They reached Jenny's street a few minutes later, the houses lined neatly along the road, quiet in that after school stillness. Merlee slowed the bike and brought it to a stop in front of her gate. Jenny slid off easily and stood in front of him, brushing imaginary dust from her uniform while studying his face like she expected him to change his mind about something.
"You sure you won't come in?" she asked, folding her arms lightly. "My aunt made rice and stew. I promise I won't bore you."
He shook his head with a small smile, polite but firm. "Another time. My dad's probably already home."
She sighed theatrically, then laughed. "You're really strange, you know that?"
"Yeah," he replied calmly. "I've been told."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You should loosen up sometimes. Life's not always that serious."
He met her eyes briefly, then looked away. "Maybe."
Jenny smiled, gave him a quick wave, and stepped back toward the gate. "Ride safe, Merlee."
"Good bye Jenny," he said, already turning the bike around.
He rode off, his mind drifted again, back to the story from school, back to the face of a man he had never met but could not stop thinking about. The road ahead curved sharply, bordered by old walls and overgrown bushes, a shortcut he had taken many times before.
As he turned the corner, he caught sight of movement ahead. Four boys stood in a loose circle, their backs half turned, their voices loud and heated. In the middle of them was another boy on the ground, trying to shield himself as blows rained down.
Merlee slowed slightly but did not stop. He told himself it was none of his business. Fights happened all the time. People found reasons to hurt each other every day, and he had learned long ago that getting involved usually brought trouble. He kept riding, eyes forward, heart steady.
Then he heard it.
"Kill this garbage gay boy," one of them shouted, his voice sharp and full of hate.
Merlee's hands tightened on the handlebars as if the words had struck him instead. The bike jerked to a stop, the tires scraping loudly against the road. For a moment, everything felt very still. The noise of the street faded, replaced by the sound of his own breathing and the rush of anger rising hot and fast inside his chest.
He saw the pop star's face again, imagined the fear, the loneliness, the weight of a world that decided some people were not allowed to exist. Something snapped quietly inside him, something he did not bother to hold back.
Merlee swung his leg off the bike and let it fall against the curb. He took a step forward, then another, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the group ahead. He was not thinking about consequences or reputation or school trouble. He was not thinking about how outnumbered he was.
He only knew one thing.
He was not going to let someone get beaten for being gay, for being their natural self.
He did not shout when he reached them, and he did not announce himself either. He moved on instinct, grabbing the nearest boy by the shoulder and shoving him back hard enough to break the circle. For a split second, surprise flickered across their faces, and that moment was enough. Merlee planted himself between them and the boy on the ground, his chest rising and falling fast, his eyes burning with something fierce and unyielding.
"Get away from him," he said, his voice low but steady, anger had already settled deep in him.
One of them laughed, a harsh ugly sound. "You want to be a hero now?"
The first punch came before Merlee could answer. It struck his jaw and snapped his head to the side, a bright flash bursting behind his eyes. He staggered but did not fall, swinging back blindly and catching someone across the cheek. The impact earned him another blow, then another, fists and feet coming at him from all directions.
He focused on one thing and one thing only, pushing the boy behind him and away from the center of the attack. Every hit he took felt heavy and hurtful, but he stayed upright, absorbing the punishment with gritted teeth. He knew he had arrived just in time, because the boy he was protecting had not been badly hurt yet, only a few blows that left him shaken but still conscious. That knowledge kept Merlee standing even as pain spread through his ribs and back.
A kick caught him in the side and dropped him to one knee. Another struck his shoulder, then his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. The world narrowed to flashes of shoes, clenched fists, and angry voices. Through it all, he looked at their faces, really looked at them, burning each detail into his mind. He memorized the crooked nose of one, the scar near another's eyebrow, the way one of them smiled while kicking him. He told himself he would never forget. He told himself this would not end here.
Eventually, they grew tired. The blows slowed, then stopped altogether. One of them spat on him, the gesture full of contempt, before laughing and walking away with the others. Their footsteps faded down the road, their voices dissolving into careless noise, as if what they had done meant nothing at all.
Merlee lay on the ground, his body aching, his vision swimming. Every breath felt heavy, like his chest was filled with stones. He could hear the distant sound of traffic, the rustle of leaves overhead, but it all felt far away. His eyes fluttered as darkness crept in from the edges, pulling him under. He was barely conscious, hanging on to awareness by a fragile thread, his last clear thought burning with quiet, unresolved fury.
He felt a hand touch his shoulder, gentle but insistent, pulling him back from the edge of the dark. His eyes opened slowly, the world swimming before settling enough for him to make out a face hovering above him. It was the other boy, the one he had stepped in to protect, his expression tight with worry and disbelief as he tried to help Merlee sit up.
"Hey," the boy said softly, his voice shaking in a way that betrayed how close he had come to something far worse. "You shouldn't lie here. You're hurt bad. We need to get you to a hospital."
Merlee groaned as he shifted, every movement sending a sharp reminder through his ribs and back. He waved a weak hand, trying to brush the concern away, even though his head felt heavy and his vision blurred at the edges. "I'll be good," he muttered, forcing the words out with more confidence than he felt. "You should just go home."
The boy frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Are you sure? They really messed you up."
Merlee managed a faint smile, the kind people used to hide the truth. "I've been through worse," he said, the lie slipping easily from his lips.
The boy hesitated, then nodded slowly, helping Merlee to his feet before backing away, gratitude written plainly across his face. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For stepping in."
Merlee did not answer. He stood there for a moment, leaning heavily against the wall, listening as the boy hurried off down the road. Only when he was alone did he let his shoulders sag, the weight of what had just happened finally settling in.
He knew the truth, even if he refused to say it out loud. This was the first time he had ever been beaten like this. He had been in fights before, plenty of them, scrapes and bruises earned from schoolyard tempers and careless pride, but nothing that left his body screaming this way, nothing that made it this hard to draw a steady breath.