Morning arrived quietly.
Not peacefully.
Peace implied comfort, and comfort was something I had stopped associating with mornings a long time ago.
The city outside my apartment window was already awake by the time I opened my eyes, pale sunlight slipping through the curtains in thin silver lines that stretched across the floorboards like fractures. Somewhere below, distant traffic moved endlessly through the streets. People beginning their routines. Their performances.
I stayed still for a few seconds longer, staring at the ceiling above me.
Most people woke up feeling something immediately.
Stress. Motivation. Loneliness. Excitement.
I usually woke up empty first.
Then the thinking started.
Slowly, I sat up and reached for the glass of water near my bedside table, taking a quiet sip as my gaze drifted toward the clock.
6:12 AM.
Too early for normal people. Perfect for observation.
The world revealed itself more honestly before it fully woke up.
I stood, walking toward the window barefoot, fingers lightly brushing the curtain aside. The streets below still looked cold from last night's rain, the sidewalks reflecting faint traces of morning light. A woman hurried across the road carrying coffee in one hand and exhaustion in the other. Two men argued beside a parked motorcycle. Someone laughed too loudly somewhere nearby.
Humans were loud creatures.
Even sadness became theatrical eventually.
My phone buzzed softly against the desk behind me.
One notification.
Marcos.
A faint smile almost formed before disappearing again.
Almost.
I picked the phone up.
You disappeared last night.
Another message immediately underneath.
Rude.
I stared at the screen for a moment.
Then typed slowly.
And yet you're texting me again.
Seen.
Typing.
Stopped.
Typing again.
Predictable.
I set the phone back down before the next message arrived.
Because some people became more interesting when they were denied immediate access.
And Marcos—
Marcos was becoming very interesting.
The campus looked different in the morning.
Cleaner. Less desperate.
Students moved through the pathways carrying coffees and unfinished sleep, conversations blending together beneath the pale gray sky overhead. The fountain near the center courtyard reflected shifting light across the pavement while distant music played faintly from someone's speaker nearby.
Artificial life.
Temporary people creating temporary memories inside temporary buildings.
Most of them would forget each other within a year.
Maybe less.
I walked through the front gates quietly, one hand in my coat pocket as my gaze drifted across the crowd instinctively. Patterns revealed themselves quickly when you watched long enough.
The couples walking too close already. The lonely people pretending not to care. The loud groups built entirely on mutual insecurity. The attractive ones weaponizing attention without even realizing it.
Everything repeated eventually.
People called it individuality because they feared the idea that they were predictable.
A voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts.
"Lune!"
Melisa.
Of course.
I turned slightly as she hurried toward me with her usual dramatic energy, iced coffee in one hand and emotional instability in the other.
"Do you ever answer texts?" she demanded immediately.
"Sometimes."
"You left me on delivered for eleven hours."
"I was hoping you'd grow as a person during the silence."
She stared at me flatly. "You're actually evil."
"Exaggeration."
"No," she said seriously. "Clinical evil."
A quiet laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Melisa blinked.
"You laughed."
"Did I?"
"Oh my God," she whispered dramatically. "Character development."
I ignored her and continued walking toward the building entrance. She followed instantly.
Naturally.
Emotionally dependent people attached themselves quickly once they felt acknowledged.
"So," she continued, lowering her voice slightly, "I saw Marcos this morning."
I glanced at her briefly. "And?"
"And he looked sleep deprived."
"Maybe he has problems."
"Maybe you're the problem."
More accurate.
But I didn't say that aloud.
Instead, I pushed open the lecture hall doors and stepped inside.
The room was only half full, quiet conversations drifting between rows of seats while students settled in slowly. I recognized Marcos immediately near the back row, leaning lazily in his chair with one earbud in, phone resting loosely in his hand.
He looked up the second I entered.
Interesting.
Some people searched for others unconsciously once attachment started developing.
Marcos watched me for exactly two seconds before a faint smirk appeared.
There it is.
Melisa noticed immediately. "Oh my God," she muttered beside me. "There's tension already."
