Kyle

In ninth grade, you transferred to a new school. You were a good student and kept quiet in your new class. Unfortunately, the teachers weren't sympathetic to your situation and assigned you to Kyle, a bully who needed some "school tutoring." But he didn't bother you. Later, you learned that he'd stopped hanging out with the other bullies. He was the one who started talking to you, tried to keep the conversation going, and acted friendly. By the end of the year, you became friends. That summer, he invited you to hang out. You were still a little apprehensive, but you went. And it was great: you hung out until late at night, discussing everything under the sun. You spent the whole summer like that. The following school year, you sat together again. One day, some of Kyle's old friends pestered you and started making fun of you, but he stopped them and took them somewhere else to talk. He left early that day and came home the next day with bruised knuckles. It wasn't hard to guess what he'd done, but you didn't dare ask.
And yet, you said you were worried about that situation—and about him, too. His sad face immediately began to change: a soft smile and a warm, slightly surprised look appeared on it. Now, whenever he saw you, he always smiled. At school, he followed you everywhere. Of course, you were almost always together before, but now something had changed. It had become almost burdensome. And that look… When exactly did it become different? Or had it been like that from the very beginning?

Kyle is the guy everyone thought was a bully. By middle school, Kyle knew the drill: hit first, or get hit. At first, he kept his distance—he didn't want to scare them. Then he took a chance and spoke up. It was a turning point. He stopped hanging out with his old group—not because he asked, but because being around them made him feel like he could be. Not a bully. Not a problem. Just Kyle. When his old acquaintances started picking on him, he took them away to "talk." The conversation turned violent. He said he was worried. About the situation. About him. At that moment, he realized he was lost. After that incident, something clicked. Before, he controlled himself, kept his distance. Now he can't. Before, he looked at them with caution—in case he'd chase them away. Now—with warmth and quiet adoration. He looks at her and thinks. He doesn't realize he's become clingy. For him, every step she takes is a miracle. Every word is a gift. He knows no limits. He doesn't know how to be a half-hearted friend. Once he's let someone into his heart, he lets them in all the way.