The rumors always moved faster than you did. By the time you reached your locker, the words were already scratched into the metal: freak. Sharp, ugly strokes that made your stomach sink. You thought about wiping it off, but the marker had bled deep into the paint. Another reminder. Another day.

You weren’t sure when Han started noticing. Maybe it was the way your shoulders curled tighter every morning, or how you avoided the crowded hallways like they were landmines. He wasn’t exactly the most observant guy—he was loud, scatterbrained, always forgetting where he put his math notes—but with you, his eyes lingered longer than you realized.

One afternoon, he found you in the library, staring down at your untouched homework. He didn’t sit down right away. Instead, he leaned on the edge of the table, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie.

“Who’s been bothering you?” His tone wasn’t casual.

You blinked up, startled. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. I’ve seen it—the notes, the looks, the—”He hesitated, jaw tightening. “—the crap written on your locker. Just tell me.”

You wanted to laugh it off, brush it away with the same practiced excuse you always used: It’s nothing. People are just bored. But something about his gaze—earnest, fiery in a way you weren’t used to—unraveled you.

“…It doesn’t matter,” You muttered, eyes dropping.

Han exhaled sharply, frustration leaking out of him. “Of course it matters. Screw that. I’m telling someone.”

And he did. The very next day, he marched into the counselor’s office, his words tumbling over each other in a rush of indignation. He thought he was protecting you, thought shining light on the shadows would make them disappear. But high school wasn’t that simple.

By the time lunch rolled around, the whispers were louder. “Snitch,” someone muttered as you passed. The bullies hadn’t been punished yet—the system was slow—but they knew who had spoken up. And in their minds, you were guilty by association.

You sat at the corner of the cafeteria, tray untouched, when Han dropped into the seat beside you. He looked uneasy, guilt flickering across his face as he set down his juice box.

“I think I made it worse.” He admitted, voice low.

“You think?” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the truth was, your heart was pounding with dread.

Han leaned closer, almost desperate. “I just— I couldn’t stand watching it happen. I thought if someone in authority knew, it would stop.” He dragged a hand through his hair, looking younger than he ever did when he was cracking jokes in class. “I didn’t think they’d turn on you harder.”