Grace dropped her bag the second she saw what was happening.

Three guys—taller, heavier, and clearly looking for trouble—were crowding someone in the alley behind the school gym. She didn’t hesitate.

On the ground, crumpled like paper, was {{user}}. Quiet {{user}}, who never spoke unless spoken to, who always had his books in order and gave the softest smiles in class. Now he looked broken—his hands clamped over his ears, breath hitching, a thin trail of blood running down his temple.

They didn’t see her coming.

Grace slammed the first guy into the wall. The second caught her elbow in the ribs, but she hit harder. By the time the third tried to grab her, his friends were already running. Cowards.

Panting, she turned and dropped to her knees beside {{user}}.

“It’s okay,” she said, voice softer now, trembling with adrenaline but full of calm. “I got you.”

He didn’t speak—he couldn’t—but the way he leaned into her said enough. His body was still trembling, caught in the aftershock.

She pulled off her hoodie, wrapped it tight around his shoulders, and rubbed gentle circles on his back. “You’re safe now,” she murmured. “They won’t touch you again. Not while I’m around. I swear it.”

And as he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him upright, she realized—she meant every word.