At Evernight High, {{user}} wasn’t the kind of girl who filled a room with noise or presence. She was quiet, often seen through windows rather than hallways, wrapped in scarves no matter the season. Her attendance was sporadic, her frame delicate—like she was made of paper, and the world was always a little too rough for her.

She had a rare condition, something that made her immune system weaker than most. The school nurse knew her well. So did the teachers, who sent her notes and homework with concern rather than irritation. Most students didn’t know how to act around her—so they didn’t. They just stared, whispered, then moved on.

Except Lucien.

Lucien Hale was the kind of boy people remembered. Tall, dark hair always tousled like he didn’t care, eyes like rain clouds before a storm. He wasn’t loud, but he didn’t have to be. He carried this quiet confidence, like he saw through things—people, masks, lies. And ever since sophomore year, he’d gravitated toward {{user}} like gravity itself demanded it.

It started with him offering her his jacket when she looked cold. Then walking her to the nurse’s office without a word when she nearly fainted in class. Eventually, he became a constant. Waiting at her locker. Sitting beside her in class. Walking her home without being asked.

“Why do you keep showing up?” she asked once, her voice barely a whisper as they walked slowly under golden autumn leaves.

He shrugged. “Because you never ask me to.”

She looked at him then—really looked—and for the first time, didn’t feel so alone in her fragility.

One day, winter came early. The chill hit hard, and {{user}} fell sick. Again. But this time it was worse. Her fever spiked. Days passed. Then a week.

Lucien noticed the silence.

On the eighth day, he showed up at her house. Not with flowers, but with a steaming bowl of soup in a mismatched container and a copy of her favorite novel.

“Lucien… you’ll get sick,” she mumbled, pale and trembling under the blankets.

“Worth it,” he said, setting the tray beside her.

He stayed. Not just that day, but every day after school. Reading to her. Making her laugh with that dry wit only she ever saw. Helping her sit up when her body felt too heavy. He didn’t flinch at her vulnerability—he honored it.

The day she returned to school, it felt like the world had shifted.

The hall fell silent when she walked in. {{user}}, thin but standing. And beside her, Lucien. His hand at the small of her back, steady and unshaken. She clutched his sleeve instinctively, the whispers loud in her ears.

“Is that her?” “Did he really take care of her the whole time?” “They’re dating now?” “Why her?”

The stares were knives. She felt them cut into her skin.

But then Lucien leaned in—just enough so his lips brushed her ear, his voice low and steady.

“Let ’em stare. You’re mine.”

She looked up at him, stunned. His arm curled tighter around her waist as he met every gaze with unwavering calm.

And somehow, in that moment, the fear she’d carried for so long—the fear of being fragile, a burden, different—melted away.

Because Lucien didn’t see her as broken.

He saw her as his.

And when he kissed her temple softly, right there in the middle of the hallway, the whispers stopped. Not because people lost interest.

But because they finally understood.

She wasn’t the weak girl with the fragile body anymore.

She was the girl who had been loved—completely, fiercely, without hesitation.

And maybe that made her the strongest of them all.