Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the daylight, Sophia Laforteza looked like every cliché of perfection—student body president, captain of the girls’ volleyball team, lead in every musical—the kind of girl whose presence made lives orbit around her. Everyone adored her. Everyone wanted her.

But there was something no one knew.

A secret she carried quietly, tucked beneath all the smiles and applause.

She was—

“Manon! Sweetheart, it’s getting late for school!” Lena’s voice sliced through the room, sharp and insistent.

Manon groaned, pen hovering over her notebook. Of course. Every time she tried to capture her thoughts about Sophia, reality found ways to interfere.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” she called back, though the words were half-hearted at best.

Sophia could wait another day. Or maybe she couldn’t. Either way, the story would have to wait.

Because Sophia Laforteza wasn’t just a name in Manon’s head—she was a gravitational pull.

Her presence demanded attention, subtle but unrelenting, like sunlight through a window you couldn’t stop staring at.

It wasn’t just the way she looked—though that didn’t hurt. It was the way she carried herself, that gentle confidence that made everything around her seem less certain, less steady. She could charm anyone—guys, girls, and anyone in between—without even noticing the effect she had.

Manon had watched it a hundred times: flowers on her desk, love letters slipping through locker vents, secret admirers lingering outside rehearsals. Sophia would smile, always kind, always graceful, and Manon would pretend it didn’t affect her.

Except sometimes it did.

Sometimes, watching Sophia laugh with someone else, Manon felt a pang of something she couldn’t name.

And then there was a secret—

“MANON! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR ROOM! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!”

Daniela’s voice yanked her from her thoughts.

She sighed, snapping her notebook shut. The page was half-filled with song lyrics—fragments, metaphors, unfinished lines that would later find their way into her anonymous posts online. Her private world. Her little corner of the internet no one knew about.

“God, fine!” she muttered, shoving books and papers into her bag with all the grace of a hurricane. Totally organized, she told herself. Sure.

She swung her door open to find Daniela waiting, arms crossed, an eyebrow arched.

“Lena asked me to come get you. You call this ready?” Daniela said, eyeing her up and down.

“Hey, it’s a process,” Manon shot back.

“Then speed it up, Picasso. Bus leaves in five.”

Daniela grabbed her wrist and tugged her down the hall, out the door, and into the crisp morning air. Dew sparkled faintly on the sidewalks. The city already hummed, people moving too fast for the half-awake streets. Manon let herself be dragged along, lost in thoughts she’d never speak aloud.

Thoughts about the perfect girl who maybe wasn’t perfect at all.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that little secret would stay between them.

The bus ride to school was, as always, an orchestra of chaos—chatter, squeaky brakes, the smell of cheap coffee and cologne, a dozen teenagers pretending mornings didn’t exist.

Daniela found a seat near the middle, dragging Manon down beside her before she could protest. The bus lurched forward, and Manon clutched her bag against her chest, eyes tracing the blur of the city outside.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Daniela asked, side-eyeing her.

“Define sleep,” Manon muttered, earning an eyeroll.

Her notebook stayed tucked safely in her bag—lyrics, sketches, poetry no one else would ever see. At night, she let the words bleed onto the internet anonymously, where the world could hear her voice but not her name.

Sophia Laforteza didn’t have that problem. Everyone knew her name.

Manon’s chest tightened. She leaned her forehead against the window, eyes tracing her own reflection—messy hair, tired eyes, ink smudged on her wrist.

A few nights ago, she had seen something no one at Westbridge High would ever believe.

Sophia Laforteza—perfect, poised—behind the counter of a late-night diner on 5^th Street. Hair tied back, apron creased, hands moving fast as trays and coffee cups flew past. Her face unreadable—focused, quiet, tired.

Manon had stood frozen in the corner of the shop, halfway through an order she no longer remembered making. She had almost said something, but Sophia’s eyes never met hers.

She hadn’t told Daniela. Not anyone. She had sworn fiercely that the secret would stay safe. If Sophia wanted the world to know, she would tell it herself.

The bus screeched to a halt in front of Westbridge High. Doors clattered open, and students spilled out, a wave of chatter, backpacks, and nervous energy.

Daniela dragged Manon along the sidewalk, ranting about homework and who’d probably fail English class again. Manon nodded absentmindedly, eyes scanning the street and then the towering brick building before them.

She didn’t speak much—she didn’t need to. People noticed her anyway.

