“He had a baseball bat,” Ozzy adds.
I blink. “Wow, that’s intense.”
Ozzy smirks. “Yeah. He didn’t swing it. Not at first. He just… held it. I remember him being so quiet.”
I can picture it so vividly it hurts.
“Those guys looked at him like he was nothing,” Ozzy continues. “Like he was just another kid.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Poe didn’t flinch. He said, ‘Get off him.’”
My skin prickles.
“They laughed,” Ozzy says. “So Poe took one step forward and tapped the bat on the pavement. Just once.” He makes the sound with his tongue—tok.
My heartbeat stutters.
“And something about it,” Ozzy murmurs, “made them hesitate. Like they realized he didn’t care what happened next.”
I whisper, “That’s terrifying.”
Ozzy nods. “It was. In a good way.”
I swallow. “What happened?”
Ozzy’s gaze drops to mine. “They left.”
Just like that.
I stare at him. “Just because he told them to?”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches. “No. Because he looked like he’d gladly go to jail at twelve years old for it.”
A laugh escapes me, half shocked, half relieved.
Ozzy’s expression turns warm. “After they left, Poe didn’t even ask if I was okay. He just sat beside me and handed me a soda.”
I blink. “A soda?”
Ozzy nods. “Stolen from the gas station.”
I laugh again. “Romantic.”
Ozzy’s eyes glint. “It was. For us.”
My chest tightens in a strange way.
Ozzy continues, “We sat there drinking warm soda, and Poe finally said, ‘You should stop picking fights you can’t win.’”
I giggle. “That sounds like you.”
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “I told him, ‘You should stop lurking like a serial killer.’”
I giggle, and Ozzy’s expression softens even more.
“He didn’t smile,” Ozzy says. “But he… stayed. Walked me home. Didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t make me feel weak.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“And after that,” Ozzy murmurs, “he was just… there. Always.”