"Tension is everywhere," I replied calmly. "Most people are just too emotionally unintelligent to recognize it."
"That sounded disturbingly serial killer-ish."
I walked past her toward the back anyway.
Marcos pulled his earbud out as I approached. "You ignored me."
"You survived."
"Barely."
I sat beside him without responding.
For a moment, silence settled naturally between us while students continued filing into the room.
Then quietly—
"You always do that."
I glanced at him. "Do what?"
"Disappear in the middle of conversations."
"I leave when interactions stop becoming interesting."
"And if the other person still wants to talk?"
My gaze rested on him briefly.
"That's usually when people reveal the most about themselves."
Something flickered across his expression again.
That same uncertainty from yesterday.
Like he still hadn't decided whether I fascinated him or unsettled him more.
Probably both.
The professor entered moments later, cutting the conversation short as lectures began drowning the room in academic monotony.
Hours passed slowly after that.
Too slowly.
By afternoon, even the air inside the classrooms felt exhausted.
The final lecture ended beneath the dull sound of chairs dragging against the floor and students rushing toward freedom like survivors escaping captivity. Conversations immediately exploded back into existence the second authority disappeared.
Predictable.
I slipped my notebook into my bag calmly before standing.
"You leaving already?" Marcos asked.
"That's generally how classes ending works."
"I meant—"
"I know what you meant."
He laughed quietly under his breath before standing too.
We walked into the hallway together, students moving around us in loud clusters while sunlight poured through the massive windows lining the corridor walls.
Then I saw him.
Standing near the front entrance.
Asher.
My steps slowed automatically.
Tall. Dark clothes. Hands shoved carelessly into his pockets.
Watching me.
The familiar irritation arrived instantly.
Beside me, Marcos noticed the shift in my expression. "You know him?"
Unfortunately.
Asher's eyes met mine almost immediately before he started walking toward us casually, like he belonged there.
He didn't.
"What are you doing here?" I asked flatly once he stopped in front of me.
"Nice to see you too."
"Answer the question."
He tilted his head slightly, amused already. "I came to pick you up."
"I don't remember asking."
"You weren't answering your phone."
"Because I didn't want to."
A faint smirk touched his lips. "You're difficult."
"And you're intrusive."
Marcos stayed quiet beside me, observing carefully now.
Smart.
Asher glanced toward him briefly before looking back at me. "You skipping family dinners now too?"
"I skip things that waste my time."
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
Barely visible.
But there.
Interesting.
"I drove all the way here," he said calmly. "The least you could do is stop acting hostile for five minutes."
"I could also walk away right now."
"You could try."
Something cold slipped beneath the sentence.
Subtle. Possessive.
I felt irritation curl quietly beneath my ribs.
Dangerous territory.
"Asher," I said softly, "move."
Instead, his hand reached toward my arm.
And before he could touch me—
"What exactly is your problem?"
Marcos.
The tension shifted instantly.
I turned slightly as Marcos stepped forward beside me, gaze fixed directly on Asher now.
Interesting.
Asher looked him over slowly. "And you are?"
"Someone asking why you're grabbing her like she belongs to you."
A pause.
Then Asher laughed once. Short. Mocking.
"And who are you to interfere?"
The hallway around us had already started slowing.
People noticing.
Watching.
Humans loved conflict as long as it wasn't happening to them.
Marcos didn't move. "You should back off."
"And if I don't?"
Neither of them looked away.
Testosterone was such a fragile thing.
I should've stopped it immediately.
Instead—
I stayed silent.
Because watching people lose composure over me was strangely revealing.
Marcos looked calm on the surface, but tension already sat sharp beneath his posture. Protective instinct mixed with jealousy faster than most men realized.
And Asher—
Asher hated losing control of situations.
Especially involving me.
"This doesn't concern you," Asher said coldly.
Marcos smiled slightly. "Looks like it does now."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
For a second, I almost enjoyed it.
Then Asher spoke again.
And everything changed.
"Stay away from her," he said quietly, eyes darkening. "Lune is mine."
Silence.
The words hit something sharp inside me before I could stop it.
Mine.
