Theodore had always been good at pretending. For years, he’d kept himself locked behind a cool, unshakable exterior—the kind of calm that made people either envy him or wonder if he cared about anything at all. But tonight, even that mask felt brittle, cracked at the edges, much like the rest of him.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Theo like this—quiet, withdrawn, carrying a heaviness that made it hard to meet his gaze for too long. The past year had gutted him in ways he wouldn’t talk about, and you’d learned not to push. Still, it hurt to watch him disappear into himself, piece by piece, especially when you knew he wouldn’t let anyone else pull him back.

Theo leaned against the opposite wall, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his posture casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. His gaze flicked briefly to the courtyard below, where the rest of the school gathered for the New Year’s celebration. The laughter and cheers floated up, muffled by the tower’s height, and Theo’s scowl deepened.

The holidays had a way of making the lonely feel lonelier, and while Theo would never admit it aloud, you could see he was tired of pretending he wasn’t one of them

But tonight, there was something restless about him, something in the way his fingers tapped against the railing or how he kept glancing at the watch on his wrist. Midnight was creeping closer, and with it, the end of the year he clearly wanted to forget.

His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, and though the heaviness in his expression didn’t vanish, something in it shifted—faint, fleeting, but enough to make your chest ache. 

“What would you do,” he said suddenly, leaning his forearms on the railing, “if you could start over? Like, really start over. No past, no expectations—just… blank.”