Manon Bannerman could walk into a room and make heads turn without a word. Not through force, but presence: quiet, careful, magnetic. She made others feel seen, understood, and safe.

Her hair was messy this morning, a few strands sticking out of the bun she hadn’t bothered to fix properly. A pencil rested behind her ear, smudges of ink along her wrist. Uniform slightly wrinkled, shoes scuffed. And yet… she drew attention effortlessly. Her charm was human, imperfect, real.

Daniela, oblivious, jabbered away. “Stop spacing out, Manon. You’re lucky I dragged you here, or you’d be late again!”

Manon smiled slightly. No one needed to see how her mind worked. She noticed everything: Lara Rajagopalan flipping her hair, Megan Skiendiel’s locker scuffed, Jeung Yoonchae humming softly. Tiny details everyone ignored, making her feel… connected

And somewhere in the mix was Sophia Laforteza. Perfect, radiant, effortless Sophia, whom everyone looked at and whispered about, unaware of the life she carried in secret. Manon had seen it—the diner, the night, the work while the world slept. She had sworn to herself that she would never tell.

Sophia had a secret, and Manon knew it.

Just fifteen minutes before the bell, Manon and Daniela reached their respective classrooms. Manon slipped into her usual seat by the window, where most of the chairs remained empty. She never understood why the room had so many extras, no one did—but they never questioned it.

Soon, the bell rang, and moments later, Sophia entered. A few books were carefully tucked under her arm, uniform slightly rumpled, her posture weary. She looked exhausted—but the chatter of classmates carried on as if the world refused to notice her fatigue.

Manon’s chest tightened. She wanted to ask, to know the reason behind the silent struggle she carried so gracefully.

As the morning rolled on, teachers came and went. Mr. Robinson paused near Sophia, glanced at her slumped figure, and silently gestured for her to rest. 

Every time, Manon felt her chest tighten. Sophia’s exhaustion was visible to anyone paying attention, yet no one forced her awake. It was as if the world, or at least the adults around her, recognized the weight she bore—and allowed her these fleeting moments of reprieve.

Then, Mrs. Harris arrived, beginning the lesson in her usual monotone. About fifteen minutes in, she moved toward Sophia, lightly tapping her shoulder. Sophia jolted slightly.

“Ms. Laforteza,” Mrs. Harris said softly, “you can go sit at the back next to Ms. Bannerman and rest if you need.”

Manon felt her pulse spike.

Sophia gathered her things carefully, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and lowered herself onto the seat beside Manon, head resting lightly on the table.

Manon’s thoughts spiraled quietly. If only… if only I could understand the weight she carries alone. If only I could take even a fraction of it off her shoulders, ease her worries just a little.

By the time lunch rolled around, the classroom had emptied almost completely. The hum of the hallways outside was distant now, muffled through the closed door. Sunlight streamed across the empty desks, falling on scattered notebooks and half-forgotten pens.

Sophia still rested at the back, head down on her folded arms, a small stack of books beside her. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, quiet rhythm, and for the first time today, she looked… at peace.

She watched Sophia, noticing details she never would have before in the chaos of classes: the way a strand of hair had slipped loose from her bun, brushing the curve of her cheeks; the faint crease in her uniform sleeve where her elbow had pressed; the soft, almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders, slowly easing as she rested.

Manon’s chest tightened, a mix of awe and something heavier, something she didn’t have words for. She wanted to reach out, to brush that loose strand behind Sophia’s ear, to ease the weight she carried—but she didn’t.

Instead, she simply sat. Just being there. Keeping a silent vigil. Not disturbing the girl who, for a brief moment, could let herself breathe.

The minutes stretched lazily. Occasionally, a shadow crossed the doorway as someone passed in the hall, but no one came in. The classroom felt suspended in time, a bubble separated from the world outside.

Manon’s eyes softened. If only she knew she didn’t have to do it alone.

She dared a glance at Sophia’s face. Even in rest, the exhaustion etched there was unmistakable. And yet… There was still grace, still a quiet dignity that no one else seemed to notice.

Manon’s hand twitched slightly, hovering near her notebook. Part of her wanted to write—to capture this, preserve it—but she couldn’t. Not yet. This moment was for Sophia, not for her words.

Then a thought struck her. Sophia hadn't eaten anything all morning—maybe all day. Manon shifted slightly and grabbed her phone, careful not to disturb the other girl's slumber.

