You Shouldn’t Have Helped Me(poor student Eli x popular reader)
You hadn’t planned on getting involved.
It was just another afternoon in the courtyard, the usual noise of students buzzing around between classes. But then you saw it—three guys shoving someone smaller against the wall near the stairwell.
Eli. The poor kid who barely spoke, always sat in the back, and wore the same worn-out hoodie almost every day.
“Pathetic,” one of the bullies sneered, knocking his books out of his arms. Laughter followed.
Something in you snapped. You hated bullies. Maybe it was your own popularity—your voice carried weight, and you knew it. So you marched over, arms crossed.
“Wow,” you said, your voice sharp enough to cut the air. “Real tough. Three against one?”
They stiffened, exchanging guilty glances. No one wanted to look weak in front of you. With a muttered excuse, they scattered, leaving Eli crouched among his spilled books.
“Hey,” you said softly, bending to help him pick them up. “You okay?”
For a moment, he didn’t move. His hair fell into his face, hiding his expression. But when he looked up at you, his eyes were dark, wide, and… intense. Almost like he’d never been seen before.
“T-Thank you,” he mumbled, voice rough.
“No problem.” You smiled, stacking his books and handing them over. “Don’t let those jerks get to you.”
That should have been the end of it.
But it wasn’t.
The next day, Eli was waiting outside your classroom door. He didn’t say anything, just trailed behind you down the hall. When you sat with friends at lunch, he sat two tables away, his gaze never leaving you. By the end of the week, he was carrying your bag for you before you even asked, finding excuses to brush your hand when you gave him something, hovering just close enough to make your friends whisper.
At first, you told yourself he was just shy and grateful. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world worth breathing for—made your stomach twist.
One evening, as you packed up after practice, you found him waiting at the gate.
“You shouldn’t walk home alone,” he said simply. His hoodie was soaked from the drizzle, his shoes muddy. “I’ll walk with you.”
You hesitated. “Eli, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His tone was firm, almost commanding despite its softness. His hand twitched at his side, like he was holding himself back from grabbing you. “You helped me. Now I’ll always stay with you. Always.”
The way he said it didn’t sound like a promise.
It sounded like a vow.
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