synapse: after getting blackmailed, henry has to make a choice…
pairing: professor!henry creel x reader
contains: professor/student relationship, blackmail, angst
a/n: had this thought out for a while. just barely edited. i also wrote a jamie imagine and have a story that’s a henry/wandavision au type thing also would you guys be cool if i did different titles for this series because im sick of writing ‘part seven, eight’ etc.
Morning office hours were usually predictable.
Henry liked them that way: quiet, orderly, students drifting in with questions about essays and commas, the day still clean enough to pretend it would stay that way. He was alone in his classroom early, collar buttoned, chalk dust on his fingertips, a mug of coffee cooling on the corner of his desk.
The knock came sharp and confident.
Henry didn’t look up right away. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Daniel Taylor walked in like he owned the room.
Not nervous. Not hesitant. Not the posture of a student asking for help.
Daniel smiled as if they were equals.
“Professor Creel,” he said warmly, too warmly. “Morning.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Mr. Taylor.” His voice was neutral, clipped. “If you’re here about your last paper—”
“Oh, no,” Daniel cut in, still smiling. He shut the door behind him with deliberate care. “I’m not here about a paper.”
That made something cold shift in Henry’s chest.
Daniel strolled closer, hands in his pockets, then stopped at Henry’s desk like he was visiting a friend. He leaned down, not quite disrespectful on the surface, just familiar enough to be wrong.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Daniel said.
Henry finally set his pen down. “About what?”
Daniel’s smile widened, almost apologetic. “About your extracurriculars.”
Henry didn’t react outwardly. Not a flinch. Not a twitch. He’d learned long ago that the first sign of fear was an invitation.
Still, his hand went still on the desk.
Daniel reached into his jacket and pulled out a small stack of Polaroids.
He didn’t toss them. He placed them carefully—one, two, three—spread across Henry’s desk as if he were laying out evidence in court.
The photos were grainy. Dim. Shot from a bad angle.
A cracked classroom door. A sliver of shadow. Henry’s profile. Y/N too close to him, close in a way that couldn’t be explained away as tutoring. A hand at her waist. Her body angled toward his. The kind of moment that only existed when they believed the world wasn’t watching.
Henry stared at the pictures without blinking.
Daniel watched him like he was studying the moment Henry would break.
“I took them,” Daniel said, casual. “Your door doesn’t always shut all the way. Guess the old building’s settling.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you were too distracted to notice. I would be too with her...”
Henry’s voice stayed even. “What do you want?”
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted, feigning innocence. “Direct.”
Henry’s eyes finally lifted from the photos to Daniel’s face. His gaze was calm, but it was the calm of something dangerous being restrained.
“What,” Henry repeated, “do you want?”
Daniel leaned back slightly, satisfied. “I want you to end it.”
Daniel tapped the top photo lightly. “Dump her. Cut it off. Whatever you call it.”
Henry’s jaw clenched so hard it made a small muscle jump near his cheek. “And if I don’t?”
Daniel’s smile turned sharp. “Then I take these to the principal. Or the department chair. Or whoever makes the biggest mess.” He shrugged again. “I’m not picky.”
Henry’s mind moved fast, and his face gave nothing away.
Y/N’s name wasn’t said aloud, but it filled the room anyway.
Daniel continued, voice still falsely light. “You’re careful, I’ll give you that. But you’re not invisible.” His eyes flicked over Henry’s desk, the classroom, the space where Y/N had laughed once, where she’d challenged him, where she’d looked at him like he was something worth wanting. “And she’s not subtle.”
Henry’s fingers curled slowly against the wood of the desk. “You’re blackmailing me.”
Daniel’s smile thinned. “I’m protecting her.”
The lie was so effortless it almost impressed Henry.
“You?” Henry said quietly.
Daniel’s eyes flashed. “I tried to date her. She used me. Everyone knows it. Then suddenly she’s glowing again, and you’re looking like you haven’t slept in a week.” He tilted his head. “It doesn’t take a genius.”
Henry’s voice dropped lower. “This isn’t about protecting her. This is about you not getting what you wanted.”
Daniel’s expression hardened for a second, then smoothed back into smugness. “Call it what you want. End it, or I ruin both of you.”
Henry stared at him. Not with anger, not yet. With calculation.
He imagined the aftermath in perfect, brutal clarity.
An investigation. Faculty whispers. Students staring. Y/N labeled before she’d even finished school, reduced to a rumor, a scandal, a cautionary tale. Her writing dismissed as favoritism. Her grades questioned. Doors closing quietly in her face without anyone ever admitting why.
He imagined her sitting across from him, trying to be brave while her future burned.
And the worst part, the part Henry couldn’t stop replaying, was that Daniel was right about one thing:
Y/N wasn’t built to endure shame quietly. She’d fight it. She’d challenge it. She’d get loud.
And she’d be punished for it.
Henry’s gaze dropped to the Polaroids again. His throat tightened with something that had nothing to do with fear.
He’d been telling himself it was just heat. Just hunger. Just a secret he could compartmentalize.
But lately it had stopped feeling like that.
Lately, it had started to feel like belonging.
Like waking up with her in his bed.
Like her laughter in his kitchen.
Like the way she looked at him when she wasn’t being clever, when she was soft and tired and needed him.
He’d been careful not to name what that was.
Because naming it would make it real.
And real things could be destroyed.
Daniel broke the silence. “So?”
“Take your photos,” Henry said calmly.
Henry’s voice stayed even, but the edge in it was unmistakable. “Take them. Get out of my classroom.”
Daniel’s smile returned, triumphant. “So you’re going to do it?”
Daniel scooped up the Polaroids, tucking them back into his jacket with deliberate satisfaction. He stepped toward the door, pausing like he wanted the last word.
“You’re making the right choice,” Daniel said.
Henry’s eyes stayed on him, cold now. “No,” he replied softly. “I’m making the only choice you’re leaving me.”
The room went still again, but it wasn’t the peaceful kind of stillness Henry preferred. It was the kind that came after a gunshot.
Henry sat down slowly, staring at the empty space on his desk where the photos had been.
His coffee had gone cold.
All he could see was Y/N’s face when he’d hurt her before, how she’d tried to cover it with anger, how quickly her eyes had given her away. He imagined doing it again on purpose, more sharply, more final.
He imagined her saying, What are we? and him forcing out words that would cut clean.
He imagined her leaving his apartment, his bed, his life, and never coming back.
And for a moment, just a moment, his composure cracked, not into rage but into something worse:
Because he knew what he’d have to do.
He was starting to fall in love with her. He could feel it like a slow, unstoppable tide pulling at the edges of his control.
And that was exactly why he couldn’t let this ruin her.
Henry pressed his fingertips to his temple, eyes closing briefly.
He could protect her reputation.
He could protect her future.
Even if it meant becoming the villain in her story.
When he opened his eyes again, his expression was perfectly composed.
But his chest ached like something had already been torn out.
He reached for a blank piece of paper, an excuse for her to come see him, a reason that wouldn’t look suspicious, and began to write.
