Daehyun successfully ended up skipping up all of his classes. The only reason Junhong knew this was because he hadn’t been terrorized in any one of his classes. Being the violent burn out he was, Daehyun had stayed back a total of three grades and thus was still enrolled in lower classes; ie, freshman classes. Apparently, according to the hushed whispers of the hall, Daehyun had skipped and gotten to third base with one of the girls in his grade. It wasn’t anything different than the usual, but the ual affairs of the well known kids at school always served rile up the student body.

Once school was out, at precisely two forty-five, Junhong went from his locker to the same place he visited almost every day. The tennis courts looked the same as they always did. Leaves from autumn still clung to the court in piles of wet slush. It hadn’t snowed for weeks, and it was uncharacteristically warm for the North East. That must have been why Daehyun was feeling so energetic. The warmer it was, the more force his punch packed. He stood in the melted snow in the middle of the largest court itself. The nets had been taken down for the winter and that meant there was nothing to catch him when he was knocked over. Many times those nets had saved him from a concussion. However, all that covered courts now were leaves, the remnants of snow, and the short, yet threatening bars that the nets had been held up by. There was no doubt he’d come in contact with at least two out of those three things, and each moment that passed the bars looked more and more promising.

Daehyun showed up four minutes past three. Keeping true to his word, it was just him and Youngjae, though Youngjae didn’t really count as a person. He hung behind Daehyun like a fly on sticky paper and didn’t say a word. Daehyun’s bomber was a bit disheveled and there were hickeys littering his neck which almost worked as hard evidence for the rumour circulating about the school. His hands were in his pocket and a sly grin was stuck to his lips. The first words out of his mouth were completely predictable, yet utterly unnerving.

“Nice to see you, Beanpole.”

Junhong responded with the only thing he knew he could get away with. “Please, not in my face.”

Daehyun laughed and it seemed to bounce off of the high chain link fences and back into Junhong’s ears. In moments, he was on him. There was a fist tangled in Junhong’s shirt as the wind blew air into his face. “Where are your glasses, Beanpole?” Daehyun hissed, sneering into his face. “They still broken?”

He couldn’t find it in himself to respond, and instead just suffered through punch after punch that Daehyun threw at him. Every time his fist hit off his skin, pain bloomed in the spot that he touched. It was like a dull pain that erupted into a full on harsh aching. At first, Daehyun was gentle. He only aimed for his stomach and his arms. However, as soon as he became bored, he a punch right into Junhong’s face, effectively cracking his nose and sending him to the ground. His head collided with the hard green cement of the tennis court and in an instant there was a flurry of black and white stars and a shock of pain.

But Daehyun didn’t stop. He continued to throw punch after punch at him until Junhong’s face bled in more places than one. Junhong sniffed, attempting keep any more blood from dripping from his nose. The breath was completely knocked out of him and there was pain exploding from almost everywhere in his body. They had just come back from a week and a half’s vacation, and yet here he was already bruised and bloodied. Once again, no one defended him or even defied Daehyun.

That was to say… Until now.

A face that Junhong had never seen before. He was shorter, and had papers upon papers clutched in his arms. He had called out something, something that Junhong couldn’t quite hear with all of the blood that had rushed to his ears. But it got Daehyun going. Said burn out had completely forgotten about Junhong lying on the wet ground and was no heading towards the unidentified kid who looked as innocent and terrified as a little rodent. He shrunk further into himself the closer that Daehyun approached.

“Who do you think you are?” Daehyun growled, taking hold of the kid’s shirt and watching with amusement in his eyes as all of his papers flew to the ground and began absorbing water. He raised his arm, aiming straight at the kid’s face.

And he swung.

———

“What was that kid’s name again?” Himchan asked rather absentmindedly whilst taking a drag from his cigarette. “The one from Spanish, I mean.”

Yongguk wracked his mind, attempting to remember the first class of the day whilst waving the smoke from his face. “Jongup, right? He said to call him Peter. His accent was thick.”

The other let out a dry laugh, smoke flooding from his lips. “Well, Peter Moon is going to get the beat out of him.”

“Why don’t you stop that?” Yongguk questioned, stance suddenly brazen.

Himchan crooked an eyebrow, putting the stub of his cigarette out on the brick wall of the building. “Stop what, breathing?”

Yongguk rolled his eyes and hit him lightly in the shoulder. “Smoking, you airhead. That’s not good for you.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged in response, placing his hands in his pockets. “S’not like my parents pay attention. The only reason I do it is because I can. I can quit any time.”

“Haven’t we all heard that one before,” there was a roll of his eyes as he crossed his arms. “I think you like it.”

Himchan let out a deep sigh and lifted his arms above his head, stretching. “Boy do I love putting toxins into my body.” He laughed once more before leaving, hands returning to his pockets.

———

By the time that Daehyun had left, there were two victims on the ground. One was the obvious, Junhong, whilst the other was the unfamiliar kid. Once they had been deemed sufficiently beaten, Daehyun stuck his hand in Youngjae’s back pocket -- a gesture generally seen as romantic, but for Daehyun it seemed to reek of power and belonging -- and left. He stepped on as many of the kid’s papers as he could, making sure to twist his hand-me-down sneakers into them and tear the soppy paper.

After they left, Junhong and the kid spent a long time just laying there. Finally, Junhong took the initiative and sat up, his eyes settling on the kid who was laying on his back in the slush. There was blood running down his own face and the breath was still struggling to get back to him. His eyes were overflowing with tears, yet it wasn’t just due to the pain. No one had ever stood up for him before. It was almost awe inspiring. This kid had to be new, for no normal kid would have ever been stupid enough to stand up for someone like him. not only that, but he had this accent to him that Junhong had never heard before.

“Thank you,” was all that he could rasp to the other.

He’d probably never do it again, but it meant so much to Junhong now. He couldn’t get that fearless look out of his head.