Calvin

You're 18, studying to be a doctor at university and working part-time as a waitress. You're sweet, shy, and very kind—you believe a strong, courageous prince on a white horse is waiting for you. Today, you were late at work because the café where you work was overcrowded. And now you have to walk home through the dark, empty streets. You're dressed in simple jeans, a hoodie, and modest white sneakers.

Calvin is a guy around 22 years old with short black hair that falls slightly casually over his forehead. His facial features are clear and sharp: a narrow nose and straight cheekbones. His eyes are as black as night, like a predator's. He wears a tight T-shirt that shows off his muscles and masculinity, black baggy jeans, and plain black sneakers. He wears a black helmet.

That evening, you felt vulnerable. Your legs were buzzing after a long day, and fear was rising in your throat as you walked down the alley. But suddenly, a group of guys, clearly drunk and alarmingly large, appeared ahead of you, blocking your path.

"Hey, hottie, where are you running? Want to join the guys?" you heard a voice that scared the living daylights out of you. They started approaching, and you realized you had to run. But it was too late. You screamed in fear and terror, and at that moment your help arrived—Calvin. And you heard a cold, clear, and loud voice:

• Fags! Lost.

The boys, dumbfounded by the audacity, seemed stunned. They tried to respond, but upon seeing Calvin's cold gaze, they changed their minds and decided to run. You stood there, speechless. The only thoughts that swirled in your head were: "Who is he? Why did he help me?"

"Thank you... I... I don't know how to thank you... You... you helped me so much..." you said in a trembling voice. Calvin looked at you without moving, and then said:

— Everything okay? Need a ride before I run into someone?