Her fingers hovered over the keypad of her phone, 'Can you grab something for me and Sophia? Just, like... anything?' it read. 

A few moments later, Daniela appeared in the doorway, a small bag in hand, giving Manon a knowing, conspiratorial smile. Manon got out of her seat and went to Daniela, taking the bag from her. 

"I got you," Daniela mouthed.

Manon nodded in gratitude, glancing down at the bag. Sandwiches, fruit, and a small bottle of water—enough to keep them both from starving before the next class.

Manon slid into the seat beside her, careful not to make a sound. She kept the bag on her desk and gently nudged it toward Sophia. The rustle stirred her slightly, a low murmur escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake.

Manon bit her lip. I can’t let her sleep through this forever… and if she eats in the middle of a class, she might get in trouble.

“Hey,” she whispered, placing a hand lightly on Sophia’s shoulder. “Sophia… you should eat a little.”

Sophia blinked slowly, lifting her head just enough to see the bag. Her eyes were still heavy, but a small, tired smile touched her lips. “Oh…” she murmured, voice husky with sleep.

“Yeah,” Manon said, careful to keep her voice low. “You’ll need something before the next class. You’ll thank me later.”

Sophia moved slowly, pushing her hair back from her face as she reached for a sandwich. Next to her, Manon quietly took an apple from the bag and began to eat. She watched Sophia, allowing her the time she needed and feeling a faint sense of relief that at least this small part of Sophia's morning could be easy.

For a moment, the world outside faded. No noise, no chaos, just the two of them sharing a quiet space, one carrying the weight of everything, the other trying—however subtly—to lighten it, even just a little. 

Chapter Text

Sophia couldn’t quite understand why Manon Bannerman—the quiet girl—seemed so attentive toward her.

They’d been classmates for three consecutive years, and yet, they’d never really spoken beyond the usual polite greetings. Manon always kept to herself, orbiting in a quiet world of her own—or occasionally, beside Daniela Avanzini, the school’s cheerleading star.

It was an odd pairing. Daniela was popular, effortlessly sociable, the kind of girl everyone wanted at their lunch table. Manon, meanwhile, was quieter, steadier, the one who listened more than she spoke. Still, they were inseparable—Daniela could have joined the so-called cool kids any time she wanted, but she never did. She stayed with Manon—every time.

Sophia admired that. Silently, secretly, she wished she had a friendship like that—something easy, genuine, and safe. Something that wasn’t built on appearances or expectations.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d truly hung out with friends. Lately, she’d been dodging invitations with carefully crafted excuses—volleyball practices, student council meetings, even claiming she had food poisoning once. Anything to avoid being seen for what she’d become. The truth was the people she used to surround herself with could be… cruel, especially toward anyone who didn’t fit the mold of privilege.

At some point, she stopped considering them friends at all.

Most of her lunches these days were spent in the quiet of the Council office, sharing short, comfortable silences with Yeonjun, the vice president. That was the extent of her social life.

So sitting here now—in an empty classroom, eating with Manon Bannerman of all people—felt strangely new. Quiet, yes, but different. Softer

And Sophia had to admit… up close, the Swiss-Ghanaian girl was breathtaking.

Her skin was a warm shade of honey brown that seemed to catch the light in ways Sophia didn’t expect, and her voice—when she finally spoke—carried that soft, steady warmth that made you want to listen.

“Thank you for the food, Manon,” Sophia said finally, her voice gentle, a little shy.

Manon blinked, as if surprised she’d spoken at all. “You… remember my name?”

Sophia tilted her head, looking puzzled. “Of course I remember. You’re the prodigy of the English class, the consecutive prize winner. It's hard to forget you.”

Manon rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of color crept up her neck.

Sophia smiled faintly at that—because for a brief second, the girl who always seemed composed and untouchable looked… human.

And maybe that was what drew Sophia to her in the first place.

~

It was the first day of school—Sophia had been buzzing with a kind of restless excitement that made it nearly impossible for her parents to keep her still.

“Sweetheart, eat something before you go!” her mother called, her voice soft and melodic.

“I’m so nervous! What if I don’t make any friends?” Sophia asked, her eyes already glassy.

Her older brother Luke groaned, mouth full of cereal. “Please. As annoying as you are, you’re way too easy-going not to make friends. It’ll be their loss if they don’t.”

“Sophia’s the best! Everyone will like her!” little Oreo chimed in through a mouthful of toast.

