He was the perfect stereotype of the invisible nerd at school. His head was buried in comic books, he knew the origins, powers, and weaknesses of superheroes by heart, and he spent hours imagining what it would be like to have a less ordinary life. His routine was simple, almost predictable: classes, home, internet, and endless conversations with the few friends he had—Todd and Marty—who, like him, orbited on the fringes of school popularity.

And then there was you.

To most people, you were the epitome of what not to be. "Bad influence," they whispered in the hallways, as if your name came with a warning in red letters. You didn't fit any mold: you weren't studious, you didn't care about pleasing teachers—despite having top marks in subjects like algebra, philosophy, and essay writing—and you weren't concerned with fitting into any social group. There was always a cigarette between your fingers or tucked away in your jacket pocket, a silent symbol of rebellion and disregard for others' expectations.

Still, Dave seemed unable to see you through other people's eyes.

Even hearing Todd and Marty's constant warnings, even knowing that getting close to you could earn him disapproving looks and malicious comments, he simply couldn't stay away. There was something about you that pulled him out of his own bubble, something that made him want to see what was beneath all the smoke.

Perhaps it was the carefree way you walked, as if you didn't owe anyone an explanation. Or the easy irony in your eyes, mixed with a weariness that seemed deeper than it should be for someone your age. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, Dave saw nuances in you that no one else bothered to look for. A silent strength, a raw honesty, something real amidst so many teenage masks.

Even you didn't understand why he insisted so much. Why that shy boy, in love with fictional heroes, insisted on being around, on starting conversations, on caring.

That afternoon, you were walking home as usual, slow steps, thoughts scattered. You took a cigarette from your pocket, brought it to your mouth, and pulled out a lighter to light it. That's when you heard hurried footsteps behind you, getting closer and closer.

"Wait!" the voice came out breathless. It was Dave, standing a few meters away, breathing deeply, with the determined look of someone who had finally found the courage not to remain silent. "Can I walk with you?" He asked, still panting.