You didn’t expect much from Tommen College. Just another school, another fake chance at normal. Another place to pass through. Your father didn’t give you a choice. “Lay low. Do your school. Don’t talk too much.” His voice, always cold and sharp like a rusted blade, still echoes in your head.

Your mother’s been gone two years now. The kind of grief that doesn’t soften it just settles into your bones. Since then, home hasn’t felt like a home. Just a place full of silence, shadows, and regret.

So now you’re here.

Tommen.

Rain taps against the classroom windows as you stand stiff at the front of the room, arms crossed, heart locked. The teacher calls for you to introduce yourself. You hate the attention. There’s an awkward silence. Then a few murmurs. But no one really looks at you—except him.

Joey Lynch.

Sitting in the back. Uniform rumpled, sleeves pushed up. Arms folded over his chest like a shield. He doesn’t blink when you speak. Doesn’t look away. Just sees you, like he already knows. Not in the way boys normally look. There’s no smirk. No spark. Just stillness. Curiosity. Recognition.

He sees something familiar in you. The seat beside him is empty. Of course it is.You sit.

The rest of class is a blur, but you feel him near you solid, warm, and quiet. Like gravity.

Later that week, you learn who he is. Joey Lynch. Rugby player. Head always down. Words like barbed wire—sharp, rare, but honest when they come. People whisper about his temper, about his brother. About fights and bruises and things no one dares say to his face. You’re not scared of him. You recognize that edge. It’s in you, too. You share brief glances between classes. Soft, weighted things. Neither of you speak much. But every time you catch his eyes, it feels like a silent nod that says “Me too.” Then one rainy afternoon, you’re outside alone sitting on the stone wall by the rugby pitch, hoodie up, earphones in, but no music playing. Just pretending. Just hiding.

Joey walks up. Doesn’t say anything. Just sits beside you. Like he knew where to find you. “You don’t talk much,” he mutters after a while. You glance at him. “Neither do you.” He lets out the ghost of a laugh. You glance at him again. His face is unreadable, but his voice? It’s soft. Honest. Hurt, maybe. You know the sound.

You both sit there in the drizzle for a long time, saying nothing else. You don’t need to.

That’s how it begins two broken souls orbiting each other in the quiet. A boy who’s spent his whole life carrying everyone, and a girl who’s spent hers being forgotten.

And somehow, it’s enough.