A Love that was never

Home is where we are

After that incident, I tried to avoid Dean, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine. I ignored him and rolled my eyes whenever he was around. After a few days, it seemed like he had accepted his defeat.

In the meantime, I signed up for an anchoring competition and partnered with one of my classmates, Jayden. We started to get closer, and he began flirting with me. At first, it was harmless, but then he crossed a line.

"Hey, do you know how to give a blow job?" he asked, leaning in too close for comfort.

I felt my stomach drop. "Jayden, that's not appropriate. Can you back off?"

But he didn't listen. He moved even closer, invading my personal space, and I felt a wave of panic wash over me. My heart raced as I glanced around the empty classroom, the silence amplifying my unease. I could feel the walls closing in, and I wanted to scream for help, but the words caught in my throat.

Just as I was about to push him away and demand he leave me alone, I heard sound outside. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and my heart leaped with hope. But before I could react, Dean burst through the door, his expression fierce and mad. The veins on his neck looked like it could pop out right there

Without hesitation, he charged at Jayden, landing a punch square in his face that sent him crashing to the ground. Dean didn't stop there; he kept hitting him until Jayden's nose was broken, blood spilling everywhere.

Despite the bruises he received in the fight, Dean emerged victorious. Once the initial shock wore off, I grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him away from the scene. We ran together into the playground, where there was no one around since school hours were over.

*

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?" I screamed YOU COULD GET BEAT DOWN, SHITHEAD!" He chuckled, licking the blood off his lips before yelling back to me. "I DON'T LIKE HIM TALKING TO YOU. HE'S A PLAYER-"

" I WASN'T GOING TO SLEEP WITH HIM; WE HAVE AN ANCHORING COMPETITION COMING UP." I interrupt.

He interrupted me, his voice rising, "YOU'RE SAYING YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE WITH THAT MOTHERFUCKER? I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU GETTING FUCKED BY THAT JERK!" Suddenly, he took my hand, checking me over. "Are u OKAY? DID HE DARE TO LAY A FINGER ON YOU?"

I looked at him incredulously. "Seriously? YOU'RE COVERED IN BRUISES AND YOU'RE LOOKING FOR ME?" He chuckled again, "YOU AIN'T USED TO FIGHTS; IT'S JUST PART OF ME. I WAS HERE TO PAY MY FEES AT THE RECEPTION. THANK GOD I CHECKED OUR CLASS FOR NOTHING."

*-*

The door clicked shut behind us as I led Dean into my cozy apartment. The soft glow of the living room lights cast a warm ambiance, contrasting with the chill of the evening air. Dean winced slightly as he settled onto the couch, his bruises clearly hurting him

"Thanks for bringing me here," he said, a hint of gratitude in his voice. "I didn't think I'd be getting a personal nurse tonight."

I shrugged, grabbing the first aid kit from the shelf. "Well, I'm not exactly a nurse, but I can patch you up. Just sit tight."

As I began to clean the bruises on his arm, he watched me with a playful smirk. "You know, I could get used to this kind of treatment. Maybe I should get hurt more often."

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress a smile. "Let's not make that a habit, okay? I'd prefer you in one piece."

"Fair enough," he replied, his gaze lingering on me. "But I have to admit, I'm enjoying this."

I felt my cheeks warm slightly. "You're just saying that because I'm the one with the first aid kit."

"Maybe," he said, leaning back comfortably. "But I'm also saying it because it's true. You've got a way of making a guy feel at home.I like it.but I dont want anyone else to feel this."

I finished bandaging his arm and sat back, crossing my legs. "Well, you're welcome to stay for dinner if you want. I could whip up something quick."

Dean raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "You mean you're actually inviting me to dinner? I thought I was just here for the medical attention."

"Don't get too excited," I teased. "I'm not a gourmet chef. It'll be something simple."

"Simple sounds perfect," he said, leaning forward with a grin. "But I don't want to impose. I mean, you didn't plan for company tonight."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's just dinner. I can handle it."

"Are you sure? I don't want to be that guy who crashes your evening."

"Dean, it's fine. Really," I insisted, trying to sound more convincing than I felt. "I'd rather have you here than sitting alone nursing your wounds."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Okay, you've convinced me. But only if you promise to let me help in the kitchen."

"Help? You're the one with the bruises," I laughed. "But if you insist, I won't stop you."

As I moved to the kitchen, Dean followed, leaning against the counter as I rummaged through the fridge. "What are we having?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.

"Pasta. It's quick and easy," I replied, pulling out some ingredients.

"Pasta? Now you're really spoiling me," he said, his tone teasing. "I might just have to start getting hurt more often if this is the kind of treatment I can expect."

I shot him a playful glare. "Just don't get any ideas. I'm not your personal chef."

"Fair enough," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips. "But I have to admit, I'm glad I got hurt today if it meant I could spend the evening with you."

I felt a flutter in my stomach at his words. "You're laying it on thick, Dean."

"Just speaking the truth," he replied, his gaze steady. "I enjoy your company. It's nice to unwind after a long day."

As the pasta boiled, we chatted about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing easily between us. I found myself laughing more than I had in a while, the atmosphere light and comfortable.

When dinner was finally ready, we sat at the small dining table, the aroma of the food filling the air. "This is amazing," he said, taking a bite. "You really should cook more often."

"Thanks, but I can't take all the credit. You helped," I said, nudging him playfully.

"True, but I think I mostly just provided moral support," he replied, a twinkle in his eye.

As we finished our meal, I felt a sense of warmth and connection that I hadn't expected. "I'm glad you came over tonight," I admitted, looking at him earnestly.

"Me too," he said softly, his expression sincere. "I didn't realize how much I needed this."

We shared a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. I could feel the tension building, a mix of friendship and something deeper lingering between us.

"Maybe next time, I'll come over without the bruises," he said, breaking the silence with a grin.

"Maybe," I replied, my heart racing. "But I can't promise I'll be as entertaining."

"I think you underestimate yourself," he said, his gaze locking onto mine. "You're pretty great, you know."

I felt my heart skip a beat, and for a moment, I wondered if this was the start of something new.