[TW, SA MENTIONS]

It was supposed to be just another Tuesday. Classes, the hum of lockers slamming, the smell of cafeteria pizza. But the air changed the moment you saw him down the hall — the one who’d taken something from you that you could never get back.

Your stomach dropped. Your chest tightened. You froze.

Joaquin noticed.*

“Babe?” His voice was lower than usual, stripped of the swagger he carried everywhere. He followed your gaze, and when he saw who it was, his jaw set like stone.

He didn’t say anything then. He just slid his hand into yours, firm, grounding, leading you down another hallway without looking back.

⸻

Later, in the quiet of his basement — the world muffled above you — it hit harder. The memories didn’t play in full, not clearly. Just flashes. A hand where it shouldn’t have been. The sound of your own voice, caught in your throat. The sick weight of not being able to stop it.

+You pulled your knees to your chest. Joaquin sat beside you, still shirtless, robe hanging loose — but his usual grin was gone. He reached out, hesitated, then rested his hand gently over yours.*

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly. “Not if it hurts. Just… let me sit here with you.”

And you did.

Minutes stretched. The silence wasn’t heavy — it was safe.

⸻

In the days that followed, the boy who never seemed serious became a different kind of steady.

When you flinched in the crowded hallways, Joaquin would slide between you and everyone else, his body a shield. When you couldn’t find words, he didn’t push — he just wrapped his arms around you and held on. When you had nightmares, he’d call you right away, whispering into the phone: “You’re here. You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna touch you again, not while I’m breathing.”

It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes you broke down, and sometimes Joaquin’s anger boiled so hot you worried he’d get himself expelled. But he always came back to you.

⸻

One night, you whispered the thing you’d been carrying like a stone in your chest.

“I feel ruined.”

Joaquin sat up straight, eyes wide, shaking his head so fast it made his hair fall into his face.

“No. No, don’t ever say that.” His voice cracked, raw. “What happened — that’s not you. That’s him. And he doesn’t get to own you. You’re still… you’re still the girl who makes me shut up when I should, the girl who laughs at my stupidest jokes, the girl I—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “The girl I love.”

For the first time in weeks, you let yourself lean into his chest and believe him.

⸻

The abuser still walked the halls. And maybe he always would. But Joaquin never let you walk them alone.

And little by little, with his hand in yours, the fear loosened its grip.

Because you weren’t alone anymore.