“Onew.”

I kept my eyes trained on my hands as I traced my fingertips along a streak of dirt on my orange jumpsuit.

“Onew.”

It was such an unflattering outfit, shapeless and worn thin from years and years of reuse. How many people had worn it before me? I didn’t really want to think about it.

“Onew.”

And don’t even get me started on this hideous color.

A sigh. “Jinki.”

I looked up, as if just noticing my lawyer for the first time. “What’s up, Siwon?” I greeted him, my smirk widening as his eyebrows narrowed. He hated that I never showed him any respect, but he deserved it. He had no right to call me Onew, had no right to try and be my friend. I didn’t even know why I needed a lawyer anyways- I was guilty. I decided that I was guilty and no jury could prove it otherwise. Why was Siwon working so hard to keep me out of jail? I belonged in jail. I belonged behind bars. I was guilty.

But instead of reprimanding me, he just pulled out a stack of files and spread them out on the table between us. So he was learning. Respect had to be earned.

A ghost of a smile crossed my face as I remembered a voice, someone else saying those exact same words. They’d pissed me off at the time. Now, they were just amusing.

“What’s so funny?” Siwon asked, pausing as he opened a folder. I shrugged. I didn’t have to explain anything to him. He seemed to accept this and went back to flipping through the papers. I started counting the number of times he sighed.

Presently, he looked up and folded his hands together, fixing me with a stare that was supposed to be intimidating. “On- Jinki, I need you to tell me the truth.”

“I did.”

“No, you’ve been lying to me. I know you weren’t driving that night.”

“I was.”

In response, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a stack of photographs. Upon finding the one he wanted, he pushed it towards me. I looked away. I knew what it would show, but he told me anyways. .

“These were taken at the site of the accident. I’ve been analyzing them carefully. The driver’s side door was completely smashed in.”

He pointed at the picture, but I still refused to look. I knew what it looked like.

Another sigh. That made twenty-three, now. “I’ve looked over your medical reports as well.”

“Those are private.”

He ignored me. “You sustained several injuries, but only minor ones to your legs and feet. A crash like that would have caused severe trauma to your legs, damage that might have been too extensive to heal.” He gave me another pointed look, but I kept my eyes fixed on a sheet of paper that had my name scrawled across the top.

I couldn’t look at Siwon. He was smarter and more cunning than I expected. He knew all the answers already and was just waiting for me to give in. To surrender. I knew he would wait until I did- the fact that he’d put up with me for so long proved that he was much more patient than I was.

Devious. The bastard.

I wanted to smash my fist into his face, wipe out that look of concern and caring. I wanted him out of my life. Just my luck to get put with a lawyer who actually wanted to help. Most bastards didn’t give a damn if delinquents like me rotted in jail or not. Siwon was trying to save me from that. I didn’t want saving.

“I’m guilty,” I told him.

He narrowed his eyes and folded his hands, leaning towards me across the table. “Answer me, Jinki. Who are you trying to protect?”

He’d come to visit me the week before. I remember that moment down to the exact minute, because I never got any visitors. Not even my mother came to see me, but that was okay. She needed to work.

The sharp clang of the guard’s baton on my metal cell door woke me up with ringing ears and a headache forming. I groggily leaned back to look at him and he sneered at me in response. “You’ve got a visitor, Jinki.”

I didn’t need to ask to know who it was. I could tell by the “click-click-shuffle” he made when he walked, the new sound of his footsteps. I didn’t like it; I much preferred the old way he used to stomp everywhere as if he were crushing the life out of the world with every step he took. I could hear the jeers and catcalls of the other prisoners abruptly cease into an almost eerie quiet, so that his every step echoed down the concrete hallway.

The footsteps stopped in front of my cell. “Old man,” came his hoarse whisper.

I pushed my blankets aside and swung my legs off the bed so I was seated facing him. “Hey, Taemin.”

His skeletal frame was propped heavily on his crutches as if depending on them to keep him upright. I looked him over, starting with that shaggy mop of blondish hair and ending at his tattered sneakers.

Or rather, just one sneaker. He had no use for two anymore.

He kept staring at me, more specifically, at my jumpsuit, with wide eyes, like he was hypnotized by it. I smiled. “This isn’t my color, is it?”

That snapped him out of his trance and with a toss of his head, he was screaming at me, leaning forward so that his crutches were tipped precariously. “What the are you doing, old man?”

I was relieved that despite how terrible he looked, how much he’d changed on the outside, he was still the same Taemin.

“I’m in prison,” I replied. “They’ve got a pretty solid case against me. Haven’t you heard the charges?” I stretched my arms and began ticking off the counts on my fingers. “Driving under the influence. Vehicular homicide. Theft of-”

“It’s all a load of bull!” Taemin hollered.

“Watch your tone!” I snapped. A hint of that old defiance that appeared whenever I tried to “mother” him glinted in his eyes and I smiled. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

It was the perfect opportunity for him to start ranting about how I was too overbearing and controlling and all the things that I had heard before, but he didn’t take the bait this time. “You didn’t do it! You’re innocent! Why the hell are you such an idiot?”

My smile grew bigger as he worked himself into a fit, but I stopped when he leaned too far forward. He slipped, one of his crutches clattering to the floor as he clung desperately to the other one to maintain his balance. He stared helplessly at the fallen crutch, before one of the guards picked it up and handed it to him. He didn’t thank the man.

Same old Taemin. He could never admit when he needed help, not to anyone. Not even to me.

