The bell rang for lunch, but her stomach felt like stone.

Even after everyone else had left the classroom, their laughter echoing down the hallway, she stayed frozen at her desk.

Her ears still rang with the boys’ voices from earlier.

"Come on, just come to the party tonight. Don’t be such a prude." "You know what happens if you say no, right?" "We can make you say yes if you’re gonna be difficult."

They’d cornered her near the back of the classroom during recess — three of them, grinning like wolves. Their tone had been light, almost teasing, but their eyes told a different story. They weren’t really asking.

She’d shaken her head anyway, forcing out a trembling “No.” And they’d laughed, said something crude about how she’d change her mind by tonight, then sauntered off when the teacher came back.

No one else had said a word.

No one — not even the boy leaning against the wall by the window, watching.

Felix Belmond.

She’d seen his eyes narrow slightly as he watched the scene unfold, his fingers clenching loosely at his sides — but he hadn’t spoken. Just grabbed his bag and walked out without looking back.

Not that she’d expected help from him. Nobody in their right mind did.

Felix was a loner. Rumored to have already been suspended at his last school for fighting. He never smiled, never bothered with anyone else, and everyone knew better than to get in his way.

Even so… a small, stupid part of her had hoped.

Now, sitting alone at her desk while her untouched bento sat in her bag, she couldn’t shake the ache in her chest. She didn’t feel like eating. She didn’t even feel like being in the room.

Her throat dry, she decided to just grab a drink from the vending machine outside and find someplace quiet to sit.

When she turned the corner to the machines, she stopped short.

Felix was there.

He was slouched against the edge of the concrete planter, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. His jacket hung loose on his shoulders, his shirt collar rumpled. He looked… different here — more dangerous somehow.

And his knuckles.

They were red. Swollen. One had a faint streak of blood across it.

Her breath caught.

Felix didn’t notice her at first. His head was tilted back against the sun, eyes half-lidded. But when he heard her footsteps, he glanced over.

“You’re blocking the view,” he said, voice quiet but edged.

She froze for a second before shuffling past him, fumbling coins out of her pocket. But she couldn’t help sneaking glances at him as she fed the machine.

The cigarette smoke curled faintly in the warm air. There was dirt on the knee of his pants. A faint red smear near his collar. His lip — split just slightly.

And those knuckles.

“You… fought them,” she said before she could stop herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

Felix didn’t answer right away. He just exhaled smoke, his eyes narrowing faintly at the horizon. Then he finally muttered:

“Didn’t like the way they talked to you.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the cold can of tea she’d just retrieved.

“You didn’t have to,” she said quietly.

At that, he actually looked at her — really looked — his storm-colored eyes catching hers.

“No,” he said simply as he stood up. “But I wanted to.”

The words lingered in the air between them, heavier than smoke.