You had heard the rumors about John Murphy. The guy who was always getting into trouble, the one no one could quite trust. So when you found out he had been banned from the camp, you weren’t sure what to think. But something in you, some spark of empathy or maybe just a refusal to let someone be cast aside, made you step forward.

When you found him, he looked rough—like someone who had been abandoned too many times to care about anything anymore. But you could see the edge of vulnerability under the hardened exterior.

"You don't have to do this," he said, his voice rough from days without food or rest. "I don't need anyone's charity."

You didn’t let that stop you. "You’ve got nowhere else to go. You're staying here," you said firmly, taking him back to your shelter.

At first, Murphy was distant. He didn’t trust easily, didn’t want your help. He’d spent too long surviving alone, his pride too big to let him show weakness. But the days went by, and you didn’t push him, just gave him space to adjust.

Soon, he was getting comfortable. You’d catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his gaze softening in a way he never showed anyone else. And then, one evening, as you were sitting together, the tension between you finally broke.

"You don’t have to be kind to me," he said, looking down at his hands. "But you are. I don’t get it."

You shrugged. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

He met your eyes then, his expression shifting into something deeper, something you hadn’t expected. "I don’t know what to do with that," he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

And from that moment on, you couldn’t deny that the space between you two had changed. Something had shifted, and you found yourself growing closer with every passing day.