Chapter One – Intake
The waiting room smelled like bleach and microwaved coffee. Beige walls, beige chairs, beige faces—none of it made him feel any calmer.
Leo sat stiffly in the corner, his hands clutching a folder like it was a lifeline. Inside were pages he had written carefully, the sections where they asked about his mental health, past trauma, medication, and “triggers.” He hadn’t read them back in a while, but the words still looked foreign. Who am I supposed to be right now? he thought, tracing the pencil marks he’d made.
Across from him, a girl sat curled up on the couch like it owed her something. She wore an oversized red flannel with sleeves fraying at the cuffs, ripped black jeans, and heavy combat boots caked in dried mud. Her eyeliner was smudged, not in the delicate, artsy way that suggested rebellion—it was worn-in, like she had given up.
Her arms were an open canvas. Inked doodles, symbols he didn’t recognize, and scars both fresh and faded traced down to her wrists, layered beneath thin bracelets that dug into her skin.
She glanced up suddenly, catching him staring.
“You’re new,” she said.
“…Yeah,” he muttered, feeling heat crawl up his neck.
“You’ve got that kicked-puppy look,” she added.
Leo blinked. “…Thanks?”
“Not an insult,” she said. “First-timers always think they’re the only ones who don’t belong here. But we’ve all been that way.”
He studied her, and something about the bluntness in her voice made him want to speak but he didn’t know what to say.
A nurse called out: “Renee Ward?”
The girl groaned and stood, brushing dust from her jeans.
“It’s Wren. Like the bird. Try again next time, Brenda.”
The nurse, clipboard clutched in hand, didn’t even glance up.
“It’s Belinda,” she said flatly.
“Cool. Belinda.” Wren rolled her eyes and disappeared into the intake room.
Leo exhaled slowly. He liked the name Wren. Fragile. Fast. Like something you might cup your hands around to protect.
He leaned back against the wall and tried to relax, but the tightness in his chest wouldn’t release. Not with the waiting, not with the paperwork, not with the memories of last night—the screaming, the shouting, the blood, and his own helpless hands.
When the nurse finally called his name, he stood up, folder in hand, trying to ignore the trembling in his fingers.
“Leo Martin?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Follow me. Dr. Hargrove will meet with you first.”
As he walked past the beige chairs and toward the hallway, he caught a glimpse of Wren through the glass door. She didn’t wave or even look at him, but she didn’t move away either. It was almost like she was waiting, or maybe just…watching.
Leo didn’t know if he was ready for this—ready to be seen, ready to talk, ready to confront the mess inside him. But he knew one thing: he wasn’t going back to last night. He wasn’t going back to that version of himself.
Chapter Two – Rule #1: No Touching
The first group session was worse than Leo expected. The circle of chairs looked like a trap, lined with eager, desperate eyes that seemed to measure every thought, every twitch, every breath.
Wren was already there, perched on the edge of her chair like a cat ready to bolt. Her arms were crossed, boots tapping the floor. She didn’t smile, but her gaze landed on him, sharp and assessing.
Leo sat beside her, careful to leave space. “You…come here often?” he muttered, more awkward than intended.
Wren snorted. “No. I hate therapy. But apparently, the world wants me fixed.”
He wanted to laugh. Wanted to tell her he felt the same way. Instead, he nodded.
The therapist, Dr. Hargrove, started the session with introductions. “Name, age, and one thing you struggle with,” she said.
Wren’s turn came. She slouched in her chair. “Wren. Sixteen. Surviving.”
Leo wanted to recoil. That was too blunt. Too real. But when it was his turn, he muttered, “Leo. Seventeen. Coping.”
There was a long silence. Wren raised an eyebrow at him, almost like a warning: I can see right through you.
After group, she leaned over and whispered, “Rule number one—no touching. We’re not here for sparks, Leo.”
He swallowed. “I wasn’t thinking about…”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, grinning faintly. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”
Something in her voice made him laugh, short and tense. It felt dangerous. And maybe that was exactly the point.
Chapter Three – Alive for One Summer Only
By the end of the second week, Wren had started talking to him outside group.
They sat on the hospital’s courtyard bench, spring sun warming the concrete beneath them.
“One summer,” she said. “We live. Not survive. Not cope. Live. Go places. Make art. Scream at the ocean. No relapse, no rehab talk, no pity parties.”
Leo blinked. “And after summer?”
“Maybe we fall apart. Maybe we ghost each other. Maybe we don’t. But for now? I just want to feel something that isn’t pain.”
They spit-shook on it. A pact made, unspoken agreement that nothing else mattered for now.
Leo felt a surge of hope he hadn’t felt in months.
Chapter Four – Fire Escapes and Strawberry Cigarettes
They found abandoned rooftops and train stations. She smoked strawberry-flavored cigarettes; he didn’t smoke but held her hand as she exhaled clouds into the sky.
They swapped music, burned old mixtapes, and painted murals on alley walls under the cover of night.
They never kissed. But notes began to appear in each other’s sketchbooks: confessions in messy handwriting.
Wren (June 19): You make it easier to breathe. Don’t get too good at this or I’ll never want to leave.
Leo (June 20): You talk like everything’s temporary. But some things feel like they shouldn’t be.
Every note felt like a spark. Every rooftop scream felt like freedom.
Chapter Five – Beneath the Surface
Leo began noticing cracks in Wren’s armor.
She skipped group sessions. She stopped sharing in art therapy. She smiled less, laughed less, and sometimes stared at nothing for minutes on end.
One night, on a bench by the river, he asked, “Wren…what’s going on?”
Her eyes flitted away. “Nothing. Just…tired.”
He didn’t believe her.
He started staying up late, worrying, sketching her in his notebook—every shadow, every tremor, every tiny detail.
Chapter Six – When It Slips
Then it got worse.
Wren disappeared for three days. Calls went unanswered. Messages, ignored. Leo was frantic.
He found her finally at an old train station, sitting on the tracks with her head in her hands.
“Wren,” he said softly, approaching.
She looked up, eyes hollow. “I broke the pact.”
“No,” he whispered, sitting beside her. “Not yet. But if you leave—I will.”
She didn’t answer. She reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away.
Chapter Seven – Almost Gone
The incident at the train tracks prompted Wren to check herself into inpatient care.
Leo visited every day, sitting silently, sketching, sharing music through small headphones.
She was fragile but alive.
Through letters, she admitted her trauma: a recent accident she’d hidden, the kind that made her feel unworthy, untouchable. Leo didn’t judge. He just listened.
Chapter Eight – After the Fall
Weeks passed. Recovery was slow. Tiny victories counted: a shower without anxiety, a group session attended, a journal entry written.
They shared letters, messages, sketches. Chaos on her side, precision on his—but somehow, it worked.
Summer was winding down. The pact still lingered, bittersweet.
Chapter Nine – Summer’s End
The days grew shorter. Reality pressed in: school, appointments, life.
Leo and Wren walked along the same rooftop where the pact was made.
“Feels different now,” Wren said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But some things don’t change.”
She smiled, a real smile, small but fierce. “I want to try,” she said. “Even if it’s scary.”
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Chapter Ten – We Still Bleed
They weren’t perfect. Nights came with panic attacks. Weeks dragged with hopelessness.
But they had each other.
The summer ended. Leo held her hand as the first school bell rang. They walked into the chaos of life, hearts still fragile but beating.
Epilogue – Alive
They still bled. They still struggled.
But that summer—they felt alive.
And that had to count for something.
Even if the world kept testing them, even if life hurt—they survived. And somehow, that was beautiful.
The End