About the way she flinched sometimes, even when he touched her gently. The way she kept her arms covered, even when it was hot. The way she avoided the house parties lately. How she never went back to her own dorm unless she had to.
The scars.
He needed to ask her.
Needed to make sure she was okay.
Because something told him— deep in his chest, in that place where gut instincts live— that this wasn’t just about his sister being a brat.
And if Ali was hurting, if something had happened…
He’d burn down the fucking world before he let her go through it alone.
You Are In Love
Ali
She felt it before he even said anything.
Something in the air had changed. Dylan was still being Dylan— sweet, attentive, soft-spoken— but there was a weight in his eyes she couldn’t name. Something heavy and too quiet.
They were curled up on his bed again. Sunday night had faded into early Monday morning, and she should’ve already gone back to her dorm to sleep before class. But she hadn’t wantedto leave. Not after the kind of weekend they’d had. Not after she gave him everything.
So when he asked, his voice gentle but serious, her whole world tilted.
“Ali,” he said, brushing her hair from her cheek, “can I ask you something?”
She sat up slightly, her stomach turning. “Okay…”
He paused. Looked down. And then, with aching tenderness, took her hand in his and pushed her sleeve back just an inch.
“I saw it,” he whispered. “Last night. The scars.”
Her blood went cold.
Dylan’s thumb hovered just over the faint lines across her wrist. He didn’t press. Didn’t push. Just looked at her with those heartbreakingly kind eyes.
“Is someone hurting you?” he asked. Then even more gently, “Ali… are you hurting yourself?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
And then everything shattered.
She turned her face, but he cupped her cheek and made her look at him. That was the worst part— he didn’t look angry. Or disgusted. He looked wrecked.
Tears flooded her eyes before she could stop them. “I— I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking like broken glass. “I didn’t think— I didn’t want you to know.”
His arms were around her before the next sob could leave her throat.
She collapsed into him. Every part of her broke open.
It all spilled out— Daisy’s words, the screaming, the names. The slamming doors. The cruel games her roommates played. The isolation. The quiet digs. The way it never stopped, not even when she hid.
She told him about the nights she’d lock herself in the bathroom just to feel like she could breathe. About how theblade had only come a few times. About how terrified she’d been, how lost. Every time it happened. She didn’t know how else to make the pain inside to go away.
“I didn’t want to die,” she choked, “I just didn’t know how to make it stop.”
Dylan didn’t speak.