I fixed my eyes on the space below his left knee, the space where his leg should have been. “How could I be innocent, Taemin? Who else could it have been?”

He spun on his heel, intent on stalking away, but it was clear he wasn’t used to those damn crutches yet. His face flushed as I watched him limp past my cell pathetically, head raised in defiance, daring me to say something.

I lay back down. I hoped he would understand that I was doing the right thing.

“Hey! Jinki!” I rolled over to see the prisoner across the hall looking at me.

“Yeah?”

“Who was that kid? Your brother or something?”

I smiled. “Something like that…”

He was a train wreck waiting to happen. I knew that the moment I saw him strutting into the alley behind the high school the first day of my junior year exactly twelve months ago. The sleeves of his leather coat flopped past his arms and the black baseball cap perched on his head was on the verge of falling off.

“Well, look at that,” grinned Jonghyun, crossing his arms.

“Minho’s late,” Key grumbled, not giving a damn about the little pretend-punk swaggering around like he owned the place.

I ignored them both as I watched the new kid glance around the alley, unsure of what to do. He was scared- I could smell the fear rolling off him in waves- but he held his head high as if that would somehow trick us into not realizing it.

He approached the group closest to him. “Can I have a light?” he asked, fishing a cigarette from his pocket.

They ignored him, of course, and he just stood there, nicotine-filled tube dangling from his fingertips. Finally, one of the thugs pretended to just notice him, making a big show of looking down at the kid. “Looking for this?” he taunted, bouncing his lighter up and down in his palm.

Quick as I could blink, the kid snatched it out of the air. He held the cigarette between his lips and lit the tip, never looking at the stunned expression on the thug’s face. When he was done, he tossed the uncapped lighter back at the guy, and turned away.

",” muttered Key, shaking his head at the kid’s cocky strut. I had to agree. The kid was an idiot to mess with a meathead who flew into a rage at the tiniest slight.

One moment, the kid was walking away, exhaling a cloud of smoke; the next, his face was smashed up against a brick wall, the cigarette burning a hole in his jeans as the thug pinned his arms behind his back, his baseball cap tumbling into the mud soaking into his tattered sneakers.

Key just sighed and rolled his eyes as the kid let out a grunt of pain, attempting to twist his head away to catch his breath. Meathead released him so suddenly, he stumbled backwards, grabbing at the wall and barely managing to keep his balance. The little punk glared up at the much larger guy, rivulets of red streaming down his nose and chin.

And then he spat at the thug’s face. A gooey pinkish glob landed on Meathead’s shirt, slowly dropping down as it left behind a bloody streak. Jonghyun snickered.

To this day, I still don’t know what made me act like I did. One minute, I was watching the kid about to get his head crushed, the next, I was staring down Meathead, my arm calmly raised to block his punch.

Even Jonghyun stopped laughing as Key stared at me.

“Who the hell are you?” Meathead growled.

“Beat it,” I retorted as I felt the kid take a few steps back, trying not to look like he was hiding behind me.

“Say that again?”

I my arm out, shoving Meathead’s fist away from me and causing him to lose his balance. As he fell towards me, I raised my right hand and flicked him in the forehead.

He yowled in pain and stumbled back, clutching his forehead.

“What’s your problem, bastard?” hollered one of his friends. Off to the side, I could see Key straightening up and ping his jacket. It looked like things were about to get messy, and while he’d be right by my side, he didn’t like getting his clothes dirty. Jonghyun was grinning again, a manic grin reserved for the moment when he knocked his opponent out cold with a good solid punch, and I was cracking my knuckles with a resigned sigh, when a new person joined the fray.

“What’s going on?”

Key sighed in exasperation. “Finally he shows up.”

Minho strolled into the alley, a dark bruise over one eye. “Trying out the pirate look, Choi?” snickered Jonghyun.

“Oh, this?” He blinked, frowning slightly, and rubbed at his eye. “Must have been from one of the guys who jumped me earlier. His fist hit my face as I was breaking his arm.” He glanced from Meathead, who was and rubbing his forehead, to his now-uncertain gang. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” I replied. “You didn’t miss anything. Let’s blow this joint. Come on, kid.” I gestured to the wide-eyed pretend-punk behind me. He jolted when I nodded at him, but wordlessly followed us out of the alley.

“You’re welcome,” Key finally said after a moment of silence.

This seemed to bring the kid back to life as a flash of anger came into his eyes. “For what?” he retorted.

“Onew saved your back there,” Key growled.

The kid fixed his dark eyes on me. “ off, old man,” he snapped. “I don’t need you or your posse. I don’t need anyone!”

As he sprinted off, stumbling slightly with his head still dizzy from the blow he’d received earlier, Key crossed his arms and glared at me. “Charming,” I ventured.

“He just called you old man,” howled Jonghyun. “Dissed by freshmeat. You’re losing your touch.”

“He dissed us, too,” Minho deadpanned and Jonghyun stopped laughing, tilting his head as if trying to recall if it was true.

“That was a complete waste of time,” snapped Key. “What the hell were you thinking, Onew?”

“Not in the mood for a beating,” I replied.

“Since when did that bother you?” retorted Key.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t. Let’s go. Before we get hauled back to that academic hellhole.”

Still grumbling under his breath, Key turned and headed towards his car, the others following behind him. I glanced back, staring in the direction the kid had run off in.

“Onew!”

“Coming,” I replied, jogging towards my friends. If that kid let himself continue to live like that, he was one a one-track road to hell.