Not because he wanted to end it.
Because he didn’t see another way to save her.
Y/N walked to Creel’s class like the world had finally decided to be kind to her.
It was one of those crisp Boston mornings where the air felt sharp enough to wake you up properly, where the brick buildings looked warm in the early sun. She had her notebook hugged to her chest, her highlighters tucked into the spiral like a bookmark, and a smile she couldn’t stop from forming; small, private, ridiculous.
She hadn’t seen Nancy’s bed made and empty without feeling that pinch of loneliness this time.
She hadn’t woken up with dread sitting on her ribs.
Because she was going to see him.
Because she’d been counting minutes since she’d left his apartment, replaying the way he’d looked at her when he thought no one was watching. Replaying his voice in her head like it could keep her steady through the day. She was still riding that soft, warm hope that maybe, maybe this could keep being theirs.
She slipped into the classroom early like she always did, expecting that familiar flicker in his eyes. Expecting the subtle shift in his posture, the way the air seemed to change when they were in the same room.
Henry was already at his desk.
Neat. Composed. Shirt cuffs buttoned. Chalk ready. Papers aligned like soldiers.
But the moment his gaze found her, something tightened.
Something like grief, quick, buried, gone so fast she almost missed it.
Y/N’s smile faltered for half a second, then she forced it back into place, telling herself she was imagining things. Telling herself it was just morning seriousness. Professor face.
“Good morning,” she said softly, making it sound normal.
“Good morning,” Henry answered.
His voice was the same as always, measured, controlled, but it didn’t wrap around her the way it usually did. It didn’t linger. It didn’t reach.
Y/N slid into her seat, still smiling, still pretending the tiny twist in her stomach wasn’t there. She opened her notebook and waited for him to come closer. For some sign. Anything.
Instead, he stayed behind his desk longer than usual.
When class began and students trickled in, Y/N tried to focus on the lecture. She really did. She wrote notes. She underlined quotes. She raised her hand once, eager, bright, ready to shine the way she always did when she wanted him to see her.
Henry didn’t call on her.
It wasn’t obvious, not to anyone else. He called on another student, moved on, kept the room flowing smoothly.
But Y/N felt it like someone had tapped a bruise.
He walked the aisles like he always did, passing desks, scanning pages, pausing to check someone’s annotation, except every time he came near her row, his path shifted subtly. As if he were avoiding her by inches. As if proximity itself was dangerous now.
Y/N’s pen started to slip in her fingers.
Her stomach churned. Her throat tightened.
She caught his eye once, just once, and the look he gave her made her heart drop.
Controlled pity, disguised as indifference.
Her hands went clammy. She kept writing anyway, pretending her notes didn’t start to blur as her eyes watered just enough to sting.
By the time class ended, she was sitting too still.
As students packed up and chairs scraped the floor, Y/N stayed seated with her notebook open, hoping, praying, this was a misunderstanding that would fix itself the moment the room emptied.
Henry stood at the front like he always did, posture perfect.
“Have a good weekend,” he told the class, voice steady.
Y/N waited until the last student shuffled out.
The door clicked shut. The room fell silent.
Her heart was beating so hard it felt loud.
She stood slowly, forcing her face into something that looked like calm. “Hi,” she said again, as if the word could reset the day.
He stayed by his desk, hands resting on the wood, eyes fixed on a point just past her shoulder like he couldn’t risk looking at her too long.
And the way he said her name, careful, distant, made her stomach drop so violently she thought she might be sick.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her voice came out too light. “Did I do something?”
“You need to stop coming to see me,” Henry said.
The sentence landed like a slap, clean and sudden.
Y/N blinked, not understanding. “What?”
Henry’s jaw flexed. “This ends. Today.”
Her chest hollowed. She stood there, frozen, her fingers gripping her notebook so tightly the spiral bit into her palm.
“You’re…” she tried again, the room tilting slightly. “You’re breaking up with me.”
Henry’s face didn’t change. That was the cruelest part.
“We can’t continue,” he said, voice as flat as if he were discussing a syllabus.
Y/N’s throat tightened until it hurt. “Why?”
Henry’s gaze flicked to her at last, and she saw it: something raw, something hidden under all that control.
“Because it was a mistake,” he said.
The words were surgical. Precise. Designed to cut.
Y/N’s eyes stung instantly. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe through the pain like she could out-stubborn it.
“A mistake,” she repeated, barely a whisper.
Henry’s mouth tightened, just slightly, like the word tasted bitter. “Yes.”
Y/N stared at him, waiting for the joke. Waiting for the reveal. Waiting for him to step forward and soften and tell her he was scared and he didn’t mean it.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, voice shaking now despite her best effort. “Henry…”
Her heart broke in real time. She felt it, something inside her cracking, sharp and sickening, like ice giving way.
Her eyes drifted helplessly to his hands, so steady, then to his face, so controlled.
“How can you say that?” she managed. “After everything. After…” Her voice caught, and she forced it out anyway because the pain demanded language. “After you held me. After you let me come to you when I was scared. After you…”
Henry cut her off, voice harder now, as if softness would ruin him. “This is not up for discussion.”
Y/N’s breath shuddered. She nodded quickly, too quickly, because if she didn’t do something she would fall apart right there at his feet, and she refused to give him that.
Her face went still, pain sealed behind her eyes.
Henry’s gaze flickered, a crack of something that almost looked like regret.
Y/N didn’t let herself stare at it too long.
She picked up her bag with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling. She tucked her notebook against her chest like armor.
Then she walked to the door.
Every step felt unreal, like her body was moving while her mind stayed behind, still trying to negotiate with the moment.
Her fingers closed around the knob.
Behind her, Henry said her name again, quiet, wrecked, like he almost couldn’t help it.
For one brutal second, hope surged, wild and desperate, that he was about to take it back.
She turned halfway, just enough to look over her shoulder.
Henry’s face was composed again. Eyes guarded. Walls up.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
No “I’m doing this for you.”
Nothing that could soften the cut.
Y/N nodded once, a tiny motion that felt like defeat, and walked out.
She didn’t cry in the hallway.
She didn’t cry down the stairs.
She didn’t cry on the walk back to her dorm, even though the campus seemed too bright, too normal, too indifferent. Students laughed. Someone played music from an open window. A couple held hands on the steps of a building, careless and young and free.
Y/N kept her face steady, swallowing pain like it was something she could digest.
She skipped her next class without even thinking.
She skipped the one after that, too.
Her legs carried her to the dorm on autopilot.
When she got inside the room, the silence hit her first. Nancy’s side was still empty, her bed made, her typewriter gone. The room felt like it was missing its spine.
The click was small, but it sounded final.
She stood there for a moment like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Like she’d been unplugged from herself.
She crossed the room in two steps and collapsed onto her bed, still clutching her notebook like it could save her. She kicked off her shoes without looking, tugged the blanket up over her shoulders, then over her head, burying herself in darkness like a child.
And that’s when the dam broke.
The first sob tore out of her, ugly and involuntary.
