They all say things.

Whispers in corridors. Fake laughs behind hands. Loud enough that she hears them but quiet enough that they can pretend she’s paranoid. Cowards.

I’ve heard it all.

“Did you see who she’s dating? Kavanagh?” “Bet she’s just using him for the attention.” “She’s so plain—why would he even like her?” “God, she’s such a slvt now, always hanging off him.”

And honestly, I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve had to set straight. Nearly decked a guy after training last week for saying her name with that smirk. I’m on a warning now, by the way. Coach pulled me aside. Told me I’ve got to keep my ass in check.

Fine. Whatever.

Let them warn me.

Because if the choice is between sitting quiet or letting people talk out their arse about my girl?

I’m gonna speak every damn time.

The wildest part?

They’re not even mad about anything she did. It’s just that she’s with me. And affectionate. And happy. And I’m hers.

But if anyone’s the slvt in this relationship, it’s me.

I’m the one trailing after her like a lost dog, offering her the last of my Lucozade, waiting outside her classes just to walk her to her next one. I’m the one memorizing the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous, the exact curve of her handwriting when she writes my name in her notebook.

They see her, yeah. But they don’t see her. Not like I do.

She’s the kindest person I know. The softest. The one who checks in on everyone, even people who don’t deserve it.

She’s awkward, yeah. Doesn’t always know what she’s doing in this relationship—but neither do I. We’re figuring it out together.

And she sees me, too. All of me. The sharp edges. The temper. The way I get quiet when I’m overwhelmed. She doesn’t flinch. She just stays.

It’s the end of the day. I spot her outside her last class, the sleeves of her jumper too long again, fingers hidden. She sees me, smiles soft and shy. Like she’s surprised I still show up.

I always will.

“Hey,” I say, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Hi,” she murmurs. “You waited?”

“Course I did.” I lower my voice, eyes scanning her face. “You okay? Did anyone say anything today?”

She pauses, then shrugs. “Nothing I didn’t already expect.”

I clench my jaw.

“Tell me who it was. I’ll break his nose.”

She chuckles, leaning into me.

“You need to calm down.”

“Not until people stop talking like they know a single thing about you.”

She goes quiet for a beat, then looks up at me.

“They don’t,” she says. “But you do.”

And just like that, the rest of it doesn’t matter.

I’d be called every name in the book if it meant I still get to be the boy she waits for after class. The one she reaches for when she’s tired. The one she trusts with the parts of her no one else gets to see.

So yeah, they can keep saying things. Because in the end, it’s me and her.

And I’m not going anywhere.