For one horrible second—
A different voice overlapped his.
Different room. Different hands. Different darkness.
Mine.
My heartbeat stopped.
Then slammed back violently.
Something inside me snapped cold.
Not fear.
Worse.
Anger.
Real anger.
The kind I almost never allowed myself to feel because anger made people careless.
And careless people bled.
The air around me suddenly felt too tight.
Too loud.
My gaze lifted toward Asher slowly.
Very slowly.
He noticed the change immediately.
So did Marcos.
Because for the first time since either of them met me—
My expression cracked.
Not sadness.
Not discomfort.
Fury.
Pure and sharp enough to cut through bone.
"Asher," I said softly.
Too softly.
His confidence faltered instantly.
"You should be very careful with the words you choose around me."
The hallway had gone completely silent now.
Even strangers were staring.
Good.
Let them.
Because something dark had already started rising beneath my skin, and suddenly I wanted people to see what happened when patience finally died.
"You don't own me," I continued quietly. "You never will."
My voice remained calm.
That was the terrifying part.
"You confuse proximity with possession." A faint smile touched my lips, cold enough to make Asher visibly tense. "And men like you always mistake obsession for authority."
"Asher—"
"No."
I stepped closer before he could speak again.
Close enough for only him to hear the next sentence.
"If anyone ever speaks about me like I'm something they can claim again—"
My eyes locked onto his.
"I'll make them regret surviving long enough to say it."
Silence.
Real silence.
Not awkwardness. Not tension.
Fear.
Small.
Barely visible.
But finally there.
And suddenly I couldn't breathe properly.
Not because of him.
Because memories were moving again beneath my skin like ghosts dragging themselves awake.
I turned immediately.
And walked away.
Fast.
The crowd parted instinctively around me.
Behind me, voices blurred together faintly before disappearing beneath the noise in my head.
Footsteps followed almost instantly.
Of course they did.
Rain began before I realized where I was going.
The first drops fell quietly against the pavement as I crossed the far side of campus, clouds swallowing the sky above in heavy shades of gray. Students hurried past me toward buildings and shelters, laughing as they ran from the weather.
I kept walking.
Thoughtlessly.
The wind moved colder now, carrying the scent of rain-soaked concrete and distant thunder through the empty pathways.
Somewhere behind me—
Marcos still followed.
Persistent.
Eventually the campus buildings disappeared behind rows of trees, the noise fading until only rainfall remained.
And then I stopped.
The old greenhouse stood hidden behind the abandoned botanical section near the edge of campus grounds, half covered in ivy and years of neglect. Most students didn't even know it existed anymore.
Glass walls. Rusting metal frames. Rain sliding endlessly down transparent ceilings overhead.
Beautiful in a decaying way.
I stepped inside quietly.
The air smelled like wet earth and forgotten things.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Rain hammered softly against the glass above while water dripped somewhere deeper inside the greenhouse in slow, uneven rhythms.
I stared ahead.
Trying to steady the noise inside my head again.
Marcos remained near the entrance at first before finally speaking.
"What happened back there?"
His voice was quieter now.
Careful.
I said nothing.
Rainfall filled the silence instead.
He stepped closer slowly. "Lune."
Still silence.
Then—
"You got angry."
The observation almost sounded disbelieving.
Interesting.
I glanced toward the cracked glass ceiling above us. "People usually do."
"Not you."
No.
Not me.
Because anger required vulnerability. And vulnerability was dangerous.
Especially for someone like me.
The rain grew heavier outside, thunder rolling faintly across the sky while cold light filtered through the greenhouse windows in pale fragments.
Marcos watched me carefully now.
Like he was seeing something entirely different from the girl he'd built in his mind.
Good.
People should feel uncertain around me.
"It's nothing," I said finally.
"That's obviously not true."
I smiled faintly. "Observation skills. Impressive."
"Lune."
This time my name sounded frustrated.
Closer.
I turned toward him slowly.
Water droplets slid from dark strands of hair across his forehead from the rain outside. His breathing was still uneven from following me across campus, but his eyes remained fixed on mine with that same relentless intensity that had been growing stronger every hour around me.
