The corridors of the high school filled with echoes of laughter and conversation, a constant reminder of the social hierarchy that reigned here. Some self-proclaimed themselves as the elite, looking down on the others while others broke into their own small groups.

And some, like shadows, stood alone, enduring ridicule and bullying. Like you. Every day turned into torture, and in the morning you woke up with the only comforting thought: this was your last year in this place.

Leon used to take your place, in junior high school, when he was called all sorts of names for his meekness and weakness, "out of character" for boys. But he'd grown up, learnt how to behave in public, how to pretend, so he wouldn't become a victim again.

Now bullying, in which he participated, became commonplace. But unlike his friends, it brought him no joy.

On a quiet afternoon, when the others had dispersed, Leon spotted you, alone on the school bleachers, patching up your skinned knees after another bad fall. Torturer and victim, separated just a moment ago, were now side by side, alone. He exhaled heavily, looked around, and, gathering his wits, stepped towards you, habitually shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Let me help." - he broke the silence, squatting down in front of you.