The hospital room was quiet.
Lina sat up slowly in her bed,
still pale,
still weak,
but awake enough to stare out the window.
Then—
knock knock
Before she could answer,
the door opened.
A young man stepped in,
holding a bouquet of cheap flowers.
Her expression changed instantly—
annoyance, discomfort, exhaustion.
Oh no.
Not him.
"Lina!" he said with a bright, fake smile.
"I heard you fainted. I came as soon as I could."
She sighed.
"What do you want, Ethan?"
He placed the flowers on her table.
"I wanted to see you. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said shortly.
Awkward silence fell.
Ethan shuffled closer.
"I… uh… have something I need to tell you."
Lina tensed.
"Don't," she warned.
But he didn't listen.
"I like you, Lina," he blurted.
"I've liked you since last semester. And now—seeing you hurt—
I realized I can't keep it inside anymore."
She closed her eyes in frustration.
"Ethan, we've talked about this. I don't like you. I don't want anything from you."
He frowned.
"You're just saying that because you're confused. You fainted. Your brain isn't—"
"Ethan."
Her voice rose.
"Get out."
Instead, he stepped closer, voice rising:
"Why him, Lina? Why that guy at the flower shop? He's nobody—"
The door slammed open.
Sally entered first.
Then Jack.
Jack froze.
His eyes locked onto the scene—
Lina trapped in her bed,
Ethan leaning over her,
her face distressed.
Something inside Jack snapped.
Sally's brows shot up.
"Oh… no," she whispered.
Ethan turned.
"Who the hell are you—?"
He didn't finish.
Jack was already on him.
He grabbed Ethan by the collar,
lifted him off his feet
and slammed him against the wall so hard the bed shook.
Lina gasped.
Sally did not interfere—
she simply folded her arms, watching.
"Jack!" Lina shouted.
"Wait—!"
But Jack wasn't listening.
His voice was ice.
"You think you can walk in here," he growled,
every word dripping danger,
"and talk to her like that?"
Ethan squirmed.
"L-Let go of me—!"
"Oh, I'll let go," Jack said coldly.
"After I make sure you never come near her again."
He punched Ethan.
Hard.
Much harder than anything he ever used on the boy in the past.
Another punch.
Then another.
Ethan dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping.
Jack grabbed him by the shirt again.
"You bother her one more time," he hissed in a low, deadly whisper,
"I swear you won't walk away next time."
Ethan trembled.
"Y–Yes—okay—okay—I'll leave her alone—"
Jack let him drop.
Ethan scrambled out of the room, shaking violently.
Silence fell.
Jack breathed hard, chest rising and falling,
hands still clenched in fists.
Sally watched him with a raised brow.
"Feel better?"
He didn't answer.
His eyes were already on Lina.
And suddenly—
as the adrenaline drained—
something softer filled his face.
"Lina…" he said quietly,
voice unexpectedly gentle.
"Are you hurt? Did he scare you?"
Lina stared at him—
wide-eyed, breathing uneven,
heart racing from more than just fear.
There was something intoxicating in the way he protected her,
something dangerous
and magnetic.
She swallowed.
"I'm… fine," she said softly.
"Thank you, Jack."
Jack froze.
His ears reddened.
His gaze flickered to the floor.
He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Good," he muttered.
"I… just didn't like the way he talked to you."
Sally smirked.
Jack shot her a glare.
Then he turned and left the room abruptly,
as if escaping his own emotions.
Lina watched him go—
her heart pulling in a direction she never expected.
The hospital hallway was quiet.
Too quiet.
The boy stood near the vending machine,
hands shaking,
breath tight and shallow.
He had just seen Ethan's beaten, terrified face
as he ran out of Lina's room.
He knew who did it.
He knew why.
And the realization hit him in one brutal wave:
Jack is unpredictable.
Jack is dangerous.
And Jack is now connected to his sister.
His chest tightened.
His vision blurred.
His heartbeat pounded against his ribs like it wanted to escape.
He grabbed the side of the vending machine,
trying to steady himself.
Not now… please not now…
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't think.
His throat closed.
His knees weakened.
His breath came out in harsh, broken gasps.
"No… no… not again…"
He slid to the floor, hands in his hair,
trying to force air into his lungs.
Footsteps approached.
Heavy.
Steady.
He froze.
Not now.
Not him.
Not—
"Hey."
Jack knelt in front of him.
The boy flinched violently,
his entire body recoiling in terror.
Jack's eyes widened at the reaction.
"Hey—easy, easy," he said quickly,
hands raised in surrender.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
The boy shook his head,
tears welling,
breathing spiraling out of control.
"S-Stay away— please— just—"
Jack looked around.
No nurses.
No sister.
No one.
Just him
and a boy drowning in fear.
Jack swallowed hard.
Then, slowly—
carefully—
he sat closer.
Not touching.
But close enough to be grounding.
"Listen to me," Jack said softly—a tone he had never used with him before.
"You're having a panic attack."
The boy couldn't respond.
"Hey… look at me."
The boy lifted his eyes, shaking violently.
Jack exhaled.
"Good. Stay with me.
Not the fear.
Not the memories.
Just me."
The boy's breaths were sharp and painful.
"I—I can't— breathe—"
"Yes, you can," Jack said firmly.
"Just do what I say."
He held up one hand, fingers steady.
"Match my breathing.
In…"
Jack inhaled slowly.
"…and out."
He exhaled, low and controlled.
The boy tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
His breaths were uneven, wild.
Jack leaned closer.
"Look at me," he repeated.
"Not the past.
Not what you think I am.
Right now… I'm just someone helping you breathe."
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, tears falling.
"I—I'm scared—"
Jack's voice softened even more.
"I know," he said quietly.
"But you're safe.
I'm not angry.
I'm not here to hurt you."
He hesitated—
Then, slowly,
he rested a firm, warm hand on the boy's shoulder.
The boy gasped—
but didn't pull away.
"Hey… it's okay," Jack murmured.
"You're okay.
You're okay."
He repeated it like a mantra.
Little by little,
the boy's breathing eased.
Shakiness softened.
Tension released.
Jack watched him carefully,
as if guarding him from invisible ghosts.
When the boy finally took a full breath,
Jack let out one as well—
as if he had been holding it the entire time.
"…Why…?" the boy whispered weakly.
"Why are you… helping me?"
Jack looked away, embarrassed.
"…Sally would kill me if I didn't."
But that wasn't the truth.
Not fully.
He swallowed again.
"And…" he added awkwardly,
eyes flicking toward Lina's room,
"…your sister wouldn't want you to suffer."
The boy stared at him—
confused, fragile, still trembling.
Jack stood up, then offered his hand.
"Come on," he muttered.
"I'm not going to let you collapse in a hallway.
Even I'm not that much of a bastard."
The boy blinked at the hand.
Hesitated.
And then…
slowly, carefully…
He took it.
Jack pulled him up gently.
The boy whispered:
"…Thank you."
Jack cleared his throat roughly,
ears turning faintly red.
"Don't make a big deal out of it.
Just— breathe next time, idiot."
But as he walked away—
Jack glanced back once.
Just once.
With a look no one expected:
Concern.
Genuine concern.