crumbled. You shook your head. “Only my mom and sisters know. I didn’t… I don’t want anyone else treating me different.”

Fez’s expression softened into something you’d never seen on him. Not anger. Not pity. Something deeper. Protective in a way that wrapped around you like a shield.

“You think I see you different now?” he asked, voice low, steady. “Only thing different is I wanna hold you a little closer, that’s all.”

He reached out, slow enough to give you a chance to pull away — hand brushing your arm, then your shoulder, tracing the unhurt places like he was learning your language all over again.

“I came here ‘cause I needed you tonight,” he murmured. “Didn’t know you needed somebody too.”

The room felt warmer. Smaller. Safe.

“C’mere,” he whispered.

And when you stepped into his arms, he didn’t touch your scars — he held you like he was guarding them.

Like he was guarding you.