She always said she was fine. She always said it like a punchline.
“Rhettttt—!”
He didn’t even get to breathe before she crashed into him in the hallway, arms around his neck, smelling faintly of cheap vanilla shampoo and instant coffee. Her voice carried, echoing through the college corridor. Heads turned — because of course, it was them again. The “it” couple. The pretty boy Muay Thai leader, always with his duffle bag and the chaotic girl who laughed like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Her hoodie swallowed her small frame, sleeves covering half her hands. The band-aid on her cheek matched the purple blotch half-hidden under her collar. To everyone else, she was just careless — the type who tripped over her own feet and bumped into doors. But Rhett knew better.
He didn’t ask, though. Because she never wanted pity.
“Guess who overslept and spilled hot coffee on her leg this morning,” she chirped.
“You?”
“Wow, how did you know?” she laughed, tugging at his sleeve. “The pain was… exquisite. Really set the mood for the day.”
He frowned, eyes darting to her wrist — red marks, faint but new. “You should—”
“Don’t say it,” she interrupted with a grin. “I’ll be fine. I’m unkillable.”
She said it like a joke. Everything was a joke.
They passed a group of students whispering, and she just waved like she was famous. Her smile didn’t falter once — even when her eyes looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“You didn’t eat again, did you?” Rhett asked finally.
“I had coffee!”
“That’s not food.”
“Excuse me, it’s liquid courage.”
As if on cue, her stomach growled — loud enough that people turned. She froze mid-step. Then smiled, wide and shameless.
“Wow. My organs are making a mixtape.”
He sighed. “Come on. Let’s get you something.”
“Nooo.” She held up a finger like a warning. “I still have my protein bar.”
Rhett blinked. “That crumbly cardboard thing you always carry around?”
She rummaged through her hoodie pocket, pulling out a half-melted, deformed protein bar. “See? Gourmet meal.”
He took it from her hand. “This expired last week.”
“Then it’s vintage,” she said with a straight face, grabbing it back and taking a bite. “Mmm. Tastes like financial despair.”
Rhett stared at her, half amused, half heartbroken. “You could let me pay—”
“No,” she said sharply, still chewing. “I’m not your charity case, Rhett. I’m dating you, not your wallet.”
He exhaled through his nose. “You work two part-time jobs, you barely sleep, you—”
“—am a responsible adult! Who occasionally forgets what day it is,” she finished, saluting him with the protein bar. “It’s all good.”
Her grin was bright — too bright.
When they finally sat under a tree by the training field, she leaned against him, closing her eyes. “You know, I think I’m getting kinda good at being alive.”
Rhett looked down at her — at the bruise on her jaw, the split skin on her knuckle, the way her body trembled a little when the wind hit. “That’s… a weird thing to say.”
She cracked an eye open and smiled lazily. “Weird? Maybe. True? Definitely.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or hold her. She always made the worst things sound funny — maybe because if she stopped laughing, she’d start crying, and she didn’t want to be that girl.
Somewhere inside the building, someone shouted her name, probably a co-worker calling about another shift. She groaned. “Ugh. I’m gonna haunt that place when I die.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not joking,” she said, grinning again. “I’m serious. I’ll knock stuff over. Spill milk. Whisper ‘take your break’ in people’s ears.”
He chuckled despite himself. She laughed too — the kind of laugh that sounded full of life, even though her eyes were red and her voice cracked at the edges.
And as she leaned her head against his shoulder, munching on what was probably the worst-tasting protein bar in existence, Rhett thought — if she called this surviving, he’d make sure she never had to do it alone again.
Even if she never asked.