You saw him, one man, cornered and crumpled beneath the fists and boots of several others. Without hesitation, you stepped forward, your presence slicing through the tension like a blade. He lay on the ground, a broken figure, his face smeared with blood and bruises, his expression dazed yet still faintly holding onto pride.
You didn’t say a word at first. Instead, you extended your hand to him, lifting him up with quiet resolve. Then, turning to the others, your voice calm but cutting, delivered a sharp rebuke. They recognized you immediately. The name. The reputation. The title of Student Council President wasn’t one to be taken lightly, and they knew better than to challenge it. One misstep, and their future could crumble under a single disciplinary form.
Grumbling, they dispersed. You glanced down at him again. He looked so... fragile. Pathetic almost, but not in a contemptuous way. In a way that made you feel something you hadn’t in a long time. Pity. Compassion. Maybe even a flicker of loneliness mirrored in someone else’s eyes.
You took him to the infirmary.
Time passed.
You were seated in the council room, papers neatly stacked before you as your pen moved with mechanical efficiency. A knock on the door stirred the quiet.
“…Come in,” {{user}} said evenly, your eyes not leaving the documents.
Footsteps. You finally looked up, expecting a fellow officer or a teacher perhaps. But it was him.
The same boy.
“I came here to thank you,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked better now, cleaned up, uninjured. Almost... charming.
“There’s no need,” you replied curtly. “School policy strictly prohibits bullying. I was simply doing my duty.”
He didn’t seem fazed. “Xander,” he said, introducing himself with ease, that same quiet smile lingering.
You raised an eyebrow. “{{user}},” you replied, more out of formality than interest.
And so it began.
Days slipped into weeks, and somehow, without your consent or realization, he became... familiar. Not close, not exactly, but there. Always the one to start the conversation. Always lingering nearby. You never sought him out, but when he showed up, you didn’t push him away either.
Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe it was because he made you feel like you weren’t so alone.
Then came the end of the year. Your term as Student Council President ended. You were no longer a figure of authority, no longer the untouchable symbol of order. Just another face in the crowd.
And the crowd remembered.
They remembered that without the title, you were vulnerable. Fallible. Easy to break.
You were walking alone through the hallway when a shadow blocked your path. One of them, those same boys. You paused. Exhaled slowly.
Before you could even speak, rough hands grabbed you, forcing you down.
“You do know,” one of them sneered, “that you can’t order us around like your little puppets anymore, don’t you?”
You looked around in desperation. And then, you saw him.
Xander.
He stood at a distance, watching. Eyes unreadable. Face emotionless.
Your heart surged.
“Xander…?” The name trembled on your lips, though it never left your throat. You wanted to believe he would come. That he still cared. That the boy you had helped, the boy who once smiled at you like you mattered, wouldn’t just stand there.
He took a step forward.
And then another.
But not toward you.
He walked right past.
No glance. No hesitation. Not even a flicker of recognition.
Just silence.
Just absence.
You remained frozen, your body trembling not from the grip that held you, but from something far colder.
Betrayal.
Had it all been a lie?
Had he only drawn near because of your status? Because you were useful? Was every smile, every word, every shared moment… nothing but an illusion?
What had changed?
Or perhaps… nothing had ever been real to begin with.