The morning after the almost-fight in the hallway felt heavier than the regular school air. Not dramatic-heavy, not storm-coming heavy—just the quiet, awkward weight that settles in when something nearly exploded but didn't. Sara walked through the gate with her eyes fixed forward, pretending the whispers weren't aimed at her, pretending she didn't hear her name being twisted by people who didn't even know her.
Leo wasn't at the usual spot near the staircase. He wasn't leaning on the rail with that bored, devil-may-care posture he adopted when he wanted people to think he didn't care. He wasn't even pretending to ignore the stares anymore. He was simply… gone.
And that absence burned more than any presence could.
Sara went straight to class. The air smelled of chalk dust, spilled perfume, and too many unlived teenage dreams. She dropped into her seat and pulled out her book, though her eyes didn't land on a single line. Her mind kept replaying Leo's face from yesterday—tight jaw, angry eyes, guilt carved into his expression like someone had written it with a knife.
He was only trying to defend her.
He was only trying to protect her.
And he nearly got suspended for it.
Sara hated that it was because of her.
A soft knock on her desk pulled her out of the spiral. Maya slid into the seat beside her, lowering her voice.
"You okay?"
Sara nodded even though the answer was an exhausted no.
Maya leaned in. "Look… don't freak out, but Leo isn't suspended."
"Then why isn't he here?"
"He went home early. Principal called his dad."
Sara's stomach twisted. Leo's dad. The man Leo never talked about unless something serious had happened. The man whose silence weighed more than punishments.
The bell rang. Class dragged. Time felt like it was walking with a limp. Every minute was just another slice of worry.
By lunch, Sara gave up pretending she wasn't uneasy.
She checked the corner of the cafeteria where Leo usually sat. Empty. She checked behind the sports building. Nothing. Then she checked the one place she knew he'd hide if he didn't want to be seen but didn't want to leave entirely—near the back of the library where the windows were tinted and almost nobody went.
And there he was.
Sitting on the floor. Head resting against the wall. Hoodie pulled low. Hands clenched. Looking like someone had stolen the sky from his pocket.
Sara approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.
"You're hard to find," she said softly.
His head lifted, his eyes tired but not angry. "Didn't want to be found."
She sat beside him anyway.
For a moment they didn't speak. Silence wrapped around them, soft but tense, like fabric stretched too far.
"How bad was it?" Sara asked.
Leo shrugged. "Dad wasn't thrilled. He said I'm wasting my life picking fights. Said I'm on my way to becoming exactly what everyone expects."
"That's not true."
"That's what I said," Leo muttered. "Didn't matter."
Sara studied his face. It was strange how, even now, he managed to look like he didn't care—except his eyes betrayed him. They always did.
"You didn't pick a fight," she said quietly. "You stopped one."
"Same thing to them."
"It isn't to me."
Something flickered in his expression. Something vulnerable.
Leo looked away, fingers tapping against the tile. "I didn't mean to drag you into all this crap, Sara. You're not built for drama. You're… softer."
"I'm not breakable."
"I didn't say breakable," he replied. "I said softer. That's not a bad thing."
Sara's chest tightened. "So you're avoiding me to protect me?"
He exhaled slowly. "I'm avoiding everyone."
"Not helping your case."
He huffed a weak laugh. "Figures."
She nudged his knee with hers. "Talk to me."
Leo didn't move. Didn't speak. Just breathed—slow, heavy, resigned. Then finally:
"I don't get why you're still here."
Sara blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because everyone else runs," Leo said with a bitter smile. "They always run."
"Well," Sara said, lifting her chin, "I'm not everyone else."
Leo's eyes softened. Really softened. Like something in him unclenched for the first time since yesterday.
And for the first time, it wasn't tension between them—it was something else. Something warm.
He reached up and pulled the hood off. His hair was messy. His expression was tired. But he looked at her like she was the one thing in this school not falling apart.
"I'm not good at this," Leo confessed. "Talking. Explaining. Whatever this is."
"You're doing fine."
He shook his head. "You deserve someone normal. Not someone who keeps dragging the world's problems behind him like a broken bag."
Sara's heart broke a little. Not because of what he said, but because he believed it.
"I don't want normal," she said firmly. "I want honesty."
Leo's breath caught. Just a fraction. But she saw it.
Silence again. Deeper this time. Like both of them were standing at the edge of something they couldn't name yet.
Finally Leo spoke. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why did you come looking for me today?"
The question shouldn't have felt dangerous. It shouldn't have felt charged. But it did. It carried all the things they hadn't said across twenty chapters of slow-burn tension, stolen glances, defended honor, whispered worry.
Sara swallowed. "Because I didn't want you to be alone."
He studied her like she was a riddle he finally understood.
"And because I care."
The words escaped before she could rethink them.
Leo froze. No smirk. No sarcasm. No armor.
Just that raw, careful stillness.
"Sara," he whispered.
She shook her head quickly. "Not like—that. I mean… yes, that too, but— I just mean I care. As a person. As someone who sees you. I don't like when you think you're not worth anything."
Leo's voice was barely audible. "No one ever cares like that about me."
"Well," she said softly, "then maybe it's time someone did."
That broke him—not in a bad way, but in the way people break when they finally feel safe.
He leaned back against the wall. Exhaled shakily. Then he said something Sara had never expected:
"Will you stay after school today? Just… hang around? I don't want to go home yet."
The request was so simple, so ordinary, but it carried the weight of trust. The kind of trust you don't ask from someone unless you mean it.
Sara nodded. "Of course."
And Leo nodded back—slow, grateful, relieved.
The bell rang above them. But neither moved. Not yet.
For the first time, Leo wasn't pushing her away. And Sara wasn't scared of stepping closer.
Whatever this was—friendship, almost-something, something-not-yet-named—it was slowly building, gently carving a place between them.
And for the first time since detention started…
Neither of them wanted it to end.