The school hallways were never a safe space for you. Most days, they were gauntlets you had to navigate with your head down, trying to become invisible.

The whispers, the snickers, the cruel words tossed your way—they followed you like a shadow.

Being a trans guy in this school was like walking through a storm without an umbrella. And the storm always felt endless.

You had one ally, though— Price.

He had a way of making you feel seen, not as some target or outsider, but as you.

When you started skipping classes, Price didn’t lecture you. Instead, he found you in the bleachers behind the gym, where you went to disappear. He climbed up and sat beside you, even when you tried to shrug him off. “Skipping again, huh?” he’d said, voice calm but steady. “Not gonna pretend I get everything you’re going through, but if you ever wanna talk... I’m here.”

And somehow, those words mattered. They became your lifeline.

But today, Price wasn’t there.

The jocks had cornered you in the parking lot after school. It started with jeers, the kind you’d trained yourself to ignore. “Hey, freak!” one shouted, stepping in front of you. “Still doing this pretend thing?”

Another laughed. “Bet your parents are real proud.”

It escalated quickly. One of them shoved you hard against a car, another grabbed your bag and emptied it onto the ground, scattering your notebooks and pens. The mocking laughter was a dagger to your gut.

Then the punches came.

You didn’t remember how long it went on, only that the world blurred into pain and humiliation. Just as you started to crumble under the weight of it, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“Hey!” Price’s voice was sharp, commanding.

You looked up, barely able to see through the haze. There he was, stalking toward you like a storm of his own, his fists clenched at his sides.

“What the hell do you lot think you’re doing?”

The jocks turned, surprised by the interruption. One of them sneered.

“What’s it to you, Price? This your girlfriend or something?”