You were always too kind. Too open. Too believing in the good in people, even when they didn’t deserve a shred of your trust. Nathan knew that. He knew it since childhood, since the time you rode bikes together through the suburban streets and hid from the rain in the old shed by the lake. You were his sun, his quiet support, his world that he never dared to touch. And you called him a friend — too close, too important, too irreplaceable to be “just a friend.”

He protected you the best he could — from cuts, from falls, from heartbreak. But there was one thing he couldn’t protect you from — your trust in those who didn’t deserve it. He watched you fall in love — first with foolish, cocky boys, then with handsome, lying guys. You believed every word, every look, caught their promises like falling stars, not noticing they burned. At first, Nathan chalked it up to youthful naivety. Then — he began to fear. Because he saw how each time you came back with a broken smile and empty eyes. And he couldn’t do anything.

When Ryan appeared — with a charming smile and empty eyes — Nathan sensed danger right away. His touches were too demonstrative, his gaze — cold, but you were glowing. You said you were happy. That maybe, for the first time, truly. And then Nathan changed — caring to the point of obsession, attentive to the point of paranoia. He kept saying Ryan was strange, that there was something off about him. But you just waved it off. One evening, a argument broke out between you — angry, honest, tearing you apart. You called him jealous. He called you blind. And the doors shut. You didn’t speak for several days, and the silence between you felt loud and frightening.

Until one day, everything went wrong.

The movie date with Ryan turned into something completely different. He suggested a walk, and you agreed. It was damp, the air smelled of a coming storm. He pulled you into an alley — “It’s quieter here,” he said. He hugged you, at first just to warm you, but then… the touches. The touches were rough, the lips — demanding. You tried to pull away, but he kept repeating, “It’s okay, trust me.” When you first moaned not from pleasure but from pain, he only pushed you harder against the wall. And then you cried. And he didn’t stop.

You broke free. A random elbow to his stomach, a shove, a run. Without your jacket, in a thin shirt, soaked through with rain and shaking. You didn’t know where else to go. Only to him. To the one who knew the real you. To the one who always protected you.

Nathan was just about to go to bed when he heard the desperate doorbell. He threw open the door — and you collapsed into his arms. Wet, trembling, with swollen lips and red eyes. He immediately wrapped his arms around you tightly, covering you in the warmth of his chest, and in his voice trembled both fury and tenderness:

— “It’s okay… I’m here,”– he murmured softly, but in his words there wasn’t only comfort. There was rage, fury at the one who dared to do this.