It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t cinematic. It was the kind of cry that scraped your throat raw, the kind that made your chest hurt, the kind that left you feeling like you were being hollowed out from the inside.
Her hands fisted in the blanket, knuckles white. Her body curled tight, as if she could fold small enough to disappear, as if being smaller would hurt less.
It only made the loneliness louder.
She pressed her face into the pillow and tried to breathe, but every inhale came out shaking. Tears soaked the fabric fast, hot and endless, as if her body couldn’t stop producing grief now that it finally had permission.
Her mind replayed it in cruel loops.
Because it was a mistake.
The words echoed until they felt like truth.
She pictured his face as he said it, so controlled, so calm, like everything they’d done, everything she’d felt, had meant less than nothing to him.
She tried to remember the way he’d held her during the night, the way he’d promised she wasn’t alone, and it made the pain worse, because it meant either those moments were lies, or he’d meant them and still chose to cut her anyway.
Her chest tightened until breathing felt like work.
She squeezed her eyes shut under the blanket, whispering to herself, “Stop. Stop. Stop,” like she could command her heart into silence.
But her heart didn’t listen.
She wanted to be angry. Wanted to sit up and wipe her face and call him cruel and arrogant and manipulative. Wanted to turn the hurt into something sharp enough to protect her.
But all she had was the ache.
The sick, trembling ache of someone who’d started to believe she was wanted, only to be told she was a mistake.
Eventually she rolled onto her back beneath the blanket, staring into the darkness, tears still streaming. The world felt muffled and far away. Her arms wrapped around her stomach like she could physically hold herself together.
She thought of Nancy, and for the first time she hated that her friend was gone. Not because she blamed her, but because the room had never felt emptier.
There was no one to hear her without seeing her. No one to hand her water. No one to sit on the edge of the bed and say, “Tell me what happened.”
And the sound of her own grief.
Y/N pressed a shaking hand over her mouth again, trying to swallow another sob.
She cried until her throat burned, until her eyes were swollen, until her body got exhausted enough to stop fighting and simply tremble in the aftermath; quiet, broken breaths under a blanket in a dorm room that suddenly felt like the loneliest place on earth.
A few days passed the way bruises did, quietly, tenderly, with everything in Y/N’s life rearranged around the ache.
When Nancy came back from Hawkins, the dorm felt different immediately. The door opened with familiar impatience, her overnight bag rustled, and books hit the desk with a soft thud like punctuation. She took one look at Y/N’s bed, the blanket pulled high, the curtains half-drawn, the same untouched cup on the desk, and understood without needing a headline.
Nancy didn’t ask right away.
She moved around the room with a deliberate normalcy, unpacking, hanging her coat, setting her typewriter back in its place as if routine could anchor them both. She offered small things instead: “I brought you a new pen,” “Hawkins had the worst weather,” “Jonathan says hi,” and let Y/N answer with whatever she could manage, even if it was nothing but a muffled sound under a blanket.
But by the third day, Nancy came in carrying a paper bag and a styrofoam cup that smelled like cafeteria coffee and stubbornness.
“Okay,” Nancy said, voice firm, as she set the bag down on Y/N’s desk. “I’m going to do something radical.”
Nancy sat on the edge of her own bed and stared at the blanket-covered lump that had become her best friend for the past week.
“I’m going to feed you,” Nancy announced.
A quiet sniff came from under the blanket. Not a laugh. Not even close.
Nancy sighed, leaning forward. “I know you’re awake.”
Nancy tapped the bag with one finger. “Turkey sandwich. An apple. Chips. I’m not proud of the chips. But I’m here. Eat.”
Y/N’s voice came out hoarse, barely audible. “I’m not hungry.”
Nancy stared at the blanket like she could see through it. “You haven’t been hungry in days.”
Then, so small it barely counted, the blanket shifted. Y/N’s face appeared, puffy-eyed, hair a mess, cheeks drawn tight like she’d been clenching her jaw for a week straight. She looked like she’d been trying to survive on willpower alone.
Nancy’s expression softened for half a second. Then it sharpened again, because softness didn’t fix anything and Nancy Wheeler was built for action.
Y/N sat up slowly, taking the coffee cup with trembling hands. She didn’t drink it at first. She just held it, like warmth was the closest thing to comfort she could tolerate.
Nancy waited and let the silence do its work.
Finally, she asked quietly, “What happened?”
Y/N’s throat worked like she was trying to swallow broken glass. “Nothing.”
Nancy didn’t blink. “That’s a lie.”
Y/N’s eyes filled instantly, like her body had been holding it back for too long and the dam gave out the moment someone said the words out loud.
“He ended it,” Y/N whispered.
Nancy’s spine went straight. “Who?”
“Who else?” Y/N’s mouth trembled. “Henry.”
For a second, Nancy looked genuinely still, like the room had paused around her.
Then the irritation arrived, sharp and immediate, burning through her expression like someone had struck a match.
“He ended it,” Nancy repeated, voice rising.
Y/N nodded once, then stared at the coffee like it might drown her. “In class. After. He… he said it was a mistake.”
Y/N’s voice cracked. “Like I was just… something he regretted.”
Nancy’s hands curled into fists on her knees. She forced herself to breathe, slow and controlled, like she was trying not to explode in a room that still had paper-thin walls.
“And you’ve been in here,” Nancy said, tight, “disappearing.”
Y/N swallowed. “I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Nancy’s eyes flicked up to Y/N’s face, gentler now, protective. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Y/N let out a miserable laugh. “Because you were gone. And because I didn’t want you to look at me like I’m stupid.”
Nancy’s stare went hard. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
Y/N blinked. “You don’t?”
Nancy’s voice sharpened, anger redirecting itself. “I think he’s stupid.”
Y/N flinched, instinctively trying to defend him even with her heart in pieces. “Nancy…”
“No,” Nancy cut in, and there was something fierce in the way she said it, like she refused to let Y/N keep bleeding quietly. “Absolutely not.”
Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “What are you…”
Nancy stood abruptly, already moving, already on a mission. She grabbed her coat from the hook, shoved her arms into it, and picked up her keys.
“Nancy,” Y/N said, panic threading through her voice. “Don’t… don’t do anything.”
Nancy turned at the door, expression brisk and too calm to be honest. “I’m not doing anything.”
Y/N frowned. “You look like you’re doing something.”
Nancy forced a smile that did not reach her eyes. “I’m going to have a calm, rational discussion.”
Y/N stared at her. “With who?”
Nancy waved a hand like it was nothing. “Creel. He’s technically my professor too, which makes this… educational.”
Nancy opened the door. “Eat your lunch.”
And the second the door shut, the dorm felt colder.
Nancy didn’t walk to Henry’s classroom.
Her steps hit the tile like punctuation marks. Her thoughts ran faster than her feet. He called it a mistake. He made her think it mattered. He let her fall for him. Then he cut her loose to save his own skin.
Nancy’s anger was hot, but it was focused. Nancy Wheeler didn’t do blind rage. She did precision.
