Ruin Me Gently My Sour Candy

Alex had always been good at pretending.

He could pretend to be fine when he wasn't. Pretend to laugh when the silence at home got too thick. Pretend he wasn't always watching people from the corners of his eyes, wondering if they knew the things he knew. The things his father believed he knew.

But Liam Vaelthorn?

He was impossible to pretend around.

Alex didn't know what it was. Maybe the way Liam walked, like his feet barely touched the ground. Or how his voice was low but always certain, like he'd already played out the conversation before it started. Maybe it was the way he made Alex feel like he was being seen — completely, like a puzzle someone was solving without even trying.

Or maybe it was that weird chill that settled into the air whenever he got too close.

A ghost of something unnamed.

It had only been a few days since Alex had transferred to Eastbridge High, but Liam was already circling the center of his thoughts like a satellite that refused to fall.

He sat on his bed that night, sketchbook open, staring down at the same face he kept drawing — angular cheekbones, hollowed eyes, tousled black hair. Liam. Always Liam. He tried changing the mouth, the angle, the shadows. Tried turning him into someone else.

It never worked.

He closed the sketchbook and flopped backward onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling until his candy lost its flavor.

The next morning, breakfast was cold silence and burned toast.

Marcus sat across from him, reading some old field notes, fingers smudged with ink and dark rings under his eyes. He hadn't shaved in days. He never looked at Alex when he spoke.

"There's a pattern," Marcus said. "Three disappearances. All within ten miles. Two in the woods. One near the quarry."

Alex stared into his orange juice. "People disappear all the time."

"Not like this."

"You're seeing what you want to see."

Marcus finally looked at him — sharp, blue eyes full of ghosts.

"You think I want this to be real?"

Alex didn't answer.

Marcus pushed the folder aside and leaned back. "How's school?"

"Normal."

"Friends?"

"Sort of."

Marcus raised a brow. "Anyone I should know about?"

That question hung in the air a moment too long.

Alex glanced down. "Just this guy. Liam."

Marcus went still. Not like a pause — like a warning.

"Last name?"

Alex frowned. "Vaelthorn."

The silence that followed felt like the moment before lightning.

Marcus stood slowly, jaw tight. "Don't get close to him."

Alex blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Stay away."

"You don't even know him."

"I know enough."

"No, you don't. You've never even met him—"

"I don't need to," Marcus snapped. "I can feel it. Something's wrong with him."

"You say that about everyone."

Marcus leaned forward, eyes dark. "He's not human, Alex."

Alex laughed, but it came out bitter. "You can't just say stuff like that about people."

"He's not—"

"You know what? No. Don't. Not again."

Alex stood up, chair scraping back, stomach coiled tight.

"I'm tired of every person I like turning into a suspect just because they're breathing near me."

Marcus didn't move. Didn't argue.

But his voice, when it came, was low and flat.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Alex left the house without looking back.

At school, the day blurred into noise.

People. Bell tones. The smear of chalk against a board. He heard none of it. He just kept replaying that moment over and over — He's not human, Alex.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

By the time lunch came, he didn't feel like sitting in the cafeteria. Too loud. Too many eyes. Too many questions pressing on his ribcage.

So he wandered.

Out back, behind the gym, where the grass grew too long and the benches were damp from morning dew.

That's where he found Liam.

Again.

Sitting on the low stone wall, earbuds in, head tilted toward the sky like he was listening to something only he could hear.

Alex approached slowly.

Liam looked up.

He always looked up. Like he sensed Alex before the footsteps even started.

"You okay?" Liam asked.

Alex hesitated. "Not really."

Liam studied him a moment. "Want to talk?"

Alex sat beside him without answering.

They didn't speak for a long time.

And then—

"My dad thinks you're dangerous."

Liam didn't react. Not visibly. He just sat very still.

"I told him about you," Alex said. "He didn't like that."

"Does he ever like anything?"

"Not since my mom died."

Liam turned his head slightly. "How?"

Alex didn't expect the question.

He swallowed. "He says it was a vampire."

A long silence followed.

Liam didn't laugh. Didn't smirk or scoff. He just looked away again.

Alex watched him. "You don't think that's crazy?"

"I think people see what they need to."

"Do you believe in them?"

Liam was quiet.

Then: "I believe in monsters."

Alex didn't know what that meant, but it made his pulse flutter all the same.

"Anyway," he said quickly, "sorry. Didn't mean to dump my trauma on you."

Liam smiled — small and tired. "You're not."

Alex let out a slow breath. "My dad told me to stay away from you."

"And you're here anyway."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Alex blinked.

The question hung there, heavy.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "You're… different."

Liam looked at him, eyes unreadable.

"So are you."

Later that day, during track practice, Alex was fast.

But Liam was faster.

The team sprinted around the field in staggered laps. Alex hadn't joined yet — Coach wanted to see what he could do before throwing him into a meet. But Liam? He was effortless. His strides didn't just cover ground — they devoured it.

He moved like the wind had something to prove.

Harper leaned against the bleachers beside Alex, chewing gum.

"He always runs like that?" Alex asked.

Harper grinned. "Like he's being chased? Yeah."

"He's… insane."

"He's something."

Alex glanced sideways. "He ever date anyone?"

Harper raised a brow. "Why? Asking for a friend?"

Alex flushed. "Just curious."

"He's not the dating type," she said. "At least, not that I've seen."

Alex frowned. "Why not?"

Harper shrugged. "Too closed off. Too careful. Like he's scared of letting anyone in."

Alex watched Liam run, muscles coiled and graceful, hair damp with sweat.

"Maybe he just hasn't met the right person yet."

Harper looked at him. Long and sharp.

"Maybe," she said. But her tone said something else.

That night, Alex dreamed of blood.

Not his mother. Not his father.

Just a heartbeat — slow and thunderous. A mouth too close. A kiss that turned into something sharper.

Fangs.

A flicker of pain.

And eyes.

Storm-gray. Familiar. Terrified.

He woke up gasping.

The taste of sour candy burned the back of his throat.