Sebastian's POV
Ray didn't talk today.
Let me say that again:
Ray. Didn't. Talk. Today.
No "Good morning, Seb!"
No compliments to Ava's earrings.
No offering Austin a bite of whatever ridiculously sugary pastry she'd brought wrapped in pink napkins.
No asking the professor if he liked her unicorn pen.
Nothing.
She just walked in wearing black.
Black.
Not pastel pink or buttery yellow. Not lilac or mint green.
Black jeans. Black hoodie. Black scrunchie pulling her usually loose hair into a messy bun.
Even her glittery pencil pouch was gone.
It was like someone had taken a paintbrush and drained the color out of her.
And she sat two seats away from me—on purpose, I think.
No smile.
No napkins.
No sunshine.
I couldn't focus in class. Not really.
My eyes kept drifting to her. The way she fiddled with the sleeves of her hoodie. The way her shoulders were slightly curled in, like she was bracing herself. Like she expected something worse to come.
At first I thought maybe she was sick. Or tired.
But then—during break—I saw her in the hallway. Alone.
And I saw her eyes.
Red-rimmed.
Like she'd been crying.
And I just… knew.
She'd heard them.
Those girls.
Every awful word.
Every lie.
Every venom-laced giggle that tried to shrink her sunshine into something dirty.
She'd heard it.
And now, she was quiet.
I didn't even think before walking toward her. Didn't stop to ask myself why it mattered so much. Or why my chest felt like it was made of smoke and knives.
She was standing near the lockers, pretending to scroll through her phone. I could see her lip trembling.
I didn't say her name.
I just said, "Ray."
She looked up slowly.
Her eyes met mine.
Wide. Glassy. Cracked.
Then she blinked once—and the next second, she was walking toward me.
And then—
She hugged me.
No warning. No hesitation.
She just threw herself into my chest like it was the only safe place in the world, her arms curling around me, her fingers clutching the back of my hoodie like she'd fall apart if she let go.
And I—
I stood there, arms frozen, mind blank, heart a mess.
She was crying.
Not just sniffling.
Sobbing. Silently. Into my neck.
Her voice came out in broken, muffled pieces.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered. "I was just being nice."
I swallowed hard.
"They said I'm fake. That I… flirt. That I talk too much. That I want attention. But I—I just—"
She hiccuped, breath shaky. "I thought being kind was enough."
I wrapped my arms around her then.
Tight.
And I said the first honest thing that came to my mind.
"They're just afraid of what they'll never be."
She didn't respond.
But her sobs slowed. Her fingers loosened a little. Her breath steadied.
And in that moment—holding her there, in that quiet hallway—I realized something terrifying and obvious and real:
I'd kill to protect this girl's light.
Even if she never spoke to me again. Even if she never called me "Seb" with that annoying little smirk. Even if she gave her stupid sparkly napkins to someone else.
I'd still burn the world down before I let anyone dim her.