When she reached Henry’s hallway, she didn’t hesitate outside his door. She didn’t knock politely.
Henry was at his desk, papers laid out, chalk in hand like he’d been teaching normal students normal things all morning. He looked up at the sound of the door with the same controlled expression he always wore.
Something flickered in his eyes: recognition, caution, and then the slow tightening of dread.
“Ms. Wheeler,” Henry said, voice measured. “Is everything all right?”
Nancy stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her with deliberate force. Not a slam, a statement.
“No,” Nancy said. “Everything is not all right.”
Henry’s posture stiffened. “If you’re here about an assignment…”
“I’m here about Y/N,” Nancy snapped.
Henry froze so completely it was almost imperceptible.
Nancy took one step closer, her eyes bright with that specific Wheeler intensity, the one that made people confess without realizing they were doing it.
“She’s been in bed for days,” Nancy said, sharp. “She can barely eat. She’s barely spoken. And do you know why?”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “Ms. Wheeler…”
“You ended it,” Nancy pressed, voice climbing. “And you did it like she was nothing.”
Henry stood slowly, as if movement needed permission. His voice stayed calm, but the strain under it was unmistakable. “This is not appropriate.”
Nancy laughed once, humorless. “Oh, you’re worried about what’s appropriate now?”
Henry’s eyes flashed. “Lower your voice.”
“No,” Nancy said, stepping closer again. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Henry stared at her, and Nancy saw it: the calculation, the control. The same control he’d used to keep everything hidden. The same control that had let him cut Y/N off clean like an amputation.
Then Henry’s gaze sharpened, as if something clicked.
“You knew,” he said quietly.
Nancy didn’t blink. “Excuse me?”
Henry’s voice dropped lower, controlled but suddenly dangerous. “You’ve known about her. About this. This entire time.”
Nancy’s expression didn’t change. “I didn’t know the details.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “But you knew.”
Nancy exhaled, irritated. “Yes. I knew something was going on. I’m not blind.” She lifted her chin, unflinching. “But Y/N didn’t sit down and confess it to me.”
Henry’s mouth tightened. “So she lied to you as well.”
Nancy’s eyes sharpened like knives. “Don’t you dare.”
Henry blinked, caught off guard by the venom in her tone.
Nancy moved closer until she was standing at the edge of his desk, hands planted on the wood like she was pinning him in place.
“She didn’t tell me because she was protecting you,” Nancy said, voice low now, more dangerous than yelling. “She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want you to get in trouble. She didn’t tell me because she trusted you.”
Henry’s throat worked, but no words came.
Nancy’s eyes burned. “And you took that trust and crushed it.”
Henry’s composure cracked, not fully, but enough that his voice sounded rougher when he spoke. “You don’t understand the situation.”
Nancy’s laugh came sharp. “Oh, I understand it perfectly.” She leaned in slightly. “You liked her. You still do. And the moment it got complicated, you decided the easiest way to protect yourself was to make her feel disposable.”
Henry’s hands curled at his sides. “That’s not what I did.”
“It’s what she felt,” Nancy shot back. “Do you think it matters what you meant if she’s the one bleeding for it?”
Henry’s gaze dropped for a fraction of a second, and Nancy caught it: guilt.
Nancy pressed harder. “You know what she said to me?” Her voice tightened. “She thought she was stupid for believing you cared.”
Henry flinched. It was small, but it was real.
Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “Did you?”
Henry’s jaw clenched. Silence.
Nancy scoffed. “God, you’re unbelievable.”
Henry’s voice came quiet. “I did what was necessary.”
Nancy snapped, “Necessary for who?”
Henry didn’t answer fast enough.
Nancy’s expression hardened like steel. “Exactly.”
She stepped back, breathing hard. For a second her anger looked like it might spill over into tears, but she swallowed it down. Nancy always swallowed it down.
Then she said, voice fierce and steady, “If you cared about her future, you should’ve cared about her heart too.”
Henry’s eyes lifted to hers, and for the first time he looked less like Professor Creel and more like a man trapped in consequences.
Nancy pointed at him, controlled but furious. “You don’t get to build someone up in private and destroy them in daylight and call it protection.”
Henry’s mouth tightened, and his voice came out strained. “If this becomes public…”
Nancy cut him off instantly. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you touched her at all.”
Silence slammed down between them.
Henry’s gaze flicked away, like he’d been struck somewhere he couldn’t defend.
Nancy grabbed the doorknob, then paused.
Her voice softened, just a fraction, the kind of softness that made her words hit harder. “She’s not a mistake. Don’t you ever call her that again.”
Henry’s eyes returned to her. Something pained and quiet flickered there.
Then she added, over her shoulder, like a warning carved into air:
“You want to protect her? Then stop being the one who hurts her.”
And she left him standing in an empty classroom with chalk dust on his fingers and guilt sitting heavy in his chest, because Nancy Wheeler had always been good at finding the truth, and she’d just thrown his back at him.
Nancy went to Creel’s class alone the next morning.
Not because she cared about The Great Gatsby or whatever he had assigned, and certainly not because she wanted to sit through an hour of him pretending he didn’t have blood on his hands.
She went because someone had to.
Y/N wasn’t coming out of that bed. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until the world stopped feeling like it had teeth.
She walked into the classroom with her notebook tucked under her arm and her jaw set like she was headed into a crime scene. She didn’t sit in her own seat. She didn’t even look at the familiar desk that belonged to her.
She went straight to Y/N’s seat next to hers.
Front row. Slightly to the left. Close enough that Henry couldn’t avoid looking at it.
Nancy dropped into the chair like she was claiming it, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate confidence. She set her notebook down and clicked her pen.
Henry was at the front of the room, arranging papers, chalk in hand. His head lifted the moment she sat.
His eyes landed on her, then flicked to the empty seat beside her out of habit, and stopped.
For half a second, the mask on his face wavered.
Not dramatically. Just enough for Nancy to see it: a tightness around his eyes, a brief flash of something like regret that he couldn’t file away fast enough.
Nancy didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
She rolled her eyes slowly, exaggeratedly, and stared down at her notebook like he was nothing more than a professor with a bad lecture to get through.
Henry’s jaw tightened. He looked away.
Nancy didn’t raise her hand. She didn’t challenge him the way Y/N always did. She didn’t give him the lively back and forth he clearly missed, even if he didn’t deserve to miss it.
She sat there like a silent accusation.
Every time Henry’s gaze drifted toward that seat, toward where Y/N should have been, Nancy was there instead, staring straight ahead, expression flat.
Henry spoke about themes and symbols, about language and intent. About characters lying to themselves and calling it virtue.
Nancy kept her pen still on the page, not writing a word, because she refused to take notes from a man who had just rewritten someone else’s life into collateral damage.
When the class finally ended, chairs scraped and students shuffled toward the door. Henry dismissed them with the same polished tone he always used.
She packed her things slowly, letting the room empty, her eyes occasionally flicking toward Henry as if she was weighing whether to say something sharp enough to leave a mark.
