Rein’s heart reacted before his brain did.

A sudden quick rush, too fast, too loud.

The exact same electric jolt he’d felt the very first day Torren transferred… the day he’d fainted infront of the whole class like a complete idiot. The edges of his vision blurred like watercolor. His legs wobbled. For one horrifying second he genuinely thought he was going down.

And oh no. Not again. Did he really have to be dramatic again? 

He swallowed, forcing air into his lungs, forcing himself to walk. Slowly. Carefully. One step at a time, like approaching Torren too quickly would send him straight to the floor. And he discovered that he wanted to, really wanted to. He wanted to run to Torren and hug him and let Torren hold him, because now that he was looking at him. He realized that he really had missed Torren. 

Just then, Torren looked up.

And his whole face lit. Lit like the sun caught him by the throat and refused to let go. Rein opened his mouth to say hi, or you’re back early, or literally anything normal, but Torren didn’t give him the chance. He pushed off the locker, crossed the distance in two strides, and wrapped an arm around Rein’s waist. The other came around his shoulders, pulling him in, close, tight, like Rein was something that could vanish if he didn’t hold on properly. And isn't that something? The only person who has ever hugged him are his brother and his parents and Rein doesn't remember much of his parents. 

“T-Torren—” he tried, but it came out a breath, not a word.

Torren only hugged him tighter. “You okay?” His voice was low, warm, and too close to Rein’s ear. “You’re pale.”

Pale? Pale?! Rein was certain he was redder than a hot chilli pepper. 

The thing is Rein knows he's tall, he and Lucy are exactly the same height but Torren was taller than them both. So tall that Rein fit against him embarrassingly easily, that Torren’s heartbeat was calm and steady while his own was trying to break out of his chest.

Rein swallowed. His hands, which had been hovering awkwardly at Torren’s sides, finally gave up resisting gravity and slid around Torren’s back. The moment he did, Torren exhaled like he’d been waiting for it.

Rein’s heart thudded painfully hard. The dizziness fluttered again—light, almost pleasant this time—like his body couldn’t decide between fainting or floating.

“I’m fine,” Rein whispered into Torren’s chest, mortified by how shaky he sounded.

“You don’t look fine,” Torren murmured, thumb brushing the back of Rein’s shoulder in a slow, grounding circle. “Breathe. I’ve got you."

Students passed by them and Rein could feel their eyes on them but Rein ignored them and so did Torren. It felt so easy to do that with Torren holding him like a precious stone. 

Eventually, Torren pulls back first, hands sliding from Rein’s shoulders but not going very far, like he’s reluctant to let go completely. Rein scrambles for normalcy, for coolness, for anything that masks the fact that his pulse is out-running his brain.

“Miss me that much?” he says, aiming for teasing but landing somewhere shaky.

Torren doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Then his hand lifts and he brushes a loose strand of Rein’s hair back into place. Not a dramatic gesture, just soft and affectionate and devastating. Rein’s breath stutters. His whole face goes hot again, and he’s certain he’s blushing like an idiot, but Torren doesn’t tease him for it. Off course he doesn't. Torren just smiles at him, warm and relieved and fond. Rein looks away before he combusts.

Before Rein can figure out what to do with the feelings melting down his spine, Torren’s expression sharpens.

“Where’s Lucy?”

Rein blinks. “Uh—they’re… probably in the greenhouse. You know how they like hanging out there.”

He barely finishes the sentence before Torren grabs his wrist.

“Great—come on. Get your things.”

“W–what? Why—”

“We’re going to see them,” Torren says, already walking, pulling Rein with him. “Hurry.”

Rein stumbles after him, half dragged, half willingly following because how the hell is he supposed to say no? They stop at his locker and he fumbles with the combination, Torren practically bouncing beside him like an excited, really tall golden retriever with royal cheekbones.

Rein shoves in his books, grabs what he needs, and barely closes the locker before Torren is already tugging him toward the courtyard doors.

“Why are we rushing?” Rein manages. 

Torren looks over at him like the answer should be obvious. “Because I missed them. And I want us all together.”

