Chapter 5

The days blur together, each one bleeding into the next. Wake up, go to school, endure the stares, the whispers, and sometimes the blows. Pretend not to hear the insults. Pretend not to care. It’s a cycle—routine, predictable, suffocating. It’s survival, not living.

But lately, something’s shifted.

Nico and Elsa have started talking to me more. At first, I assumed it was pity—just a fleeting attempt to ease their conscience. People like them don’t talk to people like me unless they’re trying to play hero. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But they didn’t stop. They’re persistent, unsettlingly so. They sit near me at lunch, ask me questions I don’t want to answer, and sometimes—when Jackson and his lackeys close in—they step in without hesitation.

I don’t understand their motives. Friendship? A guilty conscience? Some twisted sense of charity? Whatever it is, I don’t trust it.

The days still drag on, the same monotony, the same quiet suffering. But Nico—he’s relentless.

At first, I wanted nothing to do with him. He was everywhere. In the hallways, during lunch, even under the oak tree where I’d go to sketch and find a moment of peace. He’d lean against the tree, asking questions about my drawings, about my day, about things I didn’t think mattered. I’d shrug, grunt, or give one-word answers, hoping he’d get bored and move on. But Nico doesn’t take hints. Nico doesn’t take no for an answer.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he asked one afternoon, watching as I sketched the orange tabby that had made my lap its throne.

“Why are you so persistent?” I shot back, pencil scratching across the page.

“Because I think you’re worth it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His words caught me off guard. My hand paused mid-sketch. I stared down at the paper, at the half-finished outline of the cat, avoiding his gaze. No one had ever said anything like that to me before—not my parents, not my teachers, not even the rare friends I used to have.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t. Silence stretched between us, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the cat’s soft purring.

But Nico didn’t leave. He kept coming back, day after day, chipping away at the walls I’d built to protect myself. He wasn’t just persistent—he was maddeningly patient. He didn’t push too hard or demand too much. He was just... there.

And eventually, I caved.

“Fine,” I said one afternoon, snapping my sketchpad shut with a sharp clap. “You win.”

“Win what?” he asked, grinning like he’d just conquered a kingdom.

“I’ll... I’ll hang out with you. Or whatever it is you want. But there’s one condition.”

“Name it,” he said, his grin widening, infuriatingly smug.

I hesitated, my gaze fixed on the ground as my hands clenched the sketchpad. “You have to help me.”

“Help you with what?”

I looked up then, meeting his gaze for the first time. My voice was steady, but frustration swirled in my chest. “I want to be strong. Like you. I’m tired of being... this.” I gestured vaguely at myself, feeling the heat of shame creeping up my neck.

His grin softened into something warmer, more sincere. “You’re not ‘this,’ Norman,” he said quietly. “But if you want to get stronger, I’ll help you. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I know what it’s like to feel weak,” he said. His voice was quieter now, tinged with something deeper—something raw. “And because I think you’re already stronger than you realize. You just need someone to help you see it.”

I didn’t know if I believed him, but I nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

The next day, Nico dragged me to the school gym after classes. It was intimidating—the bright lights, the clanging weights, the confident movements of people who clearly knew what they were doing. I felt out of place, awkward and self-conscious.

“Start small,” Nico said as I fumbled with a set of light dumbbells. His tone was patient, almost amused, but not mocking. “It’s not about where you start. It’s about where you’re going.”

It was slow at first. Painful, even. My arms trembled under weights that seemed too small to matter. I nearly dropped a barbell on my foot. Nico tried not to laugh, but I caught the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You’re stronger than you think, Norman,” he said after I managed my first shaky set of push-ups. His hand clapped my back, steady and encouraging.

I didn’t believe him—not yet. But for the first time in years, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could be.

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