She walked out into the hallway and then stopped.
Halfway down the corridor, she remembered what she’d come to do in the first place: get the makeup work, the notes, anything that might help Y/N catch up once she could breathe again.
Nancy turned back toward the classroom door.
She reached the threshold and was just about to step inside when she heard voices.
Not loud. Not arguing. A low, confident male voice that didn’t belong to Henry.
Nancy froze, instincts snapping into place like a camera shutter.
She stayed just outside the crack of the door, careful not to cast a shadow that could give her away, and angled her head slightly.
Inside, someone was speaking, too casual and too bold.
“I told you I’d keep an eye on it,” Daniel Taylor was saying.
Through the narrow slit of the cracked door, she could see the scene in fragments: Henry at his desk, Daniel standing too close to it, posture smug, like he belonged there.
And then Daniel pulled something from his jacket.
Daniel spread them across Henry’s desk with the same casual cruelty Nancy had seen in people who liked having leverage. He tapped one with his finger like he was admiring his own work.
“See?” Daniel said. “I told you. I got them. Clear as day.”
Henry didn’t speak. His face was turned slightly away, composed, but Nancy could see the rigid line of his shoulders and the stillness in his hands.
Daniel leaned in, voice dropping with satisfaction. “So. You did it, right? You called it off.”
Henry’s voice came low and controlled. “Yes.”
Daniel’s smile widened, ugly in its triumph. “Good.” He gathered the photos back into a neat stack like he was putting away a toy. “Smart choice.”
Nancy’s fingers curled around her notebook so hard the cardboard bent.
Daniel tucked the Polaroids back into his jacket and chuckled under his breath. “She’s available now, then.”
Henry’s head snapped up slightly.
Daniel either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He continued, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “Honestly, you did her a favor. She was playing with fire. If I’d taken those to the principal…” He whistled softly. “Jesus. She would have been ruined. Not anymore than you have.”
Nancy’s vision went sharp.
He did it. He blackmailed him. He would have ruined her.
Daniel smiled like he was proud of himself. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to. Not now.” He lifted his brows at Henry, as if Henry owed him gratitude. “You did what I asked. So we’re good.”
Henry’s voice was flat and dangerous. “Get out.”
Daniel laughed, like Henry was being dramatic. “Relax. We’re on the same side now.” He turned toward the door.
She stepped back into the hallway, heart pounding, and walked away fast, fast enough that her footsteps didn’t sound like panic, but her mind was sprinting.
She didn’t look back until she turned the corner.
Daniel emerged seconds later, strolling out like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t see Nancy, because she had pressed herself into an alcove beside a bulletin board, holding her breath like she was hiding from a predator.
Daniel passed by, whistling under his breath.
When he was gone, Nancy finally exhaled.
Her hands were shaking, not from fear, but from fury so intense it made her skin feel too tight.
She stood there for a moment in the empty corridor, staring at the spot where Daniel had disappeared, jaw clenched, mind racing like a newsroom on deadline.
Y/N had been broken open and left bleeding in her own bed because some smug little boy had decided he deserved her.
And Henry, Henry had taken the hit, thinking he was saving her, not knowing he’d just handed Daniel the power to keep hurting her anyway.
Her anger had a new target now.
And this time, she knew exactly where to aim.
Nancy didn’t walk back to the dorm.
She moved like she was late to stop a fire.
Her shoes hit the pavement too hard, her notebook pressed tight against her ribs, her breath coming out sharp in the cold air. Every thought in her head was a sentence she wanted to throw at someone’s face. Every step was a decision: don’t confront him, don’t blow it up, not yet.
When she reached the dorm building, she yanked the door open, climbed the stairs two at a time, and made it down the hall like she owned it.
She unlocked the room and slipped inside.
Then, immediately, she turned and locked the door again.
A deliberate, final sound.
Y/N was still in bed, curled under the blanket like she was trying to disappear into it. The curtains were half drawn, the room dim and stale with days of quiet. There was a cup on the desk that had been sitting there too long, a crumpled tissue. The air felt heavy with grief.
Nancy didn’t bother with gentle.
She crossed the room in three steps, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it off.
“Okay,” she snapped. “Up.”
Y/N jolted like she’d been shocked, blinking hard, hair sticking to her face. “Nancy, what the hell?”
“Sit,” Nancy ordered, and when Y/N tried to flop back down, Nancy grabbed her forearm and hauled her upright so she was sitting against the headboard.
Y/N’s eyes were glassy, confused, instantly defensive. “What is wrong with you?”
Nancy’s chest was heaving. Her face was flushed with anger and adrenaline. She looked like she’d just run from something dangerous, and she had.
Y/N blinked. “Know what?”
Nancy’s voice went sharp and clipped, the way it did when she was about to drop a headline. “I know why Henry broke it off. I know what happened. I know who did it.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “Nancy, I already told you.”
“No,” Nancy cut in. “You told me he ended it. You didn’t tell me he was forced.”
Y/N stared at her, as if her brain couldn’t process the sentence. “Forced?”
Nancy leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Daniel Taylor.”
The name hit Y/N like a slap.
Her face changed instantly: confusion to disbelief to something darker.
“What about Daniel?” Y/N demanded, voice rough.
Nancy didn’t hesitate. “He has Polaroids.”
Y/N froze. “Polaroids of…”
“Of you and Creel,” Nancy said, blunt as a typewriter key striking paper. “Looked like he took them through the cracked classroom door.”
Y/N’s stomach dropped so hard she went cold. “No.”
“Yes,” Nancy said, voice tightening. “I saw them. I heard him. He walked into Creel’s classroom like they were friends and put them down on his desk like a ransom note.”
Y/N’s breath started coming faster. “That’s… that’s not possible.”
Nancy’s voice sharpened. “It is, because I heard him say it. He threatened to turn them in. He demanded Henry dump you or he’d take them to the principal.”
Y/N stared at Nancy like the room was tilting.
For a second, all she could do was blink.
Then anger flooded her so fast it was almost dizzying.
“That,” Y/N’s voice cracked, her hands curling into fists, “that little piece of shit, I’m gonna—”
“I know,” Nancy said, firm. “I know.”
Y/N shot out of bed like a spring snapping.
“Oh, I’m going to fucking kill him,” she hissed, pacing like a caged animal. “I swear to God, Nancy, I’m going to—”
“Stop,” Nancy barked, grabbing her arm.
Y/N whipped around, eyes wild. “No. Don’t tell me to stop. He ruined everything, he—”
“He could ruin everything,” Nancy corrected, tight and urgent. “And that’s why you can’t do anything stupid.”
Y/N yanked her arm back. “I’m not being stupid, I’m being—”
“Angry,” Nancy snapped. “Rightfully. But if you confront Daniel, he’ll panic.”
Nancy’s eyes flashed. “And what do people do when they panic? They act. He’ll turn the pictures in.”
Nancy watched her, voice lower now but no less intense. “If you go after Henry, he’ll get scared too. He’ll think you’re going to blow it up. And he’s already on edge. He’ll either shut you out again or…” She swallowed. “Or Daniel will find out you know, and he’ll speed up the damage.”
