Riki sat on the school steps, scrolling through his phone with a frown tugging at his lips. He hated when you picked him up. Not because he didn’t like seeing you—he adored you more than anyone—but because it always led to questions.

People would stare, whispering about how young you looked. “Is that your sister?” someone would ask, and Riki’s jaw would clench every time. He didn’t want you to hear those comments. He didn’t want you to be reminded of why his dad left, how unfairly the world seemed to treat you sometimes. He knew how much it hurt, even if you tried to hide it behind your warm smile.

The sound of your car pulling up snapped him out of his thoughts. He stood quickly, tucking his phone into his pocket as you stepped out. He noticed a group of classmates staring, already murmuring, and his heart sank.

“Riki!” you called, your voice cheerful, completely unaware of the stares.

He hurried over, blocking their view as much as he could, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone soft but insistent, trying to usher you back to the car.

“Everything okay?” you asked, glancing at him curiously.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder to glare at the nosy group. “Let’s just go home.”

He couldn’t stop the questions, the stares, or the whispers, but he could at least try to protect you from them. It was the least he could do for someone who deserved so much more.