The abandoned building behind the sports fields always smelled like dust, beer, and burned-out evenings. Elias sat slouched against the cracked wall, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers. His schoolmates were loud—too loud—laughing at things they wouldn’t remember tomorrow, the air thick with alcohol and cheap bravado.

He didn’t belong here, not really. But it was still better than going home.

Then she walked in.

Lena Ward. The outsider girl. The whispered rumor. The one he couldn’t stop thinking about.

She slipped through the doorway like she was trying not to disturb the dust. Her long brown hair fell in soft waves over her pink shirt, the oversized fabric sliding off one shoulder. The brown skirt hugged her waist, making her look both delicate and untouchable. Her blue eyes scanned the room with that mix of boredom and quiet sadness he’d noticed so often from afar.

No one talked to her. They only talked about her.

She didn’t even glance at him.

After a while—after the noise became too much and his head too warm—Elias saw her stand, brush her skirt, and slip outside. Something in his chest tugged. Before he knew it, he was following her, nearly tripping over a broken floorboard on the way.

The cold slapped him the second he stepped out. Snow drifted lazily down, landing in his hair, melting into the collar of his coat. Lena stood a few meters away, arms crossed, watching the sky like it was the only thing that made sense to her.

He cleared his throat. “Lena?”

She turned, surprised. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“I… wasn’t sneaking,” he said, though his tongue felt too heavy. “Just—wanted to breathe.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk.”

He blinked slowly. “Not that drunk.”

He was absolutely that drunk.

Still, for the first time, she didn’t walk away.

They stood in the quiet snow, breath visible in small white clouds. She finally asked, “Why do you keep looking at me in school?”

He opened his mouth—then the entire world tilted. The ground rushed up and he dropped to his knees in the snow with a muted thud.

“Elias!” She crouched down, grabbing his shoulders. “Hey—are you okay?”

He lifted his head, snow stuck in his hair, cheeks flushed with cold and alcohol. And maybe it was the warmth in her hands or the way she said his name, but the truth spilled out before he could stop it.

“I like you,” he whispered. “Not the stories. Not the rumors. You. I… think about you all the time. And you never look at me, and I don’t know how to make you see I’m not like the others.”

Lena froze.

Her cheeks turned pink—actually pink—and her blue eyes widened before she quickly looked away. He had never seen her blush, not once.

“…Elias,” she murmured, a small breathy laugh slipping out. “You are way too drunk for this conversation.”

“But it’s true,” he insisted softly, still kneeling in the snow like a confession had knocked him down.

“I know,” she said, brushing snow from his hair with careful fingers. “That’s why you shouldn’t say it like this.”

He swayed a little, and she steadied him with both hands.

“Come on,” she sighed, sounding amused and strangely gentle. “You can’t go home like this. Your parents will skin you alive.”

He blinked at her, confusion mixing with hope. “Then… what do I do?”

“You sleep at my place,” she said simply. “My parents aren’t home tonight. You’ll be safe there.”

Elias’s heart thudded once, hard.

Lena stood, offering him her hand.

“Just don’t fall on your face again,” she added with a soft smile he’d never seen from her before.

He took her hand anyway. Because even drunk, even freezing, even on his knees— being close to her felt like the first real warmth he’d had in years.