Chapter 200 | You Don’t Have To Carry It Alone

Chapter 200: 200 | You Don’t Have To Carry It Alone

Three years before the present.

The rooftop of the old Ashford servants’ quarters was a flat, tar-papered surface cluttered with ventilation ducts, rusted water tanks, and exposed pipes.

Nobody came up here and the door to the roof was supposed to be locked, but the lock had been broken for years, and nobody had bothered to fix it because nobody cared enough except for Dexter.

He had found this place when he was 12 and it had always been hiding spot.

The one place he could sit and not be seen by the servants and the family members who looked down on him.

He had also always celebrated his birthday here, alone since no one had remembered his birthday.

If wasn’t that he had expected them to anyways.

If he was remembered, he got extra chores instead, had to scrub floors until his knees arched, washed laundry and plates and even eaten leftovers in the corner of the servants’ hall, alone, while the other servants chatted and laughed around him.

He was used to it.

But this particular sunset was quite nice.

The sky above Stargate City was in shades of amber and rose and deep, burning gold. The towers of the central district caught the light and threw it back in blinding flashes.

Dexter sat on the concrete wall, his legs dangling over the edge.

He also wore a faded grey t-shirt that was slightly too large for his body. At this particular day, he was 16. But right now, he didn’t feel 16, but quite tired.

The rooftop door creaked and immediately, Dexter’s head turned.

A girl stepped through.

She was a slim, dark haired beautiful girl who looked 18 to 17.

Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore a plain white blouse tucked in her dark skirt and carried a small cloth bundle in both hands,

That young woman was Jasmine Constance, the only person in the entire Ashford estate who had ever looked at Dexter and actually smart enough ot lucky enough tot have lived.

Others have died but Jasmine’s hero talent had rendered her invisible, so she couldn’t be seen with Dexter.

It wasn’t that there wasn’t people that cared for Dexter, it was that they hadn’t lived long enough.. they had all died mysteriously!

Dexter suspected it was his father and most likely Step mother Seraphina.

He had met Jasmine a year ago. Dexter had been carrying a stack of clean linens through the east corridor when he had rounded a corner and collided with Jasmine, who had been carrying a stack of documents in the opposite direction.

They had both knelt on the floor, gathering the scattered mess, apologizing simultaneously, and in the process of disentangling their respective stacks, Jasmine had looked up at him and said, "You have really nice eyes."

The comment had so thoroughly short-circuited his brain that he had simply stared at her, stunned for ten full seconds before stammering "thank you" and fleeing down the corridor.

After that, they had kept running into each other. In the corridors. In the kitchen, in the garden. Each encounter was brief, giving each other a smile, greetings, comment about the weather or the food or the latest news from the Hero Association. Small moments that accumulated like snowflakes until they formed something solid between them.

Jasmine found the rooftop three weeks ago. Dexter hadn’t shown it to her. She had followed him.

She hadn’t asked why he hid not asked why he was alon, she had simply sat down beside him on the wall, dangled her legs over the edge, and watched the sunset in comfortable silence.

They had been coming here together ever since.

Jasmine walked the rooftop. She reached the wall, climbed up beside him, and sat.

She didn’t say anything immediately.

She just sat there, shoulder to shoulder with him as they both watched the sunset.

Then she held out the cloth bundle.

"Happy birthday," she said.

Dexter stared at the bundle.

Then at her.

"How did you know?"

Jasmine shrugged with a smile on her lips."That’s for me to know."

She wiggled the bundle slightly. "Open it."

Dexter took the bundle from her hands and he unfolded the cloth carefully.

Inside was a sweater, a clearly secondhand cloth that was worn but clean. The color was warm blue and the stitching was slightly uneven in places, suggesting it had been repaired by hand.

But it was warm, thick and soft against his fingers.

It was the nicest piece of clothing Dexter had ever owned.

His throat tightened.

"You didn’t have to," he said quietly.

"I know," Jasmine replied. "That’s the point."

She bumped her shoulder against his. "Try it on. I want to see if it fits."

Dexter pulled the sweater over his head. The fabric settled onto his shoulders with a soft, warm weight that immediately began to insulate his body heat. It fit. Not perfectly. The sleeves were slightly long, covering his hands to the first knuckle. But the shoulders were right, and the torso was snug without being tight.

He looked down at himself. At the blue fabric covering his arms and chest. At something that was his. Something that had been given to him not because it was owed, not because it was required, but because someone had wanted to.

"It’s perfect," he said.

His voice cracked on the second word.

He looked away quickly, blinking hard, his jaw clenched against the pressure building behind his eyes.

Jasmine didn’t comment on the crack in his voice. She didn’t look at his face. She simply sat beside him, her shoulder pressed against his, and watched the sunset as though nothing had happened.

After a moment, she spoke.

"Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?"

Dexter shook his head. His eyes were still fixed on the horizon, his jaw still tight.

"I thought, ’That boy looks like he’s carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders,’" Jasmine said. "And then I thought, ’He’s carrying it alone.’"

She paused.

"You don’t have to carry it alone, Dexter."

The sunset painted her profile in shades of gold and rose.