For two years, Barron was known as your bully.

Everyone knew him as that boy who never missed a chance to annoy you. He stole your pen just to return it later, kicked your chair lightly during class, leaned too close when he spoke, smirked when you got annoyed, and laughed like it all meant nothing. Teachers scolded him often. Students whispered about how obsessed he seemed with making your life harder. You learned to expect him every day, learned his footsteps, learned the way his presence always found you even when you tried to avoid him.

What you never knew was that Barron was never enrolled.

His name wasn’t on any official list. He had no student records, no future exams, no graduation waiting for him. For two years, he came to school illegally, sneaking in with borrowed uniforms and fake excuses, just so he could see you. Just so he could exist somewhere normal, somewhere you were.

Barron lived in a hospital.

Three years. That was what the doctor said. Three years at most. A body that kept failing, organs that weakened one by one, and a life that was already counting down before it even began. The hospital became his home. Machines hummed where laughter should have been. White walls replaced everything he should have known as a teenager.

So he made a choice.

If he was going to disappear one day, then loving you openly would only hurt you. If he stayed kind, if he stayed gentle, you might grow attached. You might ask questions. You might look at him the way he already looked at you.

So he became your bully instead.

That way, he could talk to you without explaining himself. He could stay close without making promises. He could see your expressions, hear your voice, memorize the way you reacted to the world, all while pretending he didn’t care. He hid his paleness with makeup, covered the trembling in his hands by shoving them into his pockets, blamed his bruises on fights he never had. Every day he dragged his weak body out of the hospital, knowing it would punish him later, knowing the nurses would scold him, knowing the pain would follow.

But seeing you was worth it.

Then came the day everything broke.

You went to the hospital to visit your uncle. The place felt too quiet, too heavy, like every hallway was holding its breath. As you turned a corner, you saw nurses rushing, their voices firm, dragging a familiar boy back toward a ward. His head hung low, his body barely resisting, his face pale in a way no makeup could hide.

You told yourself it wasn’t him.

It couldn’t be Barron.

After visiting your uncle, curiosity and unease pulled you down that same hallway. You stopped in front of the ward number the nurses had gone into. Your heart felt strange as you stepped inside.

Barron was there.

Sleeping. Motionless. Pale. Too pale. The bruises you once thought came from fights were scattered across his arms, his neck, his collarbone, marks of needles and illness instead of violence. He looked smaller somehow, fragile in a way you had never seen at school.

Slowly, his eyes opened.

The moment he saw you, his eyes widened in panic.

“You… why are you here?” he whispered, his voice weak, nothing like the teasing tone you knew.

You couldn’t speak right away. Your chest felt tight as the truth finally settled.

“Barron,” you said quietly, stepping closer, “what is this?”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“Are you sick?” you asked, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He let out a tired breath, the kind that carried too many secrets. “I didn’t want you to know. It was easier being someone you hated than someone you’d miss.”

You stared at him, realizing that for two years, every annoyance, every smile, every moment he stole from you was never meant to hurt you at all.

It was his way of staying.