The corridor was almost empty after lunch, the usual chaos of students rushing toward their classrooms having faded into the distant sound of footsteps and doors closing somewhere on the other side of the building. Rosé walked slowly toward the library with two books pressed against her chest, already thinking about the assignment she still had to finish before the next period, when someone called her name. “Rosé.” She stopped and turned around, expecting perhaps a classmate asking for notes, but instead found three girls standing beside the lockers, watching her with expressions that immediately made her feel as though she had walked into a conversation she was never supposed to hear. The girl in the middle tilted her head and motioned for her to come closer. “We wanted to talk to you.” Rosé glanced toward the staircase. “About what? I have class in a few minutes.” “You won't be late,” the girl replied, and something about the calmness of her voice made Rosé hesitate before walking over. She stood a few feet away, still holding her books, waiting for an explanation. “You've been getting pretty comfortable lately,” the girl said. Rosé frowned. “I don't understand.” A quiet laugh came from one of the others. “Of course you don't.” Rosé looked between them, genuinely confused. “If I've done something, just tell me.” “That's the thing,” the first girl replied, folding her arms. “You haven't done anything. You just walk around here acting like you're everyone's friend.” Rosé's expression softened with confusion rather than anger. “I don't act like that. I just… talk to people.” “Exactly. You smile at everyone, help everyone, act like you're so innocent.” Rosé shook her head. “I don't think I'm better than anyone.” “Nobody said you did.” The girl stepped closer. “But that's what everyone thinks about you.” Rosé opened her mouth to answer, but the girl continued before she could. “You know what really gets annoying? That whole innocent thing you do. The way you talk about love, like it's something pure and meaningful.” Rosé's fingers tightened around her books. “What's wrong with that?” The girl smiled. “Nothing. If you actually meant it.” Rosé's eyes hardened slightly. “I do.” “Really?” The girl leaned closer. “Because your whole idea of love is cheap, Rosé. Disgusting, actually. You pretend you're some pure little angel, but nobody believes it.” The words struck harder than Rosé expected. She could have ignored insults about her appearance, her clothes, her grades, even her personality, but this felt different. “Don't talk about me like that,” she said quietly. “Why? Did I hurt your feelings?” Rosé swallowed and looked away. “Just stop.” The girl laughed. “Or what?” Rosé didn't answer. She knew she could fight back if she wanted to, but that wasn't what she wanted. She had never understood the need to hurt someone simply because they had decided to hurt you first. “Please,” she said instead. The girl raised her hand, and Rosé instinctively stepped backward, but before the slap could come down, another hand closed around the girl's wrist. The movement was so sudden that everyone went silent. Ryker stood beside them, his expression completely unreadable, his grip firm enough to make the girl immediately stop struggling. He didn't look at Rosé, didn't ask what had happened, and didn't bother raising his voice. “Try it.” The girl stared at him. “Ryker, I—” “Try it,” he repeated, quieter this time, and somehow that was worse. She lowered her hand. He released her wrist and looked at all three girls. “Leave.” Nobody argued. They knew better. The girls walked away, their confidence disappearing with every step, while Rosé remained frozen in place, still holding her books against her chest. Ryker finally glanced at her, his eyes briefly moving over her face before he looked away again. “You're blocking the corridor.” Rosé blinked, almost surprised by the lack of concern in his voice. She stepped aside. “Thank you,” she said softly. Ryker stopped for half a second, then looked over his shoulder. “Don't thank me for something that shouldn't have happened.” With that, he walked away as though nothing unusual had happened at all. Rosé watched him disappear around the corner, unable to decide whether she was more confused by what he had done or by how easily he had done it. She had seen students become nervous around him, had heard people lower their voices whenever his name came up, but she had never understood why until now. There had been no hesitation in him. No fear. No need to prove anything. He had simply stepped in, said a few words, and everyone had listened.