Her father chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You don’t have to worry about others, honey. Just be yourself. You’re amazing.”

Sophia sniffled and hugged them all one by one, breathing in the scent of home—warm, safe, familiar.

The car ride to Westbridge was quiet, but the silence said enough. Excitement. Nerves. Change.

“We love you, sweetheart! Have fun at school!” her parents called as she stepped out.

Now, to be fair, Sophia had every right to be nervous. She was a transfer student from the Philippines. She’d left behind everything she’d ever known and moved to a country that still felt foreign on her tongue.

It was, in every sense, her first day.

But luck wasn’t exactly on her side. Within an hour, she was hopelessly lost, wandering unfamiliar halls while her grasp of English seemed to evaporate completely.

Then she saw them.

A blonde girl with shoulder-length hair and a smirk that could slice glass stood in the hallway. Desperate, Sophia approached her.

“H-hey, um—can you help me? I got lost and I can’t find the principal’s office.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Ugh, who are you, punk?”

Sophia froze, caught off guard by the hostility.

“Stop it, Sabrina,” another voice said calmly.

Sophia turned—and saw her.

A honey-brown skinned girl, bag slung loosely over one shoulder, eyes steady and kind. Her voice carried a quiet confidence when she spoke.

“Sorry about her. Where are you headed?”

Sophia blinked, momentarily forgetting how to speak. There was something soothing—almost melodic—about the girl’s tone.

“I—I’m supposed to see the principal.”

“Me too,” the girl said simply. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

She led Sophia down the hall and rapped lightly on the office door. A muffled come in followed.

Sophia stepped inside, heart hammering.

“You must be the new student—Sophia Laforteza?” the principal greeted kindly.

“Yes, sir,” she managed.

“Well then,” he smiled, “you’ve already met Ms. Bannerman. She’ll show you around and help you get settled. You’ll share a few classes as well.”

Sophia blinked, glancing at the girl beside her. Bannerman.

“Wow… okay,” she murmured, still trying to process everything.

~

She remembered that day as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Back then, Manon had been brighter—perhaps a little aloof, but radiant in her own quiet way.

The truth was simple: Manon Bannerman was the first person Sophia Laforteza ever considered a friend in her new world.

But time had a way of twisting things.

Somewhere along the way, Sophia got caught up in the noise—in the spotlight, the schedules, the expectations. And Manon, she thought, had faded quietly into the background.

At least, that’s what Sophia had let herself believe.

Until now.

Because sitting here beside her again—watching Manon quietly unwrap her sandwich, eyes focused, movements calm—Sophia realized how wrong she’d been.

Manon hadn’t faded. She’d simply… stayed the same. Grounded. Steady. The same gentle gravity that once pulled Sophia out of confusion on her first day still surrounded her now—only stronger, quieter, more sure of itself.

Sophia smiled faintly, resting her chin on her palm as she studied the other girl. “You really haven’t changed much,” she murmured under her breath, not expecting an answer.

Manon glanced up, brow quirking. “What?”

Sophia blinked. “Oh—nothing. Just… thanks again. For the food.”

Manon gave a small, lopsided smile. “You already said that.”

“I know,” Sophia said softly, grinning. “But it still feels right to say it.”

Manon shook her head, amused, and turned back to her sandwich.

Sophia leaned back in her seat, her gaze lingering just a moment longer. Maybe, she thought, some things didn’t fade after all. Some people just stayed—quietly, steadfastly—waiting for you to notice them again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of shifting classrooms and tired chatter.

After lunch, everyone scattered to their elective subjects—art, photography, economics, drama—each tucked into different wings of the building. The noise of movement echoed through the halls as students grabbed their materials and disappeared in pairs and groups, leaving behind the faint smell of dry markers and the quiet hum of air conditioning.

Sophia, meanwhile, trudged through her electives half-present. Every room blurred into another—different teachers, different subjects—but the same exhaustion pressed at her chest. By the time the final period rolled around, she found herself back in the same classroom she had shared with Manon that morning, her desk feeling like a familiar anchor in the chaos.

Moments later, Mr. Johnson strode in, his usual stack of folders tucked beneath one arm and a coffee cup in hand. “Alright, everyone,” he began, voice brisk but good-natured, “today, we’re starting something new.”

A collective groan rippled across the room.

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Mr. Johnson said dryly, setting his cup down on the desk. “It’s a paired research assignment. Due in two weeks. You’ll analyze the impact of post-war literature on contemporary media. I’ll be choosing your partners.”

