The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a golden hue across the school grounds. Liam Foster walked with measured steps toward the library, his face impassive as ever. His cold demeanor had become the norm, and while the students around him had learned to keep their distance, whispers still followed him. He paid them no mind.
Inside the library, the soft rustle of pages turning and the distant hum of the air conditioning surrounded him as he immersed himself in a dense calculus textbook. Every equation, every problem was a puzzle to solve, a distraction from the emptiness he refused to acknowledge.
The faint sound of the library door creaking open didn't pull Liam from his focus. It wasn't until a familiar presence lingered nearby that he glanced up.
Lily Davenport stood a few feet away, clearly startled to see him. Her eyes widened briefly before she quickly composed herself.
"Sorry," she whispered. "Didn't mean to disturb you."
Liam's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened slightly around his pen. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke, his voice as cold as the air between them.
"The books you need are on the third shelf, second row," he said without looking at her again.
Lily blinked, surprised. "Thanks." Her voice was soft, almost tentative, as though testing the waters of a long-lost friendship.
Liam didn't respond. He turned a page in his textbook, signaling the end of the conversation. Lily retrieved her materials and left, but as she walked away, her heart felt heavy. The Liam she once knew—the one who would have teased her for forgetting the books—felt like a distant memory.
Later that evening, the shared apartment was quiet. Liam walked into the living room, noticing a familiar notebook left on the table. He recognized it immediately—Lily's.
For a moment, he debated leaving it there. It wasn't his responsibility. Yet, before he realized it, he had picked it up and carried it to her room.
Entering the space, he moved silently, placing the notebook neatly on her desk. His eyes caught on a photo tucked into the corner—a picture of the two of them as children, smiling brightly. A pang of something unfamiliar stirred in his chest, but he quickly turned away, closing the door behind him.
As Liam settled back into his room, a knock came at his door. He didn't look up, knowing exactly who it was.
Avery Quinn stepped in without waiting for permission. "We need to talk."
Liam didn't respond, his pen moving steadily across the page.
Avery crossed her arms. "Why are you pretending you don't care about the girls?" she demanded. "You think you're fooling anyone? Emily and Lily both know it was you who made the cold coffee. And don't even get me started on the chocolates."
Liam stopped writing but didn't look up. "What's your point?"
"My point," Avery said sharply, "is that you're making it harder for everyone. You're doing all these things for them but hiding behind me. I'm tired of covering for you, Liam."
Finally, Liam set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, gesturing for her to sit. Avery hesitated but complied, watching him carefully.
"Right now," Liam began, his voice devoid of emotion, "they don't need me. They need someone who can take my place, someone who can be there for them. That's you."
Avery frowned. "That's not an answer. Why are you doing this?"
Liam's blank eyes met hers, sending a chill down her spine. "Because it's better this way," he said simply.
Avery opened her mouth to argue but stopped. There was something final in his tone, something impenetrable. They talked for a while longer, but Liam's walls remained firmly in place. As Avery left his room, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had only scratched the surface of his carefully constructed facade.
The next day, Liam was walking through the school hallway when he noticed a younger student struggling to carry a stack of books. Without thinking, he approached the boy and took half the stack from his arms.
"Where are you heading?" Liam asked curtly.
"To the science lab," the boy stammered.
Liam nodded and walked alongside him, depositing the books on the lab table before turning to leave.
"Thank you!" the boy called after him.
Liam didn't respond, simply raising a hand in acknowledgment as he walked away.
From a distance, Lily watched the entire exchange. Her chest tightened as she recognized the faintest flicker of the Liam she knew—kind, thoughtful, and protective. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the cold, distant exterior he wore so effortlessly.
That evening, Liam returned to his room, his face as unreadable as ever. He sat at his desk, flipping through his notes, but his mind wandered. His gaze drifted to the locked drawer where the childhood photo was kept.
For a moment, his hand hovered over the lock, as though he might open it. But then he withdrew, shaking his head.
With a sigh, he picked up his pen and returned to his work, the faint tremor in his hand the only sign of the storm brewing beneath the surface.