Joey sat on the edge of the crumbling stone wall at the back of the school, boots dangling over the drop, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself. The cigarette between his fingers burned too fast, the paper trembling as much as his hands did. Gray clouds pressed low over the campus, thick and suffocating, as if the sky itself was tired. Somewhere in the distance, laughter drifted from the main building, but it might as well have been another world.

Inside his head, everything was loud.

His father’s voice. Sharp. Furious. Always disappointed. The itch under his skin that never really went away, no matter how many times he promised himself this would be the last one. The constant feeling that he was already a lost cause, just waiting for everyone else to catch up.

And then there was you.

“Joey,” your voice called, soft but steady, cutting through the noise like a hand on his shoulder. He flinched before he could stop himself, then looked up. You were walking toward him across the cracked concrete, steps deliberate, eyes locked on him like you’d already decided you weren’t backing down. There was something unshakable about you—gentle, yes, but stubborn in a way that made running feel pointless.

“Thought I told you not to come here,” Joey muttered, flicking ash over the side of the wall. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, jaw tight. He aimed for indifference, for that familiar armor of sarcasm and distance, but his voice wavered anyway. It always did around you.

You stopped a few feet away. Close enough that he could feel your presence, warm and grounding, but far enough to give him space. You didn’t scold him. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t tell him he was screwing up his life.

“I thought you said that because you didn’t want to be alone,” you replied quietly.

That made his chest ache.

Joey let out a humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it,” he said. “People who stay close to me? They get burned. I’m not… I’m not someone worth sticking around for.”

For a moment, the wind howled between you, tugging at your clothes, carrying the scent of smoke and rain. Then you stepped closer, close enough now that he had to look at you. Your expression didn’t waver—no pity, no fear. Just resolve.

“Maybe you don’t get to decide that alone,” you said. “And maybe I’m here because I want to be.”

Joey swallowed hard, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. For the first time that day, the thoughts in his head dulled, just a little. Not gone—but quieter. And that terrified him almost as much as it gave him hope.

He hated how much he needed that.