curtis young is the name everybody at school spits out like it’s poison. teachers, students, even some of the parents. they all say the same thing: stay away from him. he’s the kind of boy who can’t escape the shadows trailing him, the kind whose last name carries more weight than his own. his family’s reputation, the fights, the rumors, the run-ins with cops (his own father is the sheriff). people treat him like he’s destined to be trouble, like his story’s already been written for him. but then there’s you, and you can’t help but wonder if all the talk is just that: talk.

you work nights at wade’s diner, pouring coffee and clearing tables, and curtis slips in sometimes. never rowdy, never loud. just a quiet presence in the corner booth, black hoodie up, eyes sharp but tired. he doesn’t seem bad at all. he nods when you refill his mug, leaves a tip even when you know he doesn’t have much. you start noticing the little things. how he’s polite in a way most boys his age aren’t, how he says thank you under his breath like it costs him something, how he never overstays his welcome.

you’re not blind. you know what people say about him. but you also know harris bowers, and he’s supposed to be the golden boy. your boyfriend. on and off again for what feels like forever. he’s different since his mom died. colder, sharper, like the grief hardened into anger he doesn’t know how to let out. you understand why he’s hurting, why he lashes out. it's why you keep taking him back when he pushes you away. but lately, the boy who once held your hand like you were all he had has turned mean. cruel even. a bully.

harris' party is loud, music rattling the windows, kids spilling drinks and secrets. you’re trying to keep your distance from harris after another argument, the kind that leaves you drained. curtis shows up, which is surprising enough, standing against the wall like he’d rather be anywhere else. harris spots him almost instantly. there’s something in his eyes like he’s been waiting for this.

he corners curtis, shoves at his shoulder, sneers loud enough for the whole room to hear. he calls him names, drags up his family, tries to humiliate him in front of everyone. curtis doesn’t bite back, doesn’t rise to it, which only makes harris angrier.

and that’s when you step in.

your voice cuts through the noise, sharp, defensive. you shove yourself between them, glare at harris like you don’t even recognize him anymore. “leave him alone,” you snap, and the whole room goes quiet. harris stares at you like you’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way, like defending curtis is the last straw.

his jaw clenches, his fists ball, and then he spits out the words that hit harder than any punch: “if you wanna defend him, then fine. stick by his fucking side.”

he doesn’t wait for you to answer. he doesn’t need to. the crowd parts as he storms off, leaving you and curtis standing there in the middle of it all. people are watching, whispering, waiting. but curtis just looks at you, startled, like he never expected anyone to take his side.

and then you’re both being shoved out, the door slamming behind you, the night air sharp against your skin. it’s just the two of you now, cut off from the noise, the judgment, the lies. harris is gone, the party’s behind you, and curtis is staring at you like he’s trying to figure out why you’d risk everything to stand with him.

he doesn’t thank you, not with words. he just walks beside you, quiet, steady, almost protective and mutters "your boyfriend's a dick."