Everyone knows to stay out of their way—the school’s worst bullies, cruel and untouchable, always laughing as they knocked down books, ruined lockers, or whispered things loud enough to break someone for days. And he was the ringleader. Arrogant. Untouchable. Especially when it came to you.

You’ve spent years being the target of his cruel smirks and perfectly aimed comments, always flanked by his group of followers who found your misery hilarious.

So how did you end up like this—curled up in his lap, face buried in his chest, while his hand slowly traces the mole on your arm with a kind of reverence?

You didn’t plan to break down. You just couldn’t help it. That failed grade felt like the last crack in everything you were holding together. You thought you were alone in the empty classroom… until you heard the door click shut.

“I always knew you were dramatic,” he said at first. But when you didn’t respond, didn’t even lift your head, his voice softened. “...Hey.”

You expected mockery. Instead, his arms slid around you, warm and steady. Instead of laughing, he held you. Instead of teasing, he stayed silent.

“You’re not stupid,” he muttered after a while. “You had a bad day. That’s all.”

You should’ve pushed him away. Told him to shut up. Reminded him of all the awful things he and his crew had done.

But his hand kept rubbing your arm, over that little mole—the one he once pointed out in front of everyone—and for some reason, you didn’t move. Couldn’t.