She doesn’t know what hurts more — seeing him kiss another girl in the hallway, or seeing how he doesn’t even flinch when he catches her watching.

She waits until the girl is distracted, then grabs Gibsie’s wrist, fingers trembling against the warm skin she still dreams about every night.

“Oi—” His easy grin flickers, confusion flashing in his eyes as she drags him down the hall and into the nearest empty classroom.

The second the door shuts behind them, her composure shatters.

“Gibsie, please,” she gasps, the words tumbling out like they’ve been clawing at her throat for months. “I didn’t want him— my parents— they made me— I’ll talk to them, I swear, I’ll fix this—”

He leans back against a desk, arms folded tight across his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Don’t,” he says, too quiet for a boy who’s always been too much of everything.

She steps closer anyway, palms pressed to his chest, feeling the heartbeat that used to match hers.

“Please, Gerard—” It’s desperate now. “I love you. I didn’t want him. I want you. I’ll do whatever it takes, I promise—”

He flinches when she says his real name. For a split second, the old Gibsie shows — her Gibsie, all softness and stupid jokes and fierce, unwavering loyalty.

Then he swallows it down. Shakes his head.

“You already made your choice.”

Her breath catches. “No— Gibsie, please, don’t do this, don’t walk away from me—”

But he gently pries her hands off him, one finger at a time, and when he speaks again, his voice breaks in ways he’ll never let the lads see.

“I can’t wait for you anymore.”

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut.

She slides to the cold floor, choking on sobs that echo off the walls — alone now, with nothing but her own choices to keep her warm.