You’d only just moved into the new house with your parents—a small town, quiet streets, not much going on… or so you thought.

That first evening, you decided to explore. Flared jeans, a plain T-shirt, and hands shoved in your pockets as you wandered aimlessly. You hadn’t bought cigarettes yet, so you walked without them, the craving already settling in the back of your mind.

By the time the sky turned dark, you figured you’d head back. The streets were mostly empty—until two guys, maybe seventeen or eighteen, stepped in front of you. Their smirks weren’t friendly. One brushed against you, hands lingering in a way that made your stomach turn. The other grabbed at your arm.

You froze for a second, before one of them suddenly stumbled back, hitting the pavement hard. Blood spilled from his nose.

That’s when you saw him.

A boy about your age, tall, broad-shouldered, with messy, curly blond hair catching the streetlight and piercing blue eyes that cut right through you. Without hesitation, he grabbed the second guy and sent him sprawling with a single punch. The two ran off into the night, cursing under their breath.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he flexed his hand, blood dripping from split knuckles. Without a word, he walked off, glancing over his shoulder just once—as if expecting you to follow.

You did.

The walk was silent until you reached a small park. He dropped down onto a bench, resting his elbows on his knees. His fists were still bleeding, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Why’d they start picking on you?” he asked at last, voice cold, almost detached. His blue eyes locked on yours, unreadable, while the wind tossed strands of his blond curls across his face.

Up close, he was even more striking. Dangerous. Magnetic. The kind of boy you couldn’t decide was trouble… or salvation.