04

Duo point of View

Missy's point of View;

"So why is your name Missy?" Enzo asked out of the blue, casually picking at the crumbs on his plate.

Missy blinked, caught off guard. She’d just finished showing Nico one of her little drawings something she doodled in class when she wasn’t paying attention.

A sleepy cartoon frog with a crown. He didn’t say much, but he smirked a little when he saw it. She took that as approval.

The question tugged her back.

“Hm?” she mumbled, confused.

“Your name,” Enzo repeated, curious. “It’s kind of different.”

Missy paused.

She’d never really thought about why she was named Missy. It was just what her mother called her.

There was no deep story behind it no soft moment or explanation growing up.

No father to ask either. Just her mom, a name, and the sound of it echoing in school hallways when kids were laughing at her.

“I. I don’t know,” she finally answered, looking down.

Her voice was small, like it might break if pushed too hard.

She toyed with the corner of her napkin.

“In primary school, people made fun of it,” she added in a quiet breath. “Like, ‘Missy-mousey’ or ‘Missy-messy.’ Stupid stuff.”

She tried to laugh, but it barely came out.

“You don’t like it?” Enzo asked, sounding more serious now, like he hadn’t expected her to open up so quickly.

Missy looked at him then big, watery eyes and whispered, “Do you like it?”

The question hung in the air.

So soft.

So vulnerable.

Like if he said no, it would break her.

Before Enzo could respond before anyone could another voice cut through the air, deep and smooth like smoke sliding across glass.

“He does.”

Everyone turned.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Alexander said, throwing Enzo a slow, warning look that made the air drop ten degrees.

Missy’s breath caught.

She turned toward him but she didn’t meet his eyes.

She just stared at the table.

Cheeks flushed.

Fingers trembling.

Because he said the words. But she didn’t feel them.

Not the way she wanted to.

Her lips curled into a small chuckle, but it didn’t sound happy. It sounded like something bent and about to snap.

She stood up suddenly, the chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Thanks for the food,” she mumbled.

“Missy” Nico said, voice low.

But she was already walking.

Quick steps.

Eyes on the floor.

She ignored the calls behind her.

Even Sienna’s voice faded.

Because she didn’t believe him.

She wanted to.

But something in the way Alexander stared like she was a stranger in a world he already owned made her feel small.

Like he didn’t mean it.

Like maybe, no one ever did.

_____

Sienna's point of View;

I watched her walk out of the restaurant small, trembling, eyes shining with tears she didn’t want us to see.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

Missy never looked broken. She looked like cotton candy and cartoons and daydreams.

But in that moment she looked cracked.

I didn’t know what pissed me off more her walking out like that, or the silence that followed.

Then, Nico stood up.

“Missy!” he called, already chasing after her.

Good.

Because I was about five seconds away from flipping this damn table.

I stood up slowly and walked straight toward Enzo. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was going to yell, cry, or throw water in his face.

He didn’t guess the fourth option.

Smack.

My hand left a mark across his cheek, and the entire restaurant fell silent.

Even Matteo’s jaw dropped.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” I said low and slow, my voice shaking more from fury than fear. “She’s not a toy, Enzo. You don’t poke at her like that.”

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

He knew better than to mess with me or someone I cared about.

And Missy?

She’d already earned that.

I turned my head toward Alexander. His eyes hadn’t moved from the door Missy walked out of.

Not once. But he didn’t follow. Just stared, still and silent like always.

Coward.

I walked away without a word, pushing the door open and stepping into the crisp afternoon air.

It didn’t take long to find them.

Missy was near the curb, hugging Nico like her world had tilted and he was the only thing keeping her upright.

He stood stiffly at first, arms hovering then he relaxed, wrapping them around her back, saying nothing.

I sighed softly in relief. At least she didn’t run into traffic.

“Sweetie,” I called gently, walking toward her.

Her head lifted slowly. Her cheeks were flushed, her lashes stuck together with tears, and her hair usually so neatly brushed was wild around her face like a storm had passed through it.

God.

She reminded me so much of my little sister it hurt.

So cute. So fragile. So not meant for this brutal world.

Why would her parents ever let her come here?

“My little baby,” I whispered, opening my arms.

She rushed to me instantly, burying herself against my chest.

I kissed the top of her head, holding her tight, promising silently I wouldn’t let anything hurt her.

“It's okay,” I whispered into her hair. “Let’s go home, okay? Want ice cream?”

She nodded quickly, like that was the best thing she’d heard all day.

Nico chuckled, and so did I.

He gave me a little nod, tilting his head toward his parked car.

We walked in silence, letting the sun kiss the moment better.

Inside the car, Missy wiped her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry… for running out like that.”

I didn’t press. Didn’t ask why her name upset her so much.

When she was ready, she’d tell me.

I wasn’t about to make her bleed for answers.

We drove to this tiny ice cream place tucked into a corner near the old bookstore.

The kind of spot no one really talked about but always found when they needed comfort.

Missy chose strawberry swirl with rainbow sprinkles, naturally.

I got pistachio.

Nico got vanilla boring, but whatever.

We sat outside on a bench under a soft pink umbrella.

Missy’s feet swung under the bench, and she licked at her ice cream like a kid in summer, her sadness slowly melting away with every bite.

“Want to try mine?” she asked Nico shyly, holding her cone toward him.

He hesitated, then leaned forward, taking a tiny lick. “Too sweet.”

Missy giggled. “That’s the point.”

He gave her a look like he wasn’t sure if she was joking or just sunshine in human form.

“You like sweet things, huh?” he asked.

She nodded. “They make me feel better.”

“You should keep a candy bag in your bag or something,” I added, nudging her shoulder.

“I do,” she whispered.

We laughed again.

It wasn’t loud or wild. But it was warm.

Missy talked a little more. Showed Nico her frog drawing again, told us about a book she started writing, and even said she might try drawing the ice cream cone next.

For a moment, everything was okay.

The stares, the name, the restaurant tension all forgotten in the face of strawberry swirl and quiet laughter.

But as I watched her, I knew the world would come for her again.

And when it did, I hoped she’d still have that laugh and people like us to catch her.