-Language barrier-

Chapter Three

I was running late, as usual. The whole fucking day had been off—couldn't focus in class, couldn't even hit the gym like I wanted. My mind kept drifting, going back to the same place. Martin.

It was getting worse, this... obsession. I don't know why I keep thinking about him. There's plenty of other boys I could have, plenty who'd be on their knees the second I stare at them for too long. But not Martin. He's different. And the worst part? I don't even know why. Maybe it's the way he looks at me, shy and curious, like he's trying to figure me out but won't let me in. Maybe it's because he's so goddamn quiet, never making a sound, yet somehow says more with his eyes than most people do with words.

I was heading toward the back hallway where the classrooms were mostly empty at this time of day. Needed a quiet spot, some space to clear my head. Maybe catch a nap before I dealt with the bullshit waiting for me later. I rounded the corner and reached for the door to the empty classroom I liked to crash in sometimes, but then I froze.

I heard something.

Muffled. Low. Like someone struggling.

I stopped, my hand still on the doorknob, listening. Then, I heard it clearer—a man's voice, rough and pissed. "I don't hear a 'no,' do I, you little bitch? You think you can just act all innocent and quiet? Just because you can't fucking talk doesn't mean you can't suck a cock. Come on."

My heart dropped. Ice in my veins.

I shoved the door open without thinking.

Inside, there was Martin. He was on his knees, his eyes wide with fear. His hands were shaking, trying to push away this guy—some douchebag I recognized from campus, maybe a year older than me, built like a linebacker but ugly as sin. His pants were unzipped, cock out, and he had one hand fisted in Martin's messy blonde hair, yanking his head forward.

For a second, I saw red. Pure, blinding rage.

"What the fuck is this?" My voice came out a growl, louder than I meant it to, but I didn't care.

The guy jerked back, startled, his grip on Martin loosening for just a second. Martin scrambled away, breathing hard, his chest heaving like he was fighting off a panic attack. He looked up at me, his gray doe eyes wide, his lips trembling, but he didn't make a sound.

The guy turned to me, trying to act tough. "Mind your fucking business, man. This little fag knows what he's doing. He didn't say 'no,' did he? He—"

I was on him before he finished.

I slammed him against the wall so hard the breath went out of him in a wheeze. My hand was around his throat, squeezing just enough to make him panic, my face inches from his. "He didn't say no because he don't fucking talk, you piece of shit."

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. He tried to claw at my arm, but I squeezed harder, pressing him into the wall, my other fist drawn back, ready to pound his face in.

I felt something then—a light tug on my sleeve.

I turned and saw Martin, standing now, his hands moving frantically in the air. Signing something. I had no fucking clue what he was saying, but his expression... he was scared, like he didn't want me to make things worse. His eyes were pleading.

For him, I let the guy go. He slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, clutching at his throat. He looked up at me, his face red, scared but still trying to act tough.

"Get the fuck out of here," I spat.

The asshole scrambled to his feet, zipping up his pants with shaking hands, muttering something under his breath. But he didn't dare say it to my face. He glanced at Martin, then back at me, then bolted, stumbling out of the room like the coward he was.

I turned back to Martin.

He was standing there, his back pressed against the desk, still trembling. His hands moved again, signing something quick, too quick for me to even try to understand, not that I could in the first place. I stepped closer, reaching out slowly, making sure I didn't scare him more.

"Martin," I said, my voice softer than I expected. "You okay?"

He stopped signing, staring at me, his gray eyes still full of fear but softening, like he realized I wasn't going to hurt him. He nodded, but it was slow, hesitant.

I frowned. "Did that guy... did he hurt you?"

Martin shook his head quickly. No.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, but the anger was still there, burning in the back of my mind. The idea that someone could take advantage of him like that, that someone would use him just because he couldn't speak up, because he couldn't scream for help... it made me sick.

"I should've beat the shit out of him," I muttered.

Martin's eyes widened again, and he grabbed my arm, shaking his head even more urgently. His hands moved again, trying to communicate, but I couldn't understand him. I wished, in that moment, more than anything, that I could.

"I don't know what you're saying," I said, frustrated. "I don't know what you need, Martin."

He stopped, his hands dropping to his sides. He looked down, biting his lip, and I hated the silence that followed. Not just the lack of words, but the way it felt like I was on the other side of a wall, unable to reach him, unable to help.

But then he stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his warmth. His fingers brushed against mine, and he looked up at me, his eyes soft, vulnerable.

In that moment, I didn't need words.

I knew what he was saying.

And I knew I couldn't just leave it at this.

"Come on," I said, taking his hand. "Let's get out of here."

Martin hesitated for a second, then nodded, following me as we left the classroom. I didn't know where we were going, but I knew one thing for sure—I wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again. Not if I could help it.