Chapter 5 The Boy Who Stayed

Aleli’s POV

“YOU DON’T have to pretend with me.”

Malcolm said it quietly, like it wasn’t something he wanted anyone else to hear, even though there was no one else around.

I stood still for a second, my hand hovering over the strap of my bag as I glanced at him. We were tucked into one of the quieter corners near the back of the campus, the path leading toward the old bleachers where people rarely passed unless they had somewhere specific to be.

It was the same place I always ended up when I needed space.

And somehow, he always knew.

“I’m not pretending,” I said, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

Malcolm tilted his head slightly, studying me in that way he did when he wasn’t entirely convinced but didn’t want to push too hard either.

“Right,” he said lightly, though there was something under it that wasn’t quite teasing. “So the whole ‘I’m fine’ thing is real now?”

“I am fine,” I repeated, a little more firmly this time.

His gaze dropped briefly, and I followed it without meaning to.

My knees.

The scrapes were still there, faintly red against my skin, the edges slightly rough where they had started to dry but hadn’t healed yet. I hadn’t really paid attention to them after this morning. There were other things that felt louder.

More urgent.

“That doesn’t look fine,” he said quietly.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, shifting my weight slightly like that would somehow make it less noticeable.

“Sit.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Sit,” he repeated, nodding toward the empty bench beside us. “Unless you plan on walking around with that all day and pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“And I said sit,” he replied, his tone still calm but just firm enough that I knew he wasn’t going to let it go.

I hesitated for a second.

Then let out a small breath and gave in, lowering myself onto the bench carefully, my movements slower now that I was actually paying attention to the sting.

“There,” he said, like he had just won something small but important. “Was that so hard?”

I didn’t answer.

He set his bag down beside him and crouched slightly in front of me, unzipping one of the smaller compartments with practiced ease.

“You carry around a first aid kit?” I asked, watching him pull out a small pouch.

“Comes in handy,” he said simply. “Especially around people who don’t know how to take care of themselves.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“Sure you do.”

I narrowed my eyes at him slightly, but there wasn’t enough energy in me to argue.

Not really.

“Malcolm—”

“Relax,” he cut in gently, glancing up at me for a brief second before focusing back on what he was doing. “I’m not about to perform surgery. Just cleaning it.”

I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders drop just a little as I watched him open the pouch and pull out what he needed.

There was something about the way he moved. Careful. Unhurried. Like this wasn’t a big deal, but also not something to rush through.

“Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “This might sting a little.”

“I said it’s fine,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “And I’m still not believing you.”

Before I could respond, he gently touched my knee, steadying it just slightly as he started cleaning the scrape.

The sting hit immediately. Sharp enough to make me suck in a quiet breath.

“Told you,” he said, not unkindly.

I pressed my lips together, my fingers curling slightly against the edge of the bench as I forced myself to stay still.

“It’s not that bad,” I muttered.

“Mm,” he hummed softly, clearly unconvinced.

We fell into a quiet rhythm after that. Him cleaning the wound. Me trying not to react too much.

The world around us faded into something distant, the noise of campus reduced to soft background sound that didn’t reach us the same way it usually did.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, “you don’t always have to act like nothing gets to you.”

I didn’t answer right away.Because the truth was—everything got to me. I just didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

“I’m not acting,” I said finally.

He glanced up at me again, his eyes searching my face briefly before returning to my knee.

“You’re good at it,” he said.

“At what?”

“Making it look like you don’t care.”

I let out a small breath, something that almost sounded like a laugh but didn’t quite reach it. “Maybe I don’t,” I said.

He didn’t respond immediately.

Just finished what he was doing, his movements slowing slightly as he placed a small bandage over the scrape, pressing it down carefully.

When he was done, he leaned back slightly, sitting down beside me instead of staying crouched.

“Okay,” he said. “Now it’s fine.”

I glanced down at my knee, then back at him. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

He shrugged a little, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Don’t mention it.”

We sat there for a moment, the silence settling between us in a way that didn’t feel heavy. Just… present.

“You handled that well, by the way,” he added after a second.

“What?”

“This morning.”

I looked away, my gaze settling somewhere ahead of us where the sunlight filtered through the trees in uneven patterns.

“I threw a drink at someone,” I said flatly.

“Yeah,” he replied, a hint of amusement slipping into his tone. “And it was impressive.”

“It was impulsive.”

“It was deserved.”

I shook my head slightly, a small breath escaping me. “I don’t usually do things like that.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why it meant something.”

I didn’t respond. But something in my chest shifted slightly at that.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked after a moment.

“My knee?” I glanced down briefly. “A little.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I stilled.

My fingers tightened slightly against my bag as I kept my gaze forward. “I’m fine,” I said again, softer this time.

Malcolm didn’t argue.

He just leaned back slightly, resting his hands loosely on his knees as he looked out ahead.

“You don’t have to be,” he said after a while.

The words were simple. But they stayed.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” he continued, his voice steady. “You don’t have to act like none of it matters.”

I swallowed, my throat tightening just slightly. “I don’t know what else to do,” I admitted quietly.

It was the first real thing I had said all day. Maybe longer. He didn’t react right away or turn to look at me immediately. He just let the words sit there.

Then, slowly, he spoke.

“You don’t have to figure everything out at once,” he said. “You just have to stop doing things that hurt you.”

I let out a small breath, my shoulders dropping just a little. “That’s easier said than done.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

A pause.

Then he suddenly spoke again. “You stopped chasing him,” he added.

I nodded slightly. “I did.”

“That’s a start.”

I didn’t say anything. Because it didn’t feel like a start. It felt like an ending. Or something close to it.

Malcolm turned his head slightly then, looking at me fully now. “You deserve someone who chooses you without being asked,” he said.

The words landed differently. He didn’t say them like advice. Or like something casual. He said them like he meant them.

Like they mattered.

I felt my chest tighten again, but not in the same way as before. Not sharp or painful. Just… heavy.

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t know what I would see if I did. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

So I stayed still. Quiet. Letting the silence stretch between us again.

But this time, it wasn’t empty. 

It held something. Something I didn’t quite know how to name yet.

Malcolm didn’t say anything else. He didn’t push or fill the space. He just stayed there beside me. Like he always did.

And for once… I didn’t pull away.