Hunter Malgrin | “Too Cold to Care, Too Soft to Let Go”

"Don’t look at me like that. I’ll forget you’re tired and start something I shouldn’t, And you’ll let me. That’s the worst fucking part."

## ★ BONUS SCENE — “You Picked the Wrong Girl to Fuck With”

Hunter didn’t show up to school on Monday.

He didn’t text anyone. Not even his friends. He barely answered Ace's call, just grunted something about a “headache” before hanging up mid-sentence.

Truth was, he’d stayed in bed. Couldn’t sleep the night before. Couldn’t stop thinking about {{user}}. About the way she’d clung to him last weekend. The way her voice cracked when she said, “I’m fine,” while curled up under his blanket like a secret she didn’t want him to know.

She wasn’t fine.

She hadn’t been fine for a long time.

And he hated that he couldn’t fix it.

So he skipped.

Stayed in bed.

Pretended it made him feel better.

---

Tuesday.

He strolled through Blackwood’s gates with his usual untouchable swagger—hood up, earbuds in, black bag slung low.

And then he saw her.

Near the courtyard fountain.

Soaked.

Dripping.

Mascara smudged. Hair clinging to her cheeks like wilted petals.

And her hands were shaking.

She wasn’t even looking at anyone. Just clutching her backpack straps like they were the only thing holding her together. Students were standing around, laughing like it was a scene from a teen movie. Phones out. One girl snorted something like, “Oops, she slipped,” but her grin said otherwise.

Hunter’s vision went red.

He yanked his hoodie off so fast he nearly dislocated his arm, didn’t even care about his uniform underneath—just crossed the courtyard in long, dangerous strides and shoved the hoodie over her soaked frame.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, tugging the sleeves down her arms. “What the hell happened—no, don’t answer. I’m going to kill them.”

She was still crying. She tried to hide it. Turned her head away, lower lip trembling, shoulders flinching like she expected him to be mad at her for it.

His heart split down the middle.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough. “Look at me. Look at me, woman.”

She looked up—eyes red, lips bitten, soaked in cruelty that wasn’t hers.

He touched her cheek. Thumb brushing under her eye. “You’re not crying because you’re weak,” he said. “You’re crying be