I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 58: The Moment Between Heartbeats
Lunchtime used to be a welcome break. A pit stop in the school day where she could regroup, recharge, maybe catch a few laughs between classes.
Today, the lunch tray in front of her felt like a concrete slab.
Sam sat alone, a plastic fork in hand, slowly pushing a piece of grilled chicken across her plate. She knew she was hungry. Her stomach had made that abundantly clear all through third period. But now that food was here, eating felt like a performance she hadn't rehearsed for.
Her brain was too loud.
The noise inside her head refused to quiet. It churned with memories and regrets and moments she couldn't go back to, no matter how many times she replayed them.
She took a small bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
No taste. Just cardboard and obligation.
"You need the protein," she muttered under her breath, as if nutritional logic could fix emotional erosion.
She forced herself to keep eating—slow, mechanical, detached.
And then, her eyes flicked up. Not intentionally. Not consciously. Just drawn like a magnet to something she could never truly ignore.
Jon.
He sat a few tables over with Terry, halfway through a sandwich, animatedly recounting something that had Terry wheezing with laughter. Jon's face lit up as he laughed along, his whole body leaning into the moment like he always did.
That laugh again.
It hit her in the chest.
The weight of it, the warmth of it. The way it wrapped around the room like it belonged to everyone but was somehow still hers—or had been.
She wanted to walk over. She wanted to sit next to him, to hear the story, to laugh too. But instead, she pushed down those impulses with whatever strength she could muster. She sank lower into her seat and looked back down at her tray. The food hadn't gotten any more appetizing.
Coward.
A voice came from the back of her mind—her own voice.
The voice in her head didn't yell. It didn't scream. It whispered—quiet, steady, cruel.
And worse than anything: it was right.
She had run away. When things were getting real with Jon—when she started feeling the kind of feelings that came without exit strategies—she panicked. Asked for space. Told herself it was healthy, responsible, mature.
But she knew better now.
She hadn't asked for space to grow.
She'd asked for space to hide.
And now she was sitting alone, afraid to look at the boy who once made her feel like the center of the universe. Because if she did, all she'd see were the pieces of what she broke.
That realization sparked something in her mind, as a wave of emotions—mainly guilt and discomfort—washed over Sam.
Sam clenched her jaw and took another bite. She didn't even bother chewing this time. Just swallowed and hoped it'd fill the whole in her chest.
The sounds of the cafeteria washed over her—trays clattering, friends chattering, forks scraping. But it all blurred together into a distant hum, as Sam fought a battle inside her head against the overwhelming waves of emotion threatening to consume her.
Sam felt herself slowly losing strength, until she heard him.
"Hey."
Her head snapped up. The battle in her mind halted at the sheer surprise of hearing his voice again.
Jon stood in front of her, tray in hand, eyes steady on hers. His voice was the same—low, calm, warm—but something about it felt like thunder in her bones.
He looked… good.
Not just physically, though of course he did—Jon always had that infuriating, natural handsomeness that didn't even try. But it was something deeper. A presence. A calmness. Like no matter how chaotic the world got, he'd still show up steady.
And now, here he was.
"I know you asked for space," he said, his voice quiet but clear. "But I saw you from my table. You look great, as always, but—" he paused, studying her face, "—I don't know. I just got the feeling something's off."
Her breath caught again. A different kind of weight now.
"Do you mind if I join you?"
It was the gentleness in his voice that undid her. The lack of accusation. The open door.
Sam blinked, caught between surprise, guilt, and the dizzying relief of just hearing him again.
She nodded.
Just once. Small. Barely perceptible.
But it was enough.
Jon smiled—not the big, world-laughing smile he gave Terry a moment ago, but the soft one. The one that always felt like it was meant just for her.
He took a seat across from her, setting down his tray with the same casualness he always had.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
And yet, something inside her finally quieted.
Not fixed. Not healed.
But calm.