More groans followed, this time louder. Someone muttered, ‘He never lets us pick!’

Mr. Johnson began reading out names from his list, pairing students one by one. Laughter, mild complaints, and sighs filled the room—until he reached the end.

“Bannerman and Laforteza.”

The room went still for a heartbeat before the chatter erupted again.

“Of course,” someone whispered. “The two geniuses together.”

“Unfair,” another groaned. “They’ll ace it before the rest of us even start.”

Sophia’s stomach dropped—not from dread, but from something more complicated. She dared a glance at Manon, whose expression was unreadable except for the faintest twitch of her lips.

“Looks like we’re partners,” Manon said, voice quiet but steady.

Sophia exhaled slowly, offering a small smile. “Yeah… looks like it.”

Mr. Johnson clapped his hands once. “Good. I expect something brilliant from you all. Now, get planning. You’ve got the rest of the period to discuss.”

As the class buzzed to life, Sophia turned to Manon, trying not to let her nerves show. Maybe fate—or whatever it was—just decided to give her another reason to look a little closer at the quiet girl who’d once helped her find her way.

The room was filled with the low hum of voices, papers rustling, and chairs scraping against the tiled floor. Sophia turned slightly toward Manon, fiddling with the corner of her notebook.

“So…” she began, her tone lighter than she felt, “post-war literature and contemporary media. That’s… pretty broad.”

Manon hummed in agreement, scribbling something absentmindedly on the back of her hand before flipping open her notebook. “Yeah. Johnson loves giving us vague topics so he can say he’s ‘encouraging creativity.’”

Sophia laughed softly. “I think he just enjoys watching us panic.”

That earned her the faintest smile from Manon—one of those barely-there expressions that felt like a reward when it appeared. “You’re probably right.”

They both fell quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just… tentative. Manon twirled her pen between her fingers, eyes focused somewhere past Sophia, like she was already lost in thought.

“What are you thinking?” Sophia asked gently.

“About how to make it less boring,” Manon admitted. “Everyone’s going to write about Orwell or Plath or post-war trauma. I was thinking… maybe we could connect it to how people express grief or fear in modern art. Like… music, film, poetry.”

Sophia blinked, surprised. “That’s actually—really interesting.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Manon said dryly, though there was amusement in her eyes now.

“No! I mean—sorry. I just meant…” Sophia trailed off, flustered, then laughed quietly. “You think differently. I like that.”

Manon tilted her head, studying her. “You’re not too bad yourself. You don’t talk much in class, but you listen. Most people only pretend to.”

Sophia felt her heart stutter for a second, her gaze dropping to her notebook. Compliments from Manon felt different—gentle, unassuming, but heavy in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Another pause, softer this time. Manon leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against the desk. “So, what do you think? You’re the president, you probably have, like, the best organization skills here.”

Sophia smiled faintly. “I can handle the structure. You handle the soul.”

Manon blinked, then laughed quietly. “That might be the nicest way anyone’s ever called me unorganized.”

“I mean it,” Sophia said, meeting her eyes. “You view things differently. That’s not chaos—it’s a different perspective.”

Something shifted in the air between them then—nothing dramatic, just a faint recognition. The kind that made both girls realize this partnership might be more than a forced school project.

Mr. Johnson’s voice broke the moment. “Alright, people! Wrap it up—start gathering research tomorrow!”

Chairs scraped, students stood, and laughter filled the air again. Sophia closed her notebook, tucking her pen behind her ear.

As she rose from her seat, Manon looked at her and said quietly, “See you tomorrow, partner.”

Sophia smiled—small, genuine, a little shy. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As everyone started packing up, Sophia turned slightly toward Manon, biting the inside of her cheek before speaking.

“Hey,” she said softly, “could I get your number? You know, for the project. In case I miss anything—or if you want to send me notes.”

Manon blinked, surprised, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.” She reached for Sophia’s notebook and scribbled her number on the corner of a blank page in looping, messy handwriting. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Sophia said, smiling as she glanced at the scrawl. “I’ll send you mine too.”

Manon tore a small page from her notebook and handed it over instead. “Actually—don’t worry too much about the notes.”

Sophia frowned slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

Manon shrugged, casual but careful. “I’ll write them for you. My handwriting’s already a mess, so I might as well make a neat copy. You’ve got enough to handle with council stuff and volleyball.”

