That morning was supposed to be the history presentation. Brian had rehearsed every line the night before, pacing his bedroom until his throat was dry. He knew Alex wasn't the type to prepare much, so he'd planned to carry the weight of their project himself. He wasn't doing it for a grade anymore—he was doing it because it was Alex.
But instead of giving their presentation, Brian ended up shoved into a locker room, slapped, stripped, humiliated in front of half the school.
By the time Mr. Harris found out what had happened—by the time Alex had already disappeared from the building and Tyler and his friends were being marched off to detention—the project was the last thing on anyone's mind.
"Brian," Mr. Harris said gently, crouching beside his desk later that afternoon, "you don't need to present. Not today. I'll grade you on the written work." His tone left no room for argument. It wasn't pity exactly, but it felt close enough.
Brian only nodded. He couldn't have spoken if he tried. His throat still felt tight, his cheek still burned from Tyler's hand, and the memory of the crowd's laughter echoed in his head like it was happening on a loop.
So the French Revolution came and went without him.
It had been days since that happened. Too bad people don't forget so easily. Whispers and chuckles followed Brian everywhere. And all he wanted was to just disappear and not be seen ever again. But… that small hope he still clung onto, the spark that Alexander Reed lit the other day, it was really hard to extinguish.
Even though he didn't say anything, he only led Brian to the locker rooms and had not been seen since.
Everyone was wondering: why did Alexander Reed help the nerd; where did he disappear right after; why was Alexander so violent? Questions that would probably stay unanswered, because even if he came back, he wouldn't tell anyone anything—as always.
Brian was wondering the same things. Alex hadn't said a word when he helped him. Brian only managed a soft, embarrassed, "Thank you." And then Alex vanished.
No one knew where he went. Not the teachers, not his teammates, not the endless crowd of people who usually swarmed him in the hallways. Rumors churned like wildfire—suspension, family emergency, a fight no one saw. Everyone had their own theory, and everyone wanted to be the first to say they knew the truth.
But nobody did.
And Brian… Brian felt every second of that silence.
He still felt Alex's jacket on his shoulders, the careful way Alex had buttoned his shirt when his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He still saw the look—steady, not pitying, not cruel—when Alex helped him back into his own clothes. And then, just like that, Alex was gone.
Tyler and his friends were stuck in detention for a week, which should have made things easier. But it didn't.
Why did Alex help him? Why didn't Alex say anything? Why leave after that?
And the question that Brian hated most: Why him?
By Thursday, Brian was walking through the halls like a ghost, too aware of every stare, every chuckle, every phone lifted just high enough to make him wonder if someone was still sharing the videos. He ate lunch in the bathroom. He avoided mirrors, because looking meant remembering, and remembering made it worse.
His mother noticed, of course. She always did. She'd asked, softly, if everything was okay at school. Brian had lied, like he always did. His mother didn't push.
At night, lying awake in his bed, Brian replayed the moment in the locker room over and over. The slap of Tyler's hand. The laugh of the crowd. His own humiliation choking him. And then Alex's hands—steady and careful.
It didn't make sense.
Alex could have laughed like everyone else. He could have walked away. He could have done nothing, and no one would have thought less of him. But instead, he'd stepped in. Violently. And then he'd disappeared, like Brian was the only one who mattered in that moment, but not enough to explain afterward.
The silence was worse than the whispers.
By Monday morning, when Alex finally reappeared, it almost didn't feel real. Brian had stopped expecting him.
He froze.
Then the scrape of a chair, the soft thud of a backpack hitting the floor.
Alex Reed sat behind him, like nothing had happened. No explanation. No fanfare. Just there.
Brian's fingers gripped the edge of his desk. His heart raced.
And that's when he noticed something he should have seen a long time ago—Alex was always behind him. Every class. Every day. Always there.