Y/N’s chest heaved. Tears pricked at her eyes, not sadness this time, but rage and humiliation tangled together.
“So what?” she demanded, voice shaking. “I just sit here and let him keep doing this?”
Nancy held her gaze, steady and unflinching. “No.”
Y/N blinked. “Then what?”
Nancy exhaled slowly, forcing herself to calm down the way she always did before she wrote something that mattered.
“I have a plan,” Nancy said.
Y/N’s laugh was sharp and broken. “Nancy, this isn’t—”
“It is,” Nancy cut in. “Because he thinks he’s the only one with leverage.” Her eyes narrowed. “He thinks he can hold those photos over you like you’re powerless.”
Y/N stared at her, breathing hard. “Nancy…”
Nancy stepped closer. Her voice dropped, calm and focused, dangerous in a different way.
“We’re going to get those photos,” she said.
Y/N’s pulse stuttered. “How?”
Nancy’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “With blackmail.”
Y/N’s brows shot up. “Nancy—”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Nancy said briskly. “You’re dating an English professor in secret. We’re already living in the moral gray.”
Y/N swallowed, still shaking. “What could we possibly blackmail Daniel with?”
Nancy’s eyes flicked over Y/N like she was assessing a witness. “First, you calm down,” Nancy said firmly. “Because if you go storming into the hallway yelling about murder, we’re dead before we start.”
Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to breathe. “Fine. Okay.”
Nancy nodded once, satisfied, and continued. “Second, Daniel Taylor is sloppy. People like him always are. He thinks he’s untouchable because he has something scandalous, which means he won’t be careful.”
Y/N’s voice was tight. “So what do we do?”
Nancy reached for her notebook, flipping it open like she was already taking notes for a story.
“We find out where he keeps them,” she said. “We get him to bring them somewhere. Or we get into his stuff when he’s not looking.”
Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. “You’re talking about stealing.”
Nancy’s expression stayed flat. “I’m talking about retrieving your life.”
Y/N swallowed hard, eyes burning. “And if he has copies?”
Nancy didn’t flinch. “Then we get those too. Or we make him too scared to use them.” Her gaze sharpened. “But first, we need the originals. Because that’s his confidence. That’s his power.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “I can’t believe he did this.”
Nancy’s voice softened just a fraction, enough to land like a hand on her shoulder. “He did it because he’s jealous. Because you rejected him. Because he’s petty and thinks women are prizes and punishments.”
Y/N’s eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears back fiercely. “Henry—”
Nancy cut her off immediately. “Not yet.”
Nancy held her gaze. “You cannot go to Creel. You cannot even look like you’re thinking about Creel. Right now, Henry has no idea I heard any of it. That’s good. That’s an advantage.”
Y/N’s voice was small and trembling. “But he did this to protect me.”
Nancy’s jaw tightened. “And he did it in the worst way possible.” She leaned in. “We can deal with Henry later. Right now, we deal with Daniel.”
Y/N stared at her, chest rising and falling too fast. “What do you need from me?”
Nancy nodded once, like she’d just been waiting for that.
“I need you to act normal,” she said. “In class. In the halls. Around Daniel. Like you don’t know anything.”
Y/N let out a shaky exhale. “I don’t know if I can.”
Nancy’s voice went firm again. “You can. You’re a writer. You’re good at playing a role.”
Y/N swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
Nancy’s eyes sharpened. “And I need you to trust me.”
Y/N hesitated, then nodded again, more certain this time. “I do.”
Nancy exhaled, relief flickering briefly across her face before determination replaced it.
“Good,” Nancy said. “Because we’re going to take his power away.”
Y/N’s voice came out low and fierce. “And then what?”
Nancy’s mouth tightened into something cold. “Then we make sure he never does this to you again.”
She closed her notebook with a decisive snap.
“And,” Nancy added, eyes bright with purpose, “we’re getting those photos.”
They didn’t have the luxury of hesitation.
By the next day, Nancy had turned their dorm room into a war room, quiet and focused, all sharp edges and whispered contingency plans. She didn’t write any of it down where someone could find it. She just repeated it until Y/N could recite it in her sleep.
Y/N didn’t feel normal. She felt like her skin had been peeled back and the air hurt.
She had been acting for days already, pretending she was fine, pretending she wasn’t hollowed out, pretending her heart hadn’t been stomped into something small and bruised. Acting was the one skill grief hadn’t taken from her.
So she did what Nancy told her to do.
She walked into the hallway outside Creel’s classroom like she wasn’t carrying a secret bigger than her body. She wore her usual face, chin slightly lifted, shoulders back, lips pressed into something that could pass as indifference if you didn’t know her.
Nancy kept a few steps behind, quieter than a shadow.
Daniel Taylor was exactly where Nancy predicted he’d be, near the bulletin board, talking too loudly to another student, laughing like he owned the building.
When he spotted Y/N, the smile on his face changed.
Like he’d been waiting for her to show weakness so he could taste it.
Y/N didn’t give him that.
She slowed just slightly, just enough to make it look like she’d noticed him, just enough to hook his attention. Her expression stayed smooth, almost bored.
“Daniel,” she said, like his name didn’t make her want to vomit.
His eyes traveled over her in that gross, assessing way, like he thought he’d earned the right. “Y/N,” he replied, voice smug. “Back on campus?”
Y/N made a tiny sound that could have been a laugh. “I go here.”
Daniel’s mouth tilted up. “Yeah. I guess you do.”
There was something ugly underneath it, an implication he didn’t even bother to hide.
Y/N forced herself not to flinch.
Behind her, Nancy’s presence was like a hand at the back of her spine, steadying her.
Y/N let her gaze flick briefly to the backpack slung loose over Daniel’s shoulder. Casual. Almost accidental. Like she was just noticing it.
Then she gave Daniel the bait.
“I’m surprised you’re still in one piece,” she said lightly.
Daniel blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Y/N shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just figured you’d be hiding. People talk.”
Daniel’s expression flickered, irritated. “People talk about what?”
Y/N tilted her head like she was considering how much to say. “About you being so interested in my life.”
Daniel scoffed. “Please.”
Y/N leaned a fraction closer, enough to make him feel like she was engaging, enough to make him stop thinking about his belongings and start thinking about her.
“I’m just saying,” she murmured, voice calm, “it’s kind of embarrassing.”
Daniel’s brows pulled together. “Embarrassing for who?”
“For you,” Y/N said, sweet as poison.
Daniel’s pride snapped to attention exactly the way Nancy predicted it would.
He stepped closer, posture puffing up. “You think you can talk to me like that?”
Y/N gave him a tight little smile. “I think I just did.”
Daniel’s eyes flashed, and as he shifted, annoyed and hooked and focused on the conversation, his backpack slid down his shoulder. He adjusted it absentmindedly, loosening the strap, and that was all Nancy needed.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t obvious.
