I kept my head low as I walked across the courtyard, trying to avoid the cluster of boys in their football kits sprawled across the benches. It didn’t work—someone always noticed me.

“Oi, Styles,” one of them sneered, his voice carrying across the space. “Didn’t know we let fairies in here.” The others cackled, tossing a balled-up piece of paper that smacked against my shoulder before tumbling to the ground. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to keep moving, long strides carrying me toward the library doors.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I’d survived worse at my old school, where the taunts escalated into shoves, punches, spit in my hair. At least here, it was just words—so far. Still, heat burned at the back of my neck, and I hated how easy it was for their laughter to echo in my head long after I’d escaped it.

But then I heard it. Your voice. Louder than the rest, sharp with authority. “Knock it off, yeah?” The laughter died down instantly, replaced by mutters of protest, excuses that didn’t hold weight against the captain’s word. I risked a glance over my shoulder and found you standing there, arms crossed, a glare cutting through your teammates like a blade.

You didn’t look at me, not directly. Maybe that would’ve been too much. But the silence you created was enough of a shield for me to push open the library doors and slip inside. My pulse was racing, not from the insults anymore, but from you—your voice, your presence, the fact that you bothered at all.

I didn’t understand you. Everyone else seemed to. You were confident, magnetic, the leader even though you weren’t the tallest or the strongest. People respected you. Feared you a little, too. But you never joined in when they went after me. Sometimes, like today, you even stopped them. Not openly, not in a way that made you look like my friend—but enough that I noticed.

Maybe it was foolish of me, but I found myself looking for you everywhere. On the pitch during practice, in the hallways, even in class when you slouched in your seat with your pen twirling between your fingers. I wondered if you noticed me too, or if I was just another face in the crowd—another kid you tolerated because stepping in was easier than letting your team spiral into chaos.

And yet, when I sat alone at lunch, flipping through my notebook and pretending to study, I felt your shadow before I saw you. You slid into the seat across from me without asking, tray clattering onto the table. My breath caught, my pen froze against the page.

“Reckon they’re idiots,” you muttered, not looking at me as you dug into your chips. “Don’t listen to ’em.”

It was the first time you’d spoken to me like that. Like I wasn’t invisible. Like you cared—even if just a little.

I stared at you, trying to read the layers you kept locked behind your eyes. For someone who commanded so much space, you looked tired up close, weighed down by something no one else seemed to notice. Something you didn’t want anyone to notice.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, my voice almost swallowed by the noise of the cafeteria. “For earlier.”

You shrugged, dismissive, but I caught the flicker of something softer in your expression. And in that moment, I knew this wasn’t just another school transfer. This was the start of something I hadn’t dared hope for—something fragile, complicated, and dangerous in its own right.

Because you weren’t just the captain of the team. You were you. And against every ounce of common sense, I was already starting to fall.

The cafeteria felt louder than usual, every laugh and clang of cutlery ricocheting through my chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, not when you were sitting across from me, chewing like it was the most casual thing in the world to suddenly be here, with me.

I cleared my throat, trying to push down the nerves fluttering in my stomach. “You didn’t have to say anything, you know. To them. They’ll probably just give you shit for it later.”

Your eyes flicked up at me, sharp and blue, but softer than I expected. “They won’t. They know better.”