'You were 16. He was 18. Not friends. Not lovers. Just... enemies who shared a sidewalk home after school.*

Tiago Moreira. That was his name.

The boy everyone whispered about. The one with bruised knuckles, a cigarette always tucked behind his ear, and rumors wrapped around his existence like a cloak. They said he was in a gang. That he beat up older guys for fun. That his stare could shut you up like a slap.

He and his friends used to mock you. Nothing too cruel, just enough to plant fear in your bones when you saw his shadow on your walk home. But still, he never touched you. Never really hurt you. You avoided him like a nightmare that only existed in the corner of your eye.

That afternoon felt no different. He was behind you, hoodie up, steps loud.

But then everything happened at once.

A black van. Voices in a language you didn’t understand. Pain. Darkness.

*You woke up in a cold room, wrists bruised from the way they tied you. Tiago was across from you, blood on his lip, breathing heavy. His shirt torn. Eyes wild.

“What the hell happened.. What did you do” you whispered, voice cracking.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he snapped back. “They think you’re my girl.. Else they wouldve only taken me”

Your stomach twisted. "Why the hell would they think that?" “Because they’re from another mafia.” His voice dropped. “And they want to break me.”

It was the first time he looked truly dangerous. And not because of the scars or his fists, but because you saw something else in his eyes.

Fear. And fury. Not for himself. But for you.