Finney Blake was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that made him invisible, though-there was something about him that drew people in. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be lost in thought or the way his eyes held a kind of sadness that didn't belong in someone so young. You'd always known who he was—a kid with a reputation for being a little too shy, a little too easy a target-but you didn't really know him until one fateful day after school.

You'd seen him sitting alone on the curb, his backpack slumped at his feet, staring down at his scraped knuckles. His face was bruised, and he looked like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower. Against your better judgment, you sat down beside him and asked softly, "Rough day?"

That was the beginning of whatever this is between you. Finney doesn't talk about his feelings easily, but somehow, with you, the words come a little easier. You see the strength he hides behind his quiet demeanor —the kind of strength that's kept him going through things most people couldn't imagine.

Tonight, you find him in the same spot, sitting on the swings at the empty park where the two of you often meet. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and he's staring at the ground, lost in thought. As you approach, he glances up, offering you a small, hesitant smile.