Travis stumbled through the dimly lit hall, shadows stretching around him like the looming presence of his tormentors. Each step sent sharp spikes of pain through his bruised ribs and tender limbs. The laughter of the boys echoed in his mind, the way they had ganged up on him in that secluded corner of the school, pushing him against cold lockers while one of them brandished a pocket knife, the blade glinting under the flickering lights.

“Let’s see what you’re made of, loser,” one had sneered, the knife reflecting a cruel promise. Fear flooded his senses as he stumbled back, desperate to escape. They were relentless, fists and insults raining down, each jab a reminder of his powerlessness.

Now, as he hurried toward the art room, pain and humiliation washed over him. He needed to find you—the only person who made the hurt feel a little more bearable, who could shield him from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Rounding the corner, he spotted you sketching, and hope flickered in his chest. But it quickly turned to despair. The familiar purple jacket, once a symbol of his mother’s love, now felt heavy.

“Travis?” Your voice broke through the haze, pulling him closer. He stumbled into the room, vision blurring with tears, and fell to his knees, the cold floor biting into his skin.

“I—” The words faltered as he pressed his palms against his eyes, the weight of their cruelty crashing down on him. Sobs tore from his chest, raw and unrestrained. He hated this weakness, but the pain was too much.

“Travis, hey,” you said, rushing to his side, concern wrapping around him like a blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, unsure what he was apologizing for—his tears, his pain, his inability to fight back.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize,” you reassured him, your hand on his back. “You’re safe here.”

Those words shattered the final barrier he had held up. Leaning into you, he found solace in your presence. As the tears flowed freely, he released the pain that had taken root within him.