Rain's POV
She was laughing again.
I stood in the hallway, hidden behind a half-closed door, the shadows swallowing me whole. I didn't need to see them to know where she was — I could hear her voice. That insufferably cheerful, sugary voice. It always dripped with affection when she spoke to him.
"Seb, stop! I'm gonna spill it—no, seriously, don't tickle me while I'm holding hot chocolate!" Ava squealed, that stupid carefree squeal, the kind that made everything sound like sunshine and hearts and no consequences.
He chuckled. That low, warm sound I hadn't heard in months. "Then don't sit on my desk like a five-year-old."
"Let me be five," she said. "Five-year-olds don't have taxes or heartbreak."
"And no caffeine."
"You're not taking my cocoa."
More laughter. His this time. Not polite. Not forced. Real.
That was new.
I gripped the edge of the doorframe.
She didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve him. Not after what she did behind his back — the lying, the drinking, sneaking out, kissing strangers in alleyways. She played innocent so well, even he couldn't see it.
But I did.
I saw right through her.
And still, he looked at her like she was made of glass and starlight. She clung to him like he was air and she'd drown without him. And he… let her. Encouraged it. Gave her his everything and smiled while doing it.
She called him Seb.
I'd called him that once, years ago. He'd told me not to.
Just a flat, cold:
"Don't."
She said it every five seconds and he never stopped her.
I closed my eyes and listened to the rustle of her leaning across the desk, the sound of her planting a kiss on his cheek, giggling. Like the night before hadn't happened. Like she hadn't cried about monsters and run into his room like a scared child. Like she hadn't wrapped herself around him and made herself his whole world.
It should have been me.
I could've been quiet. Good. Pretty. Smart. I could've loved him in ways she couldn't even begin to understand.
But she already filled that space. With her tantrums and her clinging and her laughter and—
"Oh, you smell like cocoa and shampoo," he said softly.
"You smell like expensive cologne and tired."
"You're exhausting."
"You love me."
He did.
And I hated her for it.
I hated how loudly she loved him. How unashamed she was. I hated how he never pushed her away. I hated that he let her cling to him like he was her anchor, her savior, her world.
I hated that she didn't even need to try.
She already had him.
I stepped away from the door before I could hear another I missed you today or Seb, you're my favorite person or stay with me forever, okay?
If I stayed, I might actually scream.
Or worse.