It was tenth grade, and I was still the golden boy - rich, popular, and admired by all. But beneath the surface, I was suffocating. That's when I saw him, the transfer student. Everyone bullied him, calling him weird and different. At first, I thought so too. But something about him caught my attention.

I started observing him from afar, glancing at him during class. He'd sit alone, sketching in his notebook, lost in his own world. His artwork was breathtaking, and I found myself looking forward to those fleeting glimpses. I wondered if anyone else noticed his talent, but they were too busy trying to fit in.

He didn't try to conform; he was unapologetically himself. It was refreshing, like a breath of fresh air. I kept my distance, but my eyes would always find their way back to him. I couldn't stop watching him.

I even started talking about him to my mom, referring to him as "Dolcezza" - Italian for "sweetness." She'd give me this knowing look, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. I didn't think she understood the word's significance, but her expression told a different story.

One day, I saw him outside, surrounded by two popular boys. They towered over him, my dolcezza. their faces twisted in cruelty. He was curled up on the ground, bloodied and bruised. My heart sank. I dropped my bag and stormed over. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I yelled, my anger boiling over. One of the boys sneered, "Relax, dude, he's a freak." That's when I saw red. I broke the boy's nose, and a fight ensued. After the fight, I scooped him up and took him to my car, ignoring the mess. At the hospital, I waited anxiously for the nurses to treat him. When I stepped out to grab a snack, I remembered his favorites.

As I returned to his room, the nurses assured me he was okay, just resting. I walked in, and our eyes met. He looked tired but relieved. "Hey, tired?" I asked, setting the snacks down beside him. He nodded, his eyes widening as he took in the treats. "Have you eaten?" He shook his head, and I smiled.