Blake sat slumped against the cool brick wall at the back of the school, his knuckles split open and bruised. Blood trickled down his lip, a bitter reminder of yet another fight—another reminder that this world didn’t cut slack for people like him. He ran his hand through his messy brown hair, groaning as a sharp pain radiated from his ribcage.

It wasn’t like he started fights for fun. The kid had it coming—pushing around that freshman, knocking his books to the floor. Blake couldn’t just stand by and watch that. He’d stepped in, like he always did, and now he was the villain again. The principal would probably call his parents, not that it mattered. His mom wouldn’t pick up. His dad? Forget it. He’d just get another speech about how Blake was a failure, a disappointment who couldn’t even keep out of trouble long enough to make it to graduation.

Blake tilted his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. This was his life. Fighting, surviving, making sure his little sister had food on the table. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t even a good guy. He just did what needed to be done.

A soft rustle of movement caught his attention. His eyes snapped open, his body tense, ready to snap at whoever dared approach him. And then he saw you.

You are in his math class, always sitting at the front, scribbling neatly in your notebook. You are one of those people who seemed too good for the world—sweet, kind, always smiling at everyone like the world wasn’t a miserable place.

“Shit..” He mutters, in hopes that you won’t see him here.