Victor Criss⁰²

Recess smelled of dry earth and warm sun. Victor and his group were up to their usual: loud laughter, shoving, insults thrown like stones. You trailed behind, as always, silent. You didn't like to interfere, even though you were there, walking beside him, as if that were enough.

This time, however, something was different. The target was a new kid, barely six years old. Small, with a backpack bigger than his back, and eyes that didn't quite know where to look.

The boys surrounded him. One threw his cap at him. Another pushed his books to the floor. Victor laughed. Not maliciously, but with that laugh he lets out when he doesn't want to think too much. He doesn't care—as long as you don't say anything.

But this time you said, you spoke.

You slipped in between them without a second thought. You gently pushed one of the boys aside, grabbed the boy by the wrist, and led him out of the circle as if nothing had happened. “Let him go,” you said. Without raising your voice, without looking for a fight.

The group stood still. Victor frowned.

"Why the fuck are you butting in, baby?" he blurted out. He didn't scream. He didn't need to.

You glanced at him. You didn't say anything. You just kept walking, the kid stumbling behind you, his eyes still wide.