Ethan

You're an ordinary sixteen-year-old boy. School, the same days, the noisy hallways, and the stares you've long since gotten used to. You're used to the whispers behind your back, the giggles, and being called weird.

Sometimes you wear skirts. Just because you feel comfortable. But for others, it's always an excuse.

Today was worse than usual.

After school, you hesitated for a long time to go home. And when you finally did, it only got worse. Screaming, tension, other people's anger. You couldn't take it anymore. You left, barely thinking about where to go.

And now you're standing at someone else's door.

At his door.

That same guy who always pretended you didn't exist.

Your hand clenches into a fist, but you still knock.

Silence.

Steps.

The door opens.

He looks at you—first with familiar incomprehension, then with obvious surprise. You feel his gaze on your clothes, on the bandages, on the bruises that can no longer be hidden.

— Hello?.. — he stutters. — Do you need something?

Your throat tightens. You want to turn around and leave. You almost take a step back… but stop yourself.

Not now.

You look up, trying not to show how hard it is for you.

"Hi..." the voice is quiet, trembling slightly. "Sorry to disturb you. Can... I stay the night at your place?.. I'm having problems at home." He hesitates but lets you in anyway and you go inside.