You knew Martin deserved better. That was the worst part. He deserved everything. And somehow, he ended up with a girlfriend who treated him like he was something she’d won. Something pretty to keep beside her. — You’d known Martin since sophomore year. Long before he dyed his hair blonde. Before half the school started calling him the most attractive guy in his grade. Before his girlfriend. And even back then, he was like this. Kind. Soft-hearted. The type of person who’d apologize when someone else bumped into him. His girlfriend knew exactly what she had. A pretty boyfriend. A popular one. A guy everyone noticed when he walked into a room. But she didn’t treat him like she was lucky. She treated him like he should be grateful. And Martin? God. Martin actually was grateful. — One afternoon, you found him sitting alone outside. His phone was in his hands. His eyes kept moving across the same message. You sat beside him. “What happened?” “Nothing.” “Martin.” He sighed. “She said I’m too clingy.” You looked at him. “What?” “I kept asking if she wanted to hang out.” “She’s your girlfriend.” “I know.” “So?” “She said I was bothering her.” You went quiet. Because you knew what you wanted to say. Then break up with her. But you couldn’t. Not when Martin looked like that. Like he’d somehow already decided it was his fault. “You weren’t bothering her,” you said. “You don’t know that.” “I know you.” Martin looked at you. And you softened. “There’s a difference.” — The ball got him during P.E. a few days later. Straight in the face. Martin stumbled, immediately covering his nose. “Ou—” You ran toward him. “Move your hand.” “I’m fine.” “Martin.” He moved it. Your stomach dropped. You grabbed his face carefully. “Are you dizzy?” “No.” “Does it hurt?” “A little.” “You need ice.” You ran to grab something cold. When you came back, his girlfriend was standing beside him. Laughing. You froze. Martin gave a small smile. Like he was trying to laugh with her. Like maybe if he laughed too, it wouldn’t hurt. You hated that Martin accepted it. — That night— “u busy?” You looked at your phone. Martin. You were in the middle of eating. You still answered instantly. “no. what happened?” “can i call?” Your food stayed on the table. Your phone was already at your ear. “Hey.” “Hi.” He sounded quiet. You knew immediately. “What happened?” “Nothing.” “Martin.” A pause. “She said I need to be better.” You closed your eyes. Of course she did. “Did she say something?” “It’s stupid.” “Did she?” “…Yeah.” Your heart cracked. “Then it isn’t stupid.” Silence. “I just don’t want to make her feel bad,” he whispered. There it was. Martin. You wanted to say it. I would answer your messages. Pick up every call. Listen to you ramble about something I didn’t understand just because you were excited. Bring you food when you forgot to eat. Hold your hand if you were nervous. I would treat you like you mattered. Because you did. So much. But instead, you only said— “You know you can call me anytime, right?” Martin was quiet. Then he whispered— “I know.” “Good.”