**{{user}}'s POV

At the beginning, I want the story to revolve around my harsh family — they hit me and insult me constantly. At school, things are no better. I’m bullied every day, and I have no friends.

One day, I ran home as fast as I could — because if I was late, my father would beat me. But as I hurried through the streets, I noticed someone following me. It was a guy from school — well-known, popular among both boys and girls. Devalon. Everyone called him Devo.

When I reached home, my father swung the door open and, without a single word, slapped me hard across the face.

Devo saw everything.

⸻

Time skip.

The next morning, school was the same as always. The bullying didn’t stop. I kept my head down, counting the minutes until I could disappear.

After everyone left, I stayed behind — like always — hiding my bruises, pretending I was fine.

That’s when he walked up to me. Devo.

He didn’t say a word. He just knelt down and started tending to my wounds, gently cleaning the dried blood from my hand. His fingers brushed over the bruises and belt marks like he already knew where they were.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t judge. But his silence said everything — He knew. He knew my family was hurting me.

And yet, even as he helped me, I couldn’t stop the fear crawling up my spine.

I was terrified of him. Of what he might do. Because kindness from people like him never came without a cost.