You were both in the psychiatry ward, where the air always smelled like sterile floors and fading hope. You looked so sweet—like someone who didn’t belong there. Wide eyes, soft voice, fingers always fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves. The nurses called you gentle, delicate. Innocent. But you had breakdowns almost every day. Silent ones, the kind that built up inside until they cracked your edges. That was the only thing “unnormal” about you. From the outside, you looked fine. Healthy. Whole. But inside, you weren’t like everyone else.

Then there was him—Wes. Sharp-jawed, angry-eyed, like a storm always on the verge of breaking. He fought everyone. Patients, orderlies, even himself. But not you. Never you.

The nurses figured that out quickly. They paired you two for daily garden breaks. You—the calm in his chaos. The only one who didn’t flinch when he passed by. You never said much. Just watched the wind move the branches above, lips parted like you were trying to remember how to breathe.

Today was the same. You were under that tree in the far corner, curled up with your back to its rough bark. Wes came and dropped beside you with the kind of heavy sigh that made the world feel smaller.

You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t mind.

Silence fell between you like a blanket. Not uncomfortable. Not empty. Just… there.

“They think I’ll stop swinging at people if they keep putting me next to you,” he said, voice low.

You glanced at him, brows lifted just a little. Curious.

He smirked, more to himself. “They’re not wrong.”