Gabriel’s room smelled faintly of old wood and guitar polish, a mix I was starting to associate with him. I was leaning back in his desk chair, stretching my legs out, when the door cracked open. Nathan stuck his head in, took one look at me, and froze like a deer that had just realized the shadow in the bushes had teeth. He didn’t say a word—just pulled the door shut again in one fluid retreat.
That was it. Gabriel and I both burst out laughing. Mine was low and rough; his was brighter, spilling over like he couldn’t help it.
“God, you’ve got him trained,” Gabriel said, shaking his head.
I shrugged. “Guess he just knows when to leave a room.”
The laughter lingered for a beat, then Gabriel’s expression shifted. That sharp, curious light in his eyes returned—blue like mine, but without the dark wolf-ring circling the iris.
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
“Shoot,” I replied, still half-smirking.
He leaned forward on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. “What was that today? In the hallway. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. You weren’t even looking at him.”
I looked away, staring at the scuffed floorboards. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do,” he said, voice firm now. “You’ve been stepping in for me since the first week I met you. And today… you didn’t just stop that guy. You knew exactly what was coming. That’s not normal.”
I hesitated. I’d spent years keeping this locked down, avoiding even a whiff of the truth. But his voice—steady, unafraid—cut through the part of me that wanted to dodge.
“Gabriel…” I sighed, leaning forward so my forearms rested on my thighs. “When I was younger, my parents decided I wasn’t… normal. They didn’t mean quirky or weird—they meant dangerous. Or broken. Take your pick. They sent me to a place. A ‘hospital.’” I made the word sound like something rotten in my mouth.
His brows drew together. “Like… therapy?”
“Therapy doesn’t strap you to a bed or lock you in a room for days at a time,” I said, my tone sharpening despite myself. “It doesn’t pump you full of drugs that make you forget your own name. It doesn’t tell you you’re a monster until you start to believe it.”
The room went very still.
I looked at him, and for a moment, I saw the question in his eyes—whether I was exaggerating. But the answer must’ve been written all over my face, because he didn’t ask.
“They called it treatment,” I continued, softer now. “My parents called it necessary. I called it hell. And when I finally got out, I made sure they’d never have a reason to put me back in. Which meant hiding… all of it.”
“All of what?” Gabriel pressed, but his voice had lost its edge—it was gentler now.
I shook my head. “Not yet. You think you want the full story, but once you hear it, you can’t unhear it.”
He studied me for a long moment, then leaned back slightly. “You’re wrong about one thing,” he said. “I do want the full story. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in my chest loosened, just a fraction. I almost smiled.
“Careful what you wish for,” I murmured.