One second she was behind Y/N, the next she was beside Daniel, her shoulder brushing his like a total accident in a crowded hallway.
“Oh, sorry,” Nancy said briskly, already bending as if she’d dropped something.
Daniel barely looked at her. His attention was on Y/N, on the way she wasn’t cowering like he wanted.
Nancy’s fingers slipped into the side pocket of his bag with the clean efficiency of someone who’d spent her life snooping through drawers for answers.
Paper. Plastic. The square edge of a Polaroid stack.
She gripped them, slid them out in one smooth motion, and tucked them inside her notebook like they belonged there.
Then she straightened, expression flat, and stepped back into place.
Y/N saw the smallest nod from Nancy, barely a movement.
She didn’t let relief show. She kept her face cool as she delivered the exit line Nancy had coached her on.
“Anyway,” Y/N said, dismissive, “I’ve got class.”
Daniel’s mouth curled. “Yeah. Cool. Later.”
Y/N stared at him for one heartbeat longer than necessary, enough to promise she wasn’t done with him, then turned.
They walked away at a normal pace for the first ten steps.
Then, the moment they hit the stairwell, Nancy grabbed Y/N’s wrist and they moved, down the stairs, around the corner, away from the hallway like the building itself was chasing them.
Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
They reached the dorm. Nancy unlocked the door, shoved them inside, and locked it again.
The second the bolt slid into place, Y/N spun toward her.
Nancy opened her notebook and pulled out the Polaroids.
Y/N’s breath caught so sharply it sounded like a sob.
There they were, those stolen moments turned into weapons. Grainy proof. Private things made ugly by someone else’s eyes.
Y/N stared at them, shaking.
Nancy’s face was pale with anger. “Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
Then a hard knock rattled the door.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Another knock, more violent.
Daniel’s voice, sharp and furious and panicked.
Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “He noticed faster than I hoped.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “Nancy—”
“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!”
Nancy walked to the door like she wasn’t afraid of him, like she’d been waiting.
She didn’t open it all the way, just enough to look him in the eye through the crack, the chain still on.
Daniel’s face was flushed. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d been tearing through hallways looking for them.
He looked right past Nancy at Y/N.
“Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are the photos?”
Nancy blinked slowly, like she was bored. “What photos?”
Daniel’s eyes bulged. “Don’t play dumb—”
“Oh,” Nancy said, cutting him off, her voice calm and razor sharp, “you mean the Polaroids you took through a classroom door like a creep?”
Daniel flinched, just barely.
Nancy leaned closer to the crack in the door, her tone pure Nancy Wheeler, controlled, furious, terrifyingly rational.
“You should leave,” she said. “Before you make this worse for yourself.”
Daniel’s mouth twisted. “Give them back.”
Y/N stepped forward behind Nancy, rage finally overcoming fear. “You never should’ve had them.”
Daniel’s gaze snapped to her, dripping with entitlement. “You’re not in a position to—”
“No,” Nancy cut in again. “You’re not.”
Daniel’s voice rose. “You think you can threaten me?”
Nancy smiled, cold and perfect. “I’m not threatening you. I’m explaining your reality.”
Daniel’s eyes flashed. “You have nothing.”
Nancy’s smile widened by a fraction. “Actually, Daniel, you have nothing.”
He stared, breathing hard. “That’s a lie.”
Nancy’s voice dropped lower, quiet and deadly. “Is it?”
Nancy continued, calm as a judge. “Without those photos, what do you have? Your word.” She tilted her head. “Against a professor.”
Daniel’s expression changed slightly, uncertainty leaking in.
“And not just any professor,” Nancy added, “but one of Emerson’s most respected faculty members.”
Daniel’s nostrils flared.
Nancy didn’t blink. “And you’re also up against two students. Two students with perfect attendance, strong grades, and not a single disciplinary mark between them.” She held his gaze. “You think anyone is going to believe you over him?”
Daniel’s confidence faltered for the first time.
Y/N’s voice came out sharp behind Nancy. “Especially when you already look obsessed.”
Daniel snapped, “I’m not—”
Nancy cut him off again, her voice like ice. “You are, Daniel. And if you keep showing up at our door, yelling, demanding things, you’re going to make that very easy to prove.”
Daniel swallowed, eyes darting like he was calculating damage.
Nancy leaned in closer, lowering her voice until it was almost conversational, almost kind, which somehow made it worse.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said. “You’re going to walk away. You’re going to stop talking about Y/N. You’re going to stop lurking around like a perv. And you won’t say a word about this. And you’re going to pretend you were never stupid enough to try this.”
Daniel’s lips parted. “And if I don’t?”
Nancy’s smile didn’t move. “Then you can explain to the principal why you were taking secret photos through a classroom door. You can explain why you were carrying them around campus. You can explain why you were using them to threaten a faculty member.”
Nancy’s tone sharpened. “You want to gamble? Fine. But you’re the one who loses the most.”
Daniel stood there for a moment, chest heaving, anger fighting fear.
Then he took a step back.
“You’re insane,” he spat.
Nancy’s smile turned sweet and lethal. “No. I’m a journalist.”
Daniel glared at Y/N one last time, bitterness radiating off him. “This isn’t over.”
Nancy’s eyes didn’t flicker. “It is if you’re smart.”
Daniel turned and stormed off down the hall.
Nancy watched until he disappeared, then shut the door and locked it again.
Only then did her shoulders drop.
Only then did Y/N’s legs start shaking.
Y/N let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for days. She looked at Nancy like she couldn’t believe she was real.
“Nancy,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You—”
Nancy turned, still holding the Polaroids, eyes bright with leftover adrenaline. “We got them.”
Y/N’s throat tightened so hard it hurt.
Then she surged forward and threw her arms around Nancy, hugging her so tightly Nancy made a small surprised noise.
Y/N’s voice came out muffled against her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Nancy stiffened for half a second, her arms came around Y/N, firm and protective.
“You don’t get to fall apart alone,” Nancy muttered, her voice rougher than usual.
Y/N shook in her arms, relief finally pouring out where the grief had been. “I thought he ruined me. I thought—”
“He didn’t,” Nancy said immediately. “He tried, and he failed.”
Y/N pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes wet. “You saved me.”
Nancy’s face softened, just a little. “No. I did what friends are supposed to do.”
Y/N’s mouth trembled. “I don’t deserve you.”
Nancy scoffed, wiping at the corner of Y/N’s cheek like she was annoyed by the tears. “Eat your lunch. Then we figure out what comes next.”
Y/N laughed through a sob, hugging her again, harder this time, grateful in a way that felt like survival.
And for the first time since Henry’s classroom door had closed behind her days ago, the world stopped feeling like it was winning.
Y/N waited until the hallway thinned out.
She stayed near the water fountain at the end of the corridor, notebook hugged to her chest, eyes tracking the classroom door like it might bite her if she got too close. Students drifted past in clusters, laughing, complaining about readings, the usual noise of a campus that didn’t know how someone’s whole world could fracture in the span of a single sentence.
