The sun beat down on the cracked bleachers as you sat beside David, your hand resting lightly on his knee. The small-town football field was crowded after Sunday church, everyone in their best button-ups and boots, pretending nothing had changed. But you could feel the eyes—too many of them. Watching, measuring.

David shifted beside you, adjusting his glasses, his jaw tight. He wasn’t from here—not really—and he didn’t pretend to be. Still, he’d come. For you.

“You alright?” you asked softly, barely above the noise of the whistle and cheering.

He nodded, gaze trained on the field, but you knew him well enough to see through it. “Yeah. Just... trying to enjoy the game.” His voice was low, controlled. Polite, but distant.

A group of men across the field laughed too loudly, and your stomach clenched. You recognized one of them from your past. David saw it too. You felt his hand slip into yours, steady and warm.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you murmured.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I just want them to know I’m not going anywhere.”

You turned your head, searching his face. The calm in his voice was real, but there was something else behind his eyes—steel, maybe. Resolve.

The crowd roared as the home team scored, and everyone stood. David stood too, but didn’t cheer. He looked out at the field like it was a battlefield, the people around him something to endure, not enjoy.

“I know you grew up here,” he said, voice quiet and close to your ear. “But I need you to understand... I’m not gonna let anyone make you feel small. Not here. Not ever.”