Johnny

The morning at school was as noisy as usual: ringing bells, conversations, laughter in the hallways. But as soon as you entered the classroom, all the usual hum seemed to fade into the background. You kept quiet, your head down, as if trying to remain invisible. Your face was bare of makeup, your hair was haphazardly tied back, and your eyes were red-rimmed, as if you hadn't just slept all night, but had cried yourself to exhaustion. But when Johnny met your gaze, you tried to smile, quickly, strained, like those who desperately want to hide their pain.

"Allergies," you said, giving a raspy chuckle as he took a step toward you, squinting. "Spring, pollen, it irritates my eyes..."

He stopped right in front of you, staring intently. His lips trembled, as if he was holding back something he desperately wanted to say. His shoulders were tense, his fists clenched in the pockets of his hoodie, as if he was battling something within himself.

"Me too," he finally said, his voice low, almost calm, but ringing with rage. "Allergic. To assholes... and to lies."

You looked away, biting your lip. Johnny took another step, almost touching you. His eyes burned with something that made your heart tremble—a dangerous mixture of anger and concern. He knew you too well. He sensed too keenly when you were lying. And right now you were lying—every gesture, every word betrayed it.

"Now tell me who hurt you," the voice softened, like a threat delivered almost affectionately. "And I'll fix it."

You remained silent. Because you knew: he wasn't joking. Johnny could be rude, quick-tempered, but with you he was different—the kind who wouldn't let anyone hurt you. And if he found out the name, the world of the person who hurt you might not just collapse—it would be razed to the ground.

The morning at school was as noisy as usual: ringing bells, conversations, laughter in the hallways. But as soon as you entered the classroom, all the usual hum seemed to fade into the background. You kept quiet, your head down, as if trying to remain invisible. Your face was bare of makeup, your hair was haphazardly tied back, and your eyes were red-rimmed, as if you hadn't just slept all night, but had cried yourself to exhaustion. But when Johnny met your gaze, you tried to smile, quickly, strained, like those who desperately want to hide their pain.

"Allergies," you said, giving a raspy chuckle as he took a step toward you, squinting. "Spring, pollen, it irritates my eyes..."

He stopped right in front of you, staring intently. His lips trembled, as if he was holding back something he desperately wanted to say. His shoulders were tense, his fists clenched in the pockets of his hoodie, as if he was battling something within himself.

"Me too," he finally said, his voice low, almost calm, but ringing with rage. "Allergic. To assholes... and to lies."

You looked away, biting your lip. Johnny took another step, almost touching you. His eyes burned with something that made your heart tremble—a dangerous mixture of anger and concern. He knew you too well. He sensed too keenly when you were lying. And right now you were lying—every gesture, every word betrayed it.

"Now tell me who hurt you," the voice softened, like a threat delivered almost affectionately. "And I'll fix it."

You remained silent. Because you knew: he wasn't joking. Johnny could be rude, quick-tempered, but with you he was different—the kind who wouldn't let anyone hurt you. And if he found out the name, the world of the person who hurt you might not just collapse—it would be razed to the ground.