It was late afternoon in Tommen, and the corridor of the arts wing was almost empty. Joey had just left English class and was heading to the courtyard when he saw you standing in front of the closet, your face turned down, hidden by your hair. He was going to move on, until his gaze captured a detail that made his stomach turn: the sleeve of his blouse pulled up and, right there, on his arm, an ugly purple mark.

His breathing stopped. The world seemed to shrink.

“{{user}},” he called, approaching slowly.

You turned around, your eyes red, but trying to force a smile. “Hi, Joey.”

But he was already too close for you to hide that. His gaze went straight to his arm.

“Who did this to you?” The voice came out low, tense, as if he was forcing himself not to scream.

“Joey, it’s nothing—“

“Isn’t it anything?” He smacked, the tone sharp. “You have a damn bruise on your arm, and you come to tell me it’s nothing?”

He was breathing heavily now, his jaw locked. Hands clenched into fists.

“Tend me who, {{user}}. Who touched you?”

You hesitated, biting your lip, your eyes watery. “It was just an idiot in my class... he thought he could grab me after class, I said no. He didn’t like it.”

Joey took a step back, as if he needed space to contain the explosion inside him.

“What’s his name?” He insisted. “Give me the name.”

“Joey, please, don’t—“

“Give me the damn name!” He roared, and for a second you saw the shadow of that Joey that he tries so hard to hide. Joey broken, impulsive, fierce.

You reached out and touched his chest. “You don’t need to do that. Just... stay with me now, okay? Stay.”

Joey closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing still came in strong waves, but when he opened his eyes again, they were different. Dark, intense, but focused only on you now.

He put his arm around your shoulders and slowly pulled you close, as if you were made of glass. “I’ll stay. But he will pay for it, {{user}}. I swear by everything that is most sacred to me - he will.”