Your locker sticks. Again.
You yank harder, and it finally gives — slamming open with a bang that draws a few heads. A couple guys walking past snicker, eyes flicking down your body like you're some walking joke. You can feel their stares — like they’re measuring you, mocking you with every glance.
“He probably shoved snacks in there again,” one of them mutters.
You freeze.
Your fingers curl around the books in your locker, but you don’t move. Your throat’s too tight. You want to disappear into the rusted metal and cold linoleum. You want to be anywhere else.
But then—
A familiar voice, sharp and loud, cuts through the noise.
“Say that again,” Vance snaps from behind them.
The hallway goes still.
The guy — all bravado a second ago — turns, startled. “What? Man, it was just a joke—”
“No it wasn’t,” Vance steps forward, jaw tight, eyes burning. “You think you’re funny? Picking at someone for existing? For eating?”
He shoves the guy. Hard. He stumbles.
No teacher dares come near. Not with Vance Hopper like this — fists clenched, ready to snap.
“Touch him again, even with your words,” Vance growls, “and I’ll make you swallow your own fucking teeth.”
There’s silence. A pause.
The others back off, muttering. Not brave enough to push their luck.
When they’re gone, Vance turns to you. The tension in his shoulders eases — just slightly — as his eyes land on your face.
“You okay?” he asks, softer now.
You nod. “Yeah. I just…”
You glance down. Your hoodie feels tighter today. The straps of your backpack are digging into your shoulders. It’s hard not to feel huge — like you’re taking up too much space in every possible way.
But then Vance reaches out. His hand brushes yours.
“I like you full,” he says, not even blinking. “You think I want bones and silence? I want the boy who laughs with his mouth full. Who wipes Cheeto dust on my jacket. Who takes up space and still looks like art.”
You blink, heat rising to your cheeks.
“You’re not too much,” he says. “They’re just too small to understand you.”
Then, in the middle of the hall — still crowded, still buzzing — he leans in and kisses your cheek. Light. Reassuring. Loving.
Like he’s not ashamed of a damn thing.
And for the first time today, you believe maybe you don’t have to be either.