He really didn't know when to stop.
Dangerous trait.
"He said something," Marcos continued carefully. "And you reacted like—"
"Like what?"
He hesitated.
For the first time since meeting me, Marcos actually looked unsure of what words were safe.
Interesting.
"Like it hurt you."
A quiet laugh escaped me.
Soft. Humorless.
"People don't hurt me that easily."
"Then why did you look like that?"
Because some words rot long after they're spoken.
Because memory is cruel.
Because there are certain sentences that never really leave your body once they've been forced into it enough times.
But instead I said—
"Sometimes people accidentally touch things that should've stayed buried."
His expression shifted slightly.
The rain echoed louder against the greenhouse roof now, surrounding us completely.
"What happened to you?" he asked quietly.
There it was again.
That question.
Everyone eventually asked it in different ways.
What happened to you? Why are you like this? Who made you this cold?
As if people needed tragedy to explain detachment.
Maybe they were right.
I looked away from him slowly, gaze drifting toward dying vines curled around the greenhouse walls.
"You ask too many questions."
"And you avoid every real answer."
"Not every answer deserves to be spoken."
A pause.
Then softly—
"You can tell me."
That almost made me smile again.
Humans always said that before discovering truths they weren't built to carry.
The storm darkened outside, lightning briefly illuminating the greenhouse in pale silver flashes.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then Marcos stepped closer again.
Too close now.
Close enough that I could hear the rainwater dripping from his jacket onto the floor between us.
Then, without another word, Marcos pulled his jacket off.
The movement was quiet. Careful.
Not dramatic enough to call attention to itself.
But I noticed anyway.
Of course I did.
He stepped closer slowly, the dark fabric hanging loosely from his hand for a second before he lifted it slightly toward me in silent offering.
Not forcing. Not touching.
Just there.
Like he couldn't stand watching me stand in the cold any longer.
Interesting.
Most people touched too quickly when they cared about someone. Humans were selfish with concern. They used affection like proof of ownership, always reaching before they understood whether they were welcome to.
But Marcos stopped himself.
That was the difference.
"You don't have to act okay all the time."
The sentence lingered strangely in the air between the sound of rain and thunder.
Because he meant it sincerely.
No manipulation. No performance.
Just genuine concern.
And somehow—
That felt more dangerous than obsession.
His eyes stayed on mine as he moved behind me slightly, careful enough that even the air between us barely shifted, before the jacket settled gently over my shoulders.
Warmth followed immediately.
So did silence.
No contact. Not even accidental.
And somehow that restraint felt more intimate than touch would've.
The fabric still carried traces of rain and his cologne beneath it—dark, clean, familiar already in a way that felt dangerous.
When I looked at him again, something in his expression had changed.
Not pity.
Worse.
Concern stripped too bare to hide itself anymore.
Like he was trying to understand whether I was about to disappear in front of him.
My fingers curled slightly around the edge of the jacket.
He didn't look away.
The rain crashed harder against the greenhouse glass above us.
And for one strange second—
the entire world felt narrowed down to thunder, darkness, and the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted to protect even after realizing I might be the thing people needed protection from.
I stared at him quietly.
Then smiled.
Small. Beautiful. Empty.
"Marcos," I said softly, "I think you still misunderstand something about me."
His brows furrowed slightly.
"What?"
The storm outside shook the glass overhead.
And slowly—
Very slowly—
I stepped closer until barely any space remained between us.
Close enough to watch uncertainty flicker behind his eyes again.
Close enough to feel the exact moment his heartbeat changed.
"I was never pretending to be okay."
Silence.
Rainfall. Thunder. Breathing.
His expression shifted instantly.
Because finally—
Finally—
He understood the difference.
Not broken and hiding it.
Not hurting beneath the surface.
Something else entirely.
Something colder.
And for the first time since meeting me—
Marcos looked at me like he wasn't completely sure whether he should stay.
I noticed immediately.
And I smiled wider.
Then lightning struck somewhere nearby.
The greenhouse lights flickered once.
Twice.
And suddenly—
Everything went dark.