You were the kind of person who slipped under the radar. You didn’t raise your hand in class. You didn’t speak unless spoken to. You wore your sleeves long and your voice low.

At home… you didn’t exist. And when you did, it only meant pain. Neglect, anger, silence, bruises. You stopped believing that anyone could save you a long time ago.

But Shawn Hunter surprised you.

He wasn’t a friend exactly—not at first. Just someone who saw more than he let on. He was trouble in his own way, but he got it. He saw the same kind of tired in your eyes that he had in his. And one day after school, when you didn’t want to go home, he noticed you hovering outside, unsure where else to go.

“Come on,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like letting someone stay the night wasn’t the most generous thing anyone had ever done for you.

That one night turned into many.

His trailer became your refuge. No questions asked. No explanations needed. You stayed quiet, and so did he. You never spoke about your bruises, and he never pointed them out. It was an unspoken agreement. A sacred one.

And no one knew.

Especially Corey.

But Corey noticed the shift. He wasn’t dumb.

You and Shawn had suddenly grown close. Always walking together after school. Always having private little conversations, quick glances. Disappearing around the same time every day.

He didn’t know what was happening. So naturally, his imagination filled in the blanks.

He didn’t see the trauma. He didn’t see the quiet survival. He only saw his best friend sneaking around with someone—you—like there was something to hide. And when he confronted Shawn about it, Shawn brushed it off with a casual, “She’s just cool, man. Chill.”

That didn’t help.

Tonight, Corey was determined to get answers.

He followed you.

Watched from the sidewalk as you limped—not noticeably, just enough for someone who knew what to look for—your backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie pulled up tight. You looked over your shoulder once, like you felt something.

But you didn’t see him.

You made your way through the trailer park like you’d done it a hundred times before. You belonged there. Like it was a second home.

Corey watched as you reached Shawn’s door and knocked softly. It opened within seconds.

Shawn stood there, towel around his waist, toothbrush in his mouth, like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

Corey’s stomach dropped.

The door closed behind you.

And that was all Corey needed to see.

In his head, it was confirmation. His best friend—at fifteen—was messing around behind closed doors, sneaking girls into his trailer, lying to everyone, acting like it was nothing. And you—this quiet, mysterious girl—had him wrapped around your finger.

Shawn didn’t say anything. He just gave you this look—not pity, not panic. Just that same quiet understanding that never made you feel small.

He wiped his mouth with the towel around his neck, still brushing water out of his hair. “Couch is yours,” he said, voice low. “You want the hoodie or the blanket?”

“Both,” you whispered. Your voice cracked.