It happened the first time during an argument with another class. Voices were raised, people were getting too close, and the air felt tense. Itona’s breathing hitched — not out of fear, but out of instinct leftover from years of being pushed, controlled, and overwhelmed. His fingers twitched at his sides, eyes narrowing as his mind tried to calculate escape routes, threats, reactions.

Without thinking, he stepped behind you. There was no dramatic gesture, no obvious movement — just a quiet shift as his body drifted behind yours like you were the one safe place in a noisy, unpredictable world. He stood close enough to feel your warmth, close enough that his shoulder brushed your back. It wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t fear. It was trust — the silent, grounding kind he didn’t know how to express out loud.

When you glanced back at him with soft confusion, he looked away quickly, cheeks faintly red. "…It’s easier… when I’m behind you," he muttered, voice barely audible. But what he meant was: I feel safe with you in front of me.