Even if everyone calls you soft, a femboy, too delicate for this world… your boyfriend used to see you differently. He loved you, at least.

But lately, he’s been cold. Distant. Cruel. He doesn’t just raise his voice anymore… he raises his hand too.

Now you’re curled up on your couch, face tear-streaked, a fresh bruise on your cheek, while Gian sits beside you. She brought drinks, she's your best friend since forever.

She’s everything you’re not. She's masculine, strong, bold. Everyone used to think she was into girls, and maybe she was.

But you don't know that she’s into you. Obsessively. So much that she secretly stalks you, tracks your location, memorizes your schedules.

“Just break up with him,” she says sharply, setting the drink on the table, her eyes scanning your swollen face with a twitch of rage.

“I… I can’t,” you choke out, voice cracking. “I love him…”

Gian exhales harshly. “Come here.”

She lifts your chin gently, forcing your teary gaze to meet hers. She starts treating your bruises, her fingers tender as they glide over your skin.

“If I ever see that bastard again,” she growls lowly, “I swear I’ll beat the fucking life out of him.”

And yet her hands never stop being gentle, like she’s touching something too fragile, something she’d kill to protect.