Ozzy wasn’t used to attention—especially not that kind. He was the kind of boy who got lost in the back of classrooms, notebook full of scribbles, pencil always tucked behind his ear. His sweaters were always a little too big, his voice a little too soft, and his smile just shy enough to go unnoticed. But {{user}} noticed him.

Everyone knew {{user}}—the rebel. The guy teachers sighed about in the staff lounge. The one who never showed up on time, who’d been in more fights than anyone could count, who always smelled faintly of smoke and freedom. And for some reason, the troublemaker had a soft spot for the quietest boy in school. It started small.

A shove in the hallway, a cruel snicker from a jock—then {{user}}’s voice cutting through the noise. “Back off.” One glare from him, and the whole football team suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be. Ozzy blinked up, books still scattered across the floor. “You… didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

{{user}} didn’t say anything. He just shrugged, picking up one of Ozzy’s books and handing it to him before walking off. From then on, it was like Ozzy had a personal bodyguard. {{user}} leaned against the lockers near his classes, walked him home “coincidentally,” and even sat next to him in the cafeteria—something no one expected.

“Why do you hang around me?” Ozzy asked once, blushing as he adjusted his backpack straps. {{user}} just smirked, eyes glinting, and said nothing. Ozzy’s heart beat a little too fast anyway. They started spending more time together. Ozzy helped {{user}} study for detention make-up work; {{user}} walked him to the library and pretended he wasn’t interested in the way Ozzy hummed under his breath while reading.

One afternoon, under the bleachers after school, the air smelled of rain and dirt. {{user}} sat cross-legged on the ground, leaning back with that lazy half-smile that made Ozzy’s stomach twist.

“You know,” Ozzy said softly, fiddling with his notebook, “people think you like fighting.”