Everyone at school knew your names. The "it" couple. The ones who turned hallways into runways and group chats into rumor mills. Rachel Amber and you: dazzling, untouchable, adored.

But popularity didn’t stop the world from being messy.

The party was loud, packed, neon-lit. Rachel was laughing with some friends near the makeshift bar when a guy—older, too confident—stepped in too close. His hand brushed her waist without invitation. She tensed.

Before she could even speak, you were there.

You slid between them, calm but firm.

—“Back off.”

He scoffed, said something under his breath. You didn’t flinch.

—“She’s not interested,” you said louder, so everyone could hear.

Rachel's hand found yours instantly.

Later, away from the crowd, she leaned into you on the porch, her glitter smudged, her eyes a little glassy.

—“People think being wanted is the same as being safe,” she whispered. “But tonight, I didn’t feel safe... until you stepped in.”