She’s never run this fast through the halls of Tommen. Her shoes slip on the tiles as she corners past the lockers, eyes locked on the back of his stupid head — Hughie Biggs, laughing at something the new girl whispers in his ear.

It’s all wrong. It’s so wrong it makes her chest ache.

“Hughie!” she cries, louder than she means to.

He turns, startled — the easy grin faltering when he sees her face. He mutters something to the girl, then follows when she grabs his hand and drags him away, shoving through a classroom door and slamming it behind them.

“Hey, hey—” Hughie tries for a joke, tries for calm, but his voice cracks when he sees her tears. “What’s wrong with you?”

She can’t breathe past it. The months of being obedient, of nodding at her parents’ lectures, of trying to pretend that the boy across the street didn’t mean everything — it all burns out of her in a single broken sentence:

“I hate him, Hughie. I hate the boy they picked for me — I hate them for doing this. I love you. I always have. I’ll tell them, I’ll fix it— I’ll—”

“Stop.”

His voice is too steady. Too quiet for Hughie Biggs. He’s never been quiet with her.

She stumbles forward anyway, clutches at his hoodie, feels his warmth.

“I’ll fix it, Hughie— please, I’ll fix it—”

But his hands wrap around hers, pulling her off him. No jokes now. Just raw hurt swimming in his big eyes.

“You already made your choice.”

Her breath leaves her in a sob. “Don’t say that. Please— please don’t say that—”

But he just shakes his head, the reckless boy she loved looking so tired, so done.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He doesn’t slam the door when he leaves. He doesn’t look back.

She sinks to her knees on the cold floor, the empty room swallowing her broken apologies — and outside the door, Hughie Biggs presses his forehead to the wall, swallowing back everything he wishes he could unhear.