A Fictional Love Story

Lia: Cracks in His Wall

Dinner at home was suffocating, as always. The clinking of utensils and the scraping of plates filled the awkward silence. My mother, perched at the head of the table, had her gaze locked on me, her expression a mix of disappointment and indifference.

"Jake's been promoted again," she said casually, as though it was just another fact of life. "You know, he's been offered a position overseas. His boss says he's indispensable to the team."

I tried to smile, but it came out forced. "That's great, Mom."

It wasn't great. It was exhausting. The endless comparisons, the constant reminder that no matter how hard I worked or what I achieved, I would always come second to Jake. In my mother's eyes, he was perfect—the golden child who could do no wrong. And me? I was just... there. Struggling to finish my thesis, drowning under the weight of expectations that seemed impossible to meet.

"Maybe if you spent more time focusing on your work and less on... whatever it is you do in that bookstore, you'd be further along in life," she continued, her words sharp, cutting.

I felt a lump forming in my throat, but I swallowed it down. "I am working on it, Mom. I'm halfway through my thesis."

She didn't even acknowledge my words, just took another bite of her food, completely uninterested in my progress. It was like nothing I did ever mattered, not to her.

Dinner dragged on painfully, with every comment she made about Jake feeling like another punch to the gut. I finished my meal as they continue to talk about my mighty brother, and I stood up, excusing myself. 

"I'll get going."

By the time I excused myself from the table, I could barely breathe.

I needed to get out. I needed to be somewhere—anywhere—other than here.

The bookstore was quiet when I arrived, the soft glow of the overhead lights and the familiar smell of books offering a semblance of comfort. It was late, close to closing time, but I didn't care. I just needed to be alone, to find some kind of solace in the shelves and stories that had always been my escape.

I wandered aimlessly between the aisles, my vision blurring as tears threatened to spill over. My thoughts were a jumbled mess—my mom's cutting remarks, the constant pressure to live up to Jake, the overwhelming feeling of failure that clung to me no matter how hard I tried to shake it.

I collapsed into a chair near the back of the store, burying my face in my hands as the tears finally came. It felt like everything was crashing down at once, and I didn't know how to handle it. I was drowning, and there was no one around to pull me out.

For a fleeting moment, I wished—no, I longed—for Ten to be real. I wished that the character I had come to love from the pages of my book could step out of fiction and be there for me. Ten, with his kindness, his quiet strength, his ability to make everything seem okay even when it wasn't.

But Ten wasn't real. He never would be.

And that made the ache in my chest even worse.

I sat there for what felt like hours, silently crying, feeling utterly alone. The bookstore was empty now, the last few customers having left. But then, just as I was wiping away the last of my tears, the sound of footsteps broke the silence.

I looked up, half-expecting to see a staff member getting ready to close up for the night. Instead, it was Red.

He paused when he saw me, his usual cold expression faltering for just a second as our eyes met. I quickly looked away, embarrassed that he had caught me like this—vulnerable, crying, a mess.

For a moment, I thought he would just walk away, leave me to my misery. After all, Red wasn't the kind of person to comfort anyone. He was distant, detached, and I had come to accept that. But then, to my surprise, he walked over and sat down in the chair next to mine.

He didn't say anything. Didn't ask what was wrong or why I was crying. He just sat there, his presence quiet but solid, as if to say he was there if I needed him.

I stared down at my hands, feeling the weight of his presence beside me. My heart was still racing from the storm of emotions, but somehow, just having him there made it a little easier to breathe.

"I hate them," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "I hate how they make me feel like I'm never good enough."

Red didn't respond right away. He just sat there, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, his expression unreadable as always. But I could feel something different about him tonight. A softness, maybe. Or maybe I was imagining it.

"They don't know you," he said quietly, his voice low but steady.

I turned to look at him, surprised by his words. "What?"

He met my gaze, and for the first time since I had known him, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something more than just indifference. "Your family," he continued. "They don't see you for who you are. But that doesn't mean you're not enough."

I blinked, taken aback by his words. Red wasn't one for emotional conversations, and yet here he was, offering me some kind of comfort. It wasn't what I expected, but it was exactly what I needed.

"You don't know me either," I said softly, my voice shaky.

Red looked away, his jaw tightening for a brief moment. "Maybe not. But I'm trying."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and meaningful. There it was again—that crack in his cold exterior. The faintest hint that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Red than he was willing to admit. And for the first time, I wondered if his distance wasn't just about not caring—but about protecting himself.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this," I muttered, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater.

Red shook his head. "Don't be."

We sat in silence for a while, the weight of everything that had been said and unsaid settling between us. It wasn't an easy silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable either. It was just... real.

Eventually, I spoke again. "It's just so hard, you know? My mom keeps comparing me to Jake, and no matter what I do, it's never enough. I feel like I'm drowning."

Red glanced at me, his eyes softer now, though still guarded. "You're not drowning, Lia. You're just... trying to stay afloat."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Doesn't feel that way."

He didn't say anything, but his presence alone was enough to calm the storm that had been raging inside me all night.

As the bookstore lights dimmed, signaling that it was time to leave, Red finally stood up. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable once more, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, in the way he looked at me. It was almost as if he wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

I stood up, feeling a little lighter now, though the weight of everything still lingered at the edges. We walked out of the bookstore together, the cool night air hitting my face as we stepped onto the street.

For once, Red didn't walk ahead of me, didn't disappear into the night like he usually did. He stayed by my side, our steps matching as we walked in silence. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the turning point.