When the last of them finally filed out of Henry’s classroom, Y/N stepped forward.
She didn’t rush. She didn’t hesitate long enough to lose her nerve either.
She slipped inside like she belonged there.
Henry was at his desk, gathering papers with the same careful movements he always had: orderly, precise, like the rest of life could be sorted into stacks. The room smelled faintly of chalk and old books. The windows let in a gray winter light that made everything look a little harsher than it needed to.
He looked up when he heard her footsteps.
For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change, professional and neutral, and then it cracked.
Not widely. Not dramatically.
His eyes fixed on her like he didn’t trust his mind, like he’d been seeing her everywhere and had finally lost the right to have her in his doorway again.
Seven days since he’d looked her in the face and called her a mistake.
Seven days since she’d walked out with her heart in her hands, trying not to let it spill in the hallway.
Y/N shut the door behind her gently, but the click still sounded too loud in the empty classroom.
She didn’t approach right away.
Instead, she stood there, taking in the room: the desks, the chalkboard, the spot near the front where she used to sit like she belonged to something here. The place where she used to look at him and feel wanted.
Now she felt only the echo.
She glanced toward the hallway window in the door, making sure there were no silhouettes lingering outside. Then she crossed to the desk.
He watched her like he was afraid any movement would scare her back out the door.
Y/N reached into her notebook and pulled out the Polaroids.
The stack was small, but it felt heavy in her hand, heavy with what could have happened, heavy with what Daniel had tried to make of her, heavy with the fact that Henry had let himself be cornered by it and decided she was the thing that needed to be sacrificed.
She placed the photos on his desk.
Henry’s gaze dropped to them.
His whole body went still.
Then his eyes lifted back to her face, sharp with realization and something like shame.
“You got them,” he murmured.
“I got them,” Y/N confirmed, voice steady. Too steady, like she was holding herself together with wire.
Henry didn’t touch the photos. He looked at them like they were a live grenade.
“I don’t care what you do with them,” Y/N added. “Burn them. Keep them. Rip them up. I don’t care.” Her chin lifted slightly, defiant and tired at the same time. “I just wanted you to have them. So you know it’s over.”
Henry’s throat worked. “Y/N.”
She didn’t let him speak yet.
She stood on the other side of the desk, close enough to feel the familiar pull of his presence, and it made her stomach twist with anger that it still affected her at all.
Henry finally moved, just a fraction, like he was stepping out of the role he’d been hiding behind.
His voice came soft, raw around the edges in a way she hadn’t heard in class. “I’m sorry.”
The apology landed differently than she expected.
It wasn’t dismissive. It wasn’t perfunctory. It sounded like it had been stuck in his throat for days, like he’d rehearsed it alone and hated himself every time he reached the end of it.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, more firmly, as if repetition could prove sincerity. “For what I said. For the way I ended it. For hurting you.”
A week ago, if he’d said that, she might have melted. Might have run to him. Might have let him fold her back into his arms like none of it happened.
Now she felt the pain flare again, sharp and bright, because his apology was proof that he’d known exactly what he was doing when he did it.
She swallowed, throat tight.
“I don’t like what you did,” she said quietly.
Henry’s face tightened, but he didn’t argue.
Y/N’s fingers curled around the edge of the desk. “I understand that you were scared,” she continued, voice trembling slightly despite her effort. “I get that you thought you were protecting me. I get that you were cornered.”
Henry’s gaze stayed on her, intent, like he couldn’t afford to miss a single word.
“But you didn’t protect me,” Y/N said, and the sentence came out like it had teeth. “You hurt me. You made me feel stupid. You made me feel disposable.”
Henry flinched. The smallest movement, but real.
Y/N blinked hard, eyes burning. “I’ve dated guys before you,” she added, voice rougher now. “I’ve had boyfriends who didn’t call. Boyfriends who cheated. Boyfriends who were whatever.” Her laugh was quiet and bitter. “And I didn’t care the way I care now.”
Henry’s eyes darkened. Not jealousy, something deeper. Something like grief.
Y/N’s breath shuddered. “You’re the first one I’ve ever gotten genuinely upset about. Like it physically hurt. Like I couldn’t breathe in my own room.” She swallowed. “And I hate that. Because I didn’t ask for that.”
Henry’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach across the desk, to touch her, to fix it. He stopped himself.
Y/N stared at him, trying to read his face the way she used to, like his expression was a text she could annotate.
“I don’t know what happens now,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if you even still want me.”
Henry’s jaw tightened like the question was unfair in how obvious the answer was.
But Y/N cut him off before he could speak, because she wasn’t done.
“All I know,” she continued, voice shaking now, “is that I’m still upset. I’m still angry. And I’m still hurt.”
Henry’s face softened in a way that made his professionalism look like a costume.
He exhaled slowly, as if he’d been holding his breath since the day he ended it.
“I do want you,” he said, voice low and steady, not rushing, not pleading, just honest. “I never stopped.”
Y/N’s throat tightened at the words, because they didn’t fix anything, but they made the ache swell anyway, proof that it had been real, that it still was.
Henry looked down at the Polaroids on his desk, then back to her. “I thought I could protect you by making you hate me,” he admitted, and his voice turned rough with self-disgust. “I thought if you believed I didn’t care, you’d walk away and your future would stay intact.”
Y/N’s lips parted, a silent, pained breath.
Henry’s eyes held hers. “I was wrong,” he said. “About the method. About the cruelty. About thinking I had the right to decide how much pain you could take.”
Y/N’s hands trembled against the desk edge.
Henry swallowed hard. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he said, and it sounded like it cost him something to be that fair. “But I need you to know, none of it was because you meant nothing.”
Y/N stared at him, eyes glossy.
She wanted to throw something. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to kiss him and punch him in the same breath.
Instead, she let the truth sit between them: messy, unresolved, alive.
“I’m not here to fix this in one conversation,” she said, voice small but firm. “I just wanted you to know what happened. I wanted you to have them. And I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Y/N drew in a shaky breath. “And I want you to understand something,” she added.
Henry’s gaze sharpened. “What?”
Y/N met his eyes, brave in the way she was brave only when she had no other choice.
“If you ever do that to me again,” she said quietly, “if you ever decide you get to hurt me for my own good or for some stupid reason, I won’t come back.”
The words hit him like a verdict.
Then he nodded once, solemn. “Understood.”
Y/N swallowed, tears threatening.
She didn’t let them fall here.
She straightened, gathering her notebook back to her chest like armor again.
Henry’s voice was quiet, urgent. “Y/N.”
She paused at the door but didn’t turn around right away.
“I don’t know what I want,” she said, still facing the door, voice barely above a whisper. “But I know I didn’t deserve that.”
Henry’s reply came softer than the chalk dust in the air. “No. You didn’t. But I’ll be here if you decide to forgive me because I do still want you.”
Y/N nodded once, like she accepted that answer for now.
Then she opened the door and stepped back into the hallway, heart still aching, anger still alive, and yet, for the first time in a week, she felt like she’d finally gotten some of her power back.
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