Rein’s heart performs a violent, embarrassing leap. He’s grateful Torren is pulling him, because his legs very nearly forget how to work.

The greenhouse glints ahead, sunlight warming the glass. Torren doesn’t slow. Rein barely keeps up.

And despite everything—his racing pulse, Torren’s hand around his wrist, the emotional whiplash—Rein can’t stop the stupid smile tugging at his mouth.

                                      _______

The greenhouse glints ahead, sunlight warming the glass. Torren doesn’t stop dragging him. Rein barely keeps up but lets him drag him.

The moment Torren pushes open the greenhouse door, the warm, earthy air rushes out—along with a low, ugly snicker.

Rein freezes.

Three jocks stand near the back tables, smug and whispering to each other. At first, Torren and Rein can’t see who they’re circling. Then Rein spots a splash of color on the ground—pink and teal and bright yellow, dirt-smudged and trembling.

Lucy. Beautiful, bright, colourful, bubbly Lucy. 

Kneeling. Head bowed. Their hands braced on the soil-strewn floor like they’re trying not to collapse. Their usually vibrant clothes look dulled with dust, their hair tangled and streaked with sand.

Rein’s stomach drops straight to the floor. Torren goes absolutely still beside him—still in a dangerous way, like a blade being drawn.

The tallest jock laughs under his breath. “Relax, we were just messing around—”

Torren moves first, rounding up on the jocks. The usual calm, nonchalant air around him falling away. Torren was furious. 

“What,” he says, voice low and deadly, “did you do to them?”

Whatever stupid grin one of them had dies immediately at the sight of Torren’s expression.

Rein doesn’t wait. He rushes past Torren and the jocks, dropping hard to his knees in front of Lucy. “Hey—hey, Lu, look at me.” His hands hover, then gently steady their shoulders. “Lucy?”

Lucy lifts their head.

Their eyes widen the moment they see Rein, relief crashing over their face it's almost painful to witness. “Rein,” they breathe, shaky and small.

Rein cups their cheek gently. “Are you hurt?”

Lucy shakes their head, but their hands tremble. They’re still kneeling, still trying to get their breath under control. Torn between relief and exhaustion.

Then Lucy’s gaze shifts, just over Rein’s shoulder.

Torren was still glaring at the jocks, fire in his eyes, posture sharp and ready for war. His fury is aimed fully at the jocks, but Lucy sees him. 

And something in them buckles.

Their shoulders dip. Their breath hitches. Rein feels them sway slightly.

“Lucy?” Rein murmurs.

“I—I’m fine,” Lucy tries to insist, though their voice wobbles. “I’m just—just really glad you’re both—here—”

Their face pales fast, like someone dimmed the light behind their eyes. And Rein hates, hates, hates that. Because Lucy is light himself, he should always shine, brightly, colourful. He shouldn't be dimmed. 

Rein panics. “Lucy—hey—stay with me—”

Torren turns sharply at Rein’s tone, coming closer. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t kn—Lucy, look at me—”

But Lucy’s eyelids flutter, their breath going thin and shallow. They’re still on their knees, posture folding inward as if the weight of relief is too much.

They whisper, almost apologetically, “…sorry… dizzy…”

Then their body slumps forward.

Rein catches them before their forehead can hit the dirt. Torren is at their other side instantly, one arm sliding behind Lucy’s shoulders, steadying them. All intent on triple homicide abandoned. 

“Lucy?” Torren’s voice is low but tight. “Lucy, open your eyes—”

No response—just a soft, limp heaviness.

Rein looks up at Torren, scared. “We need to get them to the nurse.”

Torren nods, jaw clenched, fury redirected and sharpened into worry and fear. “I’ll deal with them later. Help me lift them.”

Together, they ease Lucy upright—not carried, but supported, arms around each of them as they guide their unconscious form out of the greenhouse.

Behind them, the jocks try to speak.

Torren doesn’t look back.

“Leave,” he says, and even quiet, it’s a threat.

But his focus stays on Lucy, whose weight leans trustingly against both boys as they hurry toward the nurse’s office.