Rosé tried to forget about it. She really did. She went to class, opened her notebook, answered the teacher when she was called on and even smiled when the girl beside her whispered something funny, but the earlier words stayed somewhere in the back of her mind. By the time the next break came, the girls had started again. One passed her desk and murmured, “Still pretending?” Another laughed when Rosé looked up. Near the staircase, one of them deliberately bumped her shoulder and whispered, “You really expect everyone to believe you're some innocent little angel?” Rosé stopped walking. “Enough.” Her voice was quiet, but this time there was a tremor in it. “You're so sensitive,” the girl replied. “I said enough.” “Or what?” Rosé looked at her, her eyes already beginning to burn. “I don't know why you're doing this.” The girl smiled. “Because you think being good makes you untouchable.” Rosé didn't answer. “Maybe someone should teach you otherwise.” That was the moment she couldn't hold herself together anymore. She turned and walked away quickly, then faster, and by the time she reached the end of the corridor she was running. She didn't care who saw her. She didn't care where she was going. She only knew she needed somewhere quiet, somewhere nobody could look at her and ask why her eyes were wet. She pushed through a side door at the back of the building and kept walking until the sounds of the school became distant, finally stopping beside an unused staircase where the afternoon sunlight fell through a dusty window. She pressed her back against the wall and tried to breathe normally, wiping at her eyes before the first tear could fall, but another came anyway, and then another. “Don't cry,” she whispered to herself, almost angrily, as if she could command her own feelings into silence. She hated that they had managed to hurt her. She hated that their words had mattered. Most of all, she hated that she couldn't explain why they mattered so much. She knew who she was. She knew she wasn't what they had called her. She knew the way she looked at love was sincere. But knowing something and not being hurt by someone else's cruelty were two completely different things. She eventually sank onto the bottom step and covered her face with her hands, letting herself cry quietly.
She didn't know how long she had been there when footsteps approached. “Rosé?” She immediately wiped her cheeks and looked up to see Ethan standing a few steps away. “Go away,” she murmured. Ethan didn't move. “No.” She gave him a tired look. “Ethan.” “Still no.” He sat beside her without asking permission, placed a bottle of water between them and looked straight ahead instead of staring at her tears. That small act made it easier for her to breathe. He didn't ask who had done it. He didn't demand an explanation. He simply stayed. After a long silence, Rosé whispered, “Why are people like that?” Ethan shrugged slightly. “I don't know.” “I didn't do anything.” “I know.” Her voice broke. “They said horrible things about me.” Ethan looked at her then. “You don't have to prove that you're good to people who have already decided you're bad.” Rosé wiped her cheek and gave him the smallest smile. “You sound like a motivational speaker.” “I'm charging you later.” A weak laugh escaped her, and Ethan smiled because that was exactly what he had wanted. Rosé leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thanks.” Ethan gently bumped his shoulder against hers. “Anytime.” What Rosé didn't know was that someone else had seen her leave. Ryker had not followed her. He hadn't even known where she had gone. He had simply been walking through the corridor when he heard the faint sound of her voice and stopped at the far end. From where he stood, he could see Ethan sitting beside her, could see the way she had wiped her tears and the way Ethan had managed to make her smile again. Ryker didn't walk toward them. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't interfere. He simply stood there for a few seconds before turning away and continuing down the corridor. His face remained as cold and unreadable as ever. He had done what was necessary earlier. He had stopped someone from hitting her. That was all. There was no reason for him to care about what happened afterward. He had spent years learning not to care about things that didn't concern him, and Rosé was no exception. At least, that was what he told himself. Yet several minutes later, long after he had left the corridor, the image of her sitting alone with tears on her face returned to him. His jaw tightened. He remembered the words he'd heard at home all his life: tears were weakness, feelings were weakness, attachment was weakness. He pushed the thought away and continued walking. Rosé wasn't his problem. Her tears weren't his problem. Her feelings weren't his problem. And still, for the first time in a very long time, something as small as another person's tears refused to leave his mind.....
