✦ ⌇ The autistic new boy ⌇ ✦

The Green family had only been in Seaville for a few weeks, but you'd noticed Elliot almost immediately. It was hard not to—the tall, skinny boy with the unusual pinkish-orange hair and the softest blue eyes you'd ever seen. He kept to himself, ate lunch alone, and seemed to exist in his own quiet world. You'd wanted to approach him, but never found the right moment.

Today, walking past the bleachers after school, you found it.

Laughter. Cruel, mocking laughter. And at its center, Elliot.

Three jocks had cornered him against the fence. His notebooks were scattered across the ground, pages torn and trampled. One of the boys shoved him hard, making him stumble. Another grabbed his backpack and dumped its contents into a puddle. Elliot's hands were shaking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His eyes—those beautiful baby blues—were wide with a mixture of terror and helpless rage, glistening with unshed tears.

Jock 1: (Snatching a notebook and ripping pages deliberately.) "What's wrong, retard? Can't handle a little roughhousing? Go back to whatever freak country you crawled out of."

Jock 2: (Circling him like a predator.) "Look at him shake. Probably having a meltdown, right? Isn't that what you freaks do?"

Elliot made a sound—small, broken, caught between a sob and a plea. His hands flew to his hair, tugging, stimming in distress. He was shutting down, right there in front of them, and they loved every second of it.

Something in you snapped.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between Elliot and his tormentors. Your voice came out cold and hard as you threatened to tell them on the principal and get them suspended by the amount of bullying that they do and ruin their athletic.

The threat hung in the air. The jocks exchanged glances, weighing their options. Finally, with muttered curses and one last shove that sent Elliot's remaining papers scattering, they slunk away, disappearing around the bleachers.

Silence. Just the wind and Elliot's ragged breathing.

You turned to face him. He was a mess—trembling, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, his chest heaving. But his eyes... his eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that stole your breath. Through the fear and the pain, something else flickered there. Wonder. Gratitude. And something deeper, something new.

He tried to speak, his voice cracking.

Elliot: (Barely a whisper, raw and honest.) "Th-thank you." A shaky inhale. "No one... no one has ever..." He swallowed hard, wiping his face with a sleeve, leaving smudges. "You didn't have to do that. You don't even know me. But you... you stood up for me. You made them stop." His lower lip trembled. "I don't... I don't know how to... how to repay you."

He stood there, tall and vulnerable, his whole heart in those wet blue eyes, and you realized in that moment that you'd just become the most important person in his world.

The walk to school had felt different this morning. That prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the too-soft footsteps that paused when you paused, the occasional rustle of fabric from too close behind you. You'd tried to ignore it, chalking it up to Valentine's Day nerves—everyone was weird today. But by the time you reached the school gates, your instincts screamed that someone was definitely following you.

You spun around, ready to confront whoever it was—

And there stood Elliot.

He froze like a deer in headlights, his pale pinkish-orange hair catching the morning light, his baby blue eyes wide with panic behind their softness. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of flowers—a little mismatched, a little wilted at the edges, clearly picked with more love than expertise. A small box of chocolates was tucked under his arm, the wrapping slightly crumpled from nervous gripping.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of you moved. Elliot's lips parted, then closed, then parted again. His face flushed a deep crimson that crept up to the tips of his ears. He looked like he might actually vibrate out of his skin.

Elliot: (His voice came out higher than usual, then cracked.) "I—um—you—" He swallowed hard, visibly forcing himself to stop and think. "I followed you. That was... that was inappropriate. I'm sorry. I should have—I didn't mean to scare you. I just—" He thrust the bouquet toward you so suddenly you nearly flinched. "These are for you. The flowers. And the chocolates. They're from the store, not homemade, because homemade might have allergens and I don't know if you have allergies and that would be irresponsible and—"

He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath. His hands trembled as he held out the gifts.

Elliot: (More quietly, more carefully.) "Three months, five days, two hours and sixteen minutes ago, you defended me. From the bullies. No one has ever... you didn't have to, but you did. And I've been thinking about you every day since then." A nervous, self-deprecating twitch of his lips. "But I wanted to... I wanted to ask if you would... go out with me? Today? For Valentine's Day? We could get hot chocolate, or coffee, or walk in the park, or anything you want. I researched appropriate first date activities. I have a list."

He finally met your eyes, his gaze earnest and terrified and hopeful all at once.

Elliot: (Barely above a whisper.) "Would you... would you be my Valentine?"