Dean stood outside the sleek glass building, its reflection slicing through the grey London morning. The sign above didn't shout what it was — that was the point. The rich liked their pain wrapped in silence. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, the fabric hanging loose on his frame. Six years. He was 25 now, and somehow, this was where it had all led him.
Inside, the air was too clean. A receptionist smiled the kind of smile that didn't touch her eyes.
"Name?"
"Dean Goodwin," he said, his voice low.
"Room 204. Down the hall."
Her manicured finger pointed toward a corridor that looked too white to belong to the real world. Dean started walking, his boots echoing in the hollow space. The judge's words followed him like a whisper that refused to fade:
"Three months of therapy, Mr. Goodwin. It will decide whether you walk free or spend time in a mental facility."
It had sounded like mercy, but felt like something else — another kind of waiting room.
He stopped at the door. For a second, he considered turning around. But the thought of another courtroom, another headline, another night tied to a rooftop railing just to make it through sleep — it pushed him forward.
The room was calm. Too calm. Pale blue walls, faint lavender scent — the kind of peace that felt rehearsed. He sat down. His pulse began to slow, his breathing syncing with the silence.
He didn't hear the door open.
She walked in quietly, sunlight catching her hair — brown, soft, the same as it had been that summer in Santa Monica. But the woman who stood there now wasn't the girl he remembered. Skyler had grown into herself, every movement deliberate, graceful, like she'd learned how to hold her heart in check.
Her eyes met his. For a heartbeat, everything else vanished.
"Dea…n?" she whispered.
The name hit him like a ripple through still water. He looked up, and the years between them collapsed. "Sky."
Her breath caught. She hadn't read the file yet, hadn't expected him. Of all the faces that could've walked through her door, his was the one she wasn't ready for.
Six years. It felt like another life.
He gave her a small smile the same crooked one she used love forcing out of him everytime but now it carried the weight of everything he'd survived.
She mirrored it, though hers trembled at the edges. "It seems you made it," she said, voice light but layered with something unspoken.
He shrugged. "Depends what you call 'made it.'"
Skyler's heart pulled tight. The boy she knew was gone — replaced by someone who looked like him but moved differently, like every gesture was measured. For the first time in six years, she couldn't tell if she was seeing the boy she knew, or what was left of him.
She forced herself to switch gears, slipping into her practiced calm. "Dean," she said gently, "let's talk about what brings you here."
Dean's gaze drifted to her hands, to the way her fingers brushed over the notepad, to the silver ring glinting faintly on her finger. A small thing. But it hit like a bruise pressed too hard.
"Court order," he said, his voice flat. "Apparently, I need saving."
"You don't believe that?" she asked softly.
"I believe I'm tired," he said. "That's all."
Skyler studied him — the way his jaw clenched when he spoke, the shadows under his eyes, the distance in his tone. He was here, but somewhere else entirely.
Silence stretched between them. Not awkward — just heavy, like both were afraid of what might spill out if it broke.
Then, almost too quietly, he added, "They said I tried to commit suicide."
The air left her lungs.
He didn't look away. His eyes stayed fixed on the small crack in the wall just past her shoulder. "I didn't," he said. "I just wanted to sleep under the stars again. I tied myself so I wouldn't roll off. The rope snapped. That's all."
His voice didn't shake. That almost made it worse.
Skyler's fingers curled around her pen, knuckles whitening. She wanted to speak — to say his name, to reach across the table and break every rule that kept her still — but the words stuck in her throat.
Dean leaned back, eyes distant, voice softer now. "They all thought I wanted to die. But I wasn't trying to die."
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful.
Skyler swallowed hard. For the first time in years, the girl who used to know him wanted to speak, but the therapist stayed quiet.