Sophia blinked. “You don’t have to do that—”

“I know.” Manon’s tone was light, but her eyes said something else. “Consider it… a small thank-you for making school less boring for the rest of us.”

Sophia let out a soft laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Don’t argue,” Manon said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Just promise you’ll actually rest instead of memorizing three chapters ahead.”

Sophia hesitated, then smiled—a small, genuine curve of her lips that made her look softer than she usually allowed herself to be. “Fine. But only if you promise not to make your notes too... poetic.”

“No promises,” Manon said, smirking slightly as she turned toward the door.

Sophia watched her go, the corner of her mouth still tilted upward. There was something strange—quietly comforting—about the idea of someone caring enough to take even a little weight off her shoulders.

She slipped the page with Manon’s number into her planner, careful, almost reverent.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

The final bell had rung, and the halls were filled with the usual chaos: students were calling out to friends, racing to their lockers, and making their way to the buses. Manon waited near the front for Daniela, who was expected to arrive any moment.

Then she saw her.

Sophia Laforteza, moving with purpose and urgency, weaving through the crowd like she was in a race against time. Papers clutched to her chest, her bag bouncing at her side.

Manon’s instincts kicked in. She didn’t hesitate. Quietly, she stepped into the throng, keeping a careful distance—just enough to follow without being noticed.

Daniela arrived a few steps behind. “Manon? You ready?” she called.

Manon waved, forcing a casual smile. “Uh… yeah, just… something urgent came up. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Daniela raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Oh, okay, don’t take too long; Lena might actually consider threatening me,” she said, walking away.

Alone now, Manon quickened her pace slightly. She followed Sophia out of the school, her eyes tracking every purposeful movement.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Sophia was heading toward the streets with a single destination in mind—the school where her younger brother, Oreo, waited. Picking him up was part of her daily routine: juggling responsibilities that no one at Westbridge High could see.

Manon didn’t question it. She only observed, keeping a discreet distance, like a shadow.

Anyone who saw this might think Manon is Sophia’s stalker. But it wasn’t about curiosity; it was about care—silently making sure that someone who carried so much and did so much for others didn’t get lost in her own chaos.

And for Manon, that was enough.

Sophia reached the small brick building of Oreo’s school, pushing through the crowd of students spilling out onto the sidewalk. Her pace slowed the moment she saw him—a small boy with messy hair and a backpack that seemed to weigh him down more than his own worries ever should.

“Hey, Oreo!” she called softly, her voice carrying exhaustion and warmth.

His head snapped up immediately. “Sophia!”

He ran to her, all bright eyes and wide smiles, and she knelt to pull him into a hug. For a second, the world felt lighter— like all the noise around her quieted to make space for this one, fleeting moment of peace.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked, holding him at arm’s length to study his face.

“Yeah! Mrs. Callen said I draw good dragons!” Oreo grinned proudly, and Sophia laughed softly—the kind of laugh she didn’t let anyone at school hear anymore.

“Of course you do. You’re amazing,” she said, standing and taking his hand as they started walking toward the bus stop.

A few meters behind them, half-hidden behind a lamppost, Manon lingered. Her bag was still slung loosely over one shoulder, her hair slightly tousled from the wind. She didn’t say a word—didn’t move closer. She just watched.

There was something about the way Sophia’s entire demeanor shifted around her brother—gentler, more patient, yet somehow more fragile too. It made Manon’s chest ache in a way she couldn’t name.

This wasn’t the girl who always showed up to school looking composed, smiling politely through fatigue. This was the real Sophia Laforteza—the one who carried the world on her shoulders and still found the strength to smile for someone else.

Manon’s hand twitched at her side. She wanted to call out, to offer help, to tell her she wasn’t as alone as she thought. But she didn’t.

Instead, she followed quietly, matching her pace to Sophia’s without realizing it—not close enough to intrude, but not far enough to disappear.

And just as the two siblings turned the corner, disappearing into the amber glow of the setting sun, a voice drifted out from the open door of a nearby convenience store.

“Girl— isn’t that Manon Bannerman? Why the hell is she following Laforteza?”

“I don’t know— should we follow?” another voice whispered back.

“No! That’s like... a stalker getting stalked by more people. That’s not right—”

The door chimed as it swung shut again, their laughter fading into the golden dusk—leaving only two silhouettes turning the corner, unaware that someone had noticed.