There was something so serene about an empty park at the dead of night, absent of noise or sights. She was in the very heart of it, where no light reached the sanctuary but that of the wane moon; where no sound reached her but the trickle of water from the fountains scattered throughout, the song of the crickets and the movement of some small animals.

The weather, too, was gentle, forgiving. Mild and crisp, both at once. Recent rainfall had lent a familiar musk in the air, sharpened by the mild breeze and softened by the warmth of spring. The marble bench was cool against her back, and its unforgiving rigidness being the only thing that kept her from falling asleep as she lay on it.

AhRa couldn't remember the last time she had actually checked for the time, though the absolute silence told her that it was well past midnight. In perhaps a handful of hours, the rest of the city was going to start trickling into the park: groups of joggers made of wiry middle-aged men in terrifyingly short shorts and a gusto that nauseated her; teams of the elderly occupying a large stretch of the field for their tai-chi and morning regimes.

Heaving a sigh, AhRa forced herself upright, deciding it may be time she'd headed home.

It's dangerous to go out so late, AhRa-yah…. She'd scoffed at the words, rolling her eyes as she fiddled with the pocket knife deliberately.

Don't worry, oppa, I'm really hard to kill. Her words had been sharp, met with silence and then a heavy sigh. There had been no point in arguing; there never was. AhRa always won, be it through logic or strength or sheer determination. Resigned, her brother had thrown his hands up, returning to his bedroom without another word.

It was usually easy to stifle the guilt, the acknowledgement of her selfishness. Most of the time, AhRa felt justified; she was suffocated at home, swathed in reminders of the life she'd been forced to leave behind, imprisoned because she had nothing, no one here in this foreign city.

And, anyway, she wasn't wrong. She was really hard to kill, even if her brother didn't understand the full extent of such a statement. With heavy feet, AhRa began walking in the direction of her home, the pocketknife hanging idly between two fingers as she wound through the greenery.

As she reached the eastern edge of the park, AhRa's pace slowed, her brows knitting together at the sounds of a struggle no too far away. She was just beginning to see the silhouettes, a group of five or so people arranged in a rough circle. Their violence appeared to be focussed on someone obscured from view, and from their hunched backs AhRa deduced that their victim was already on the ground.

Their backs were to her as she approached, their grunts and profanity masking whatever sounds she might have been making as she treaded through the grass. AhRa was close enough to confirm that they were surrounding a lone figure, hunched over on the paved path. Kick followed insult followed punch followed threat, and AhRa was beginning to wonder if the focus of their assault was alive at all.

A slow breath escaped her lips as AhRa quickly came to a decision, her hand already moving to loosen the hair she'd previously bound into a ponytail. It would be in the way, and would otherwise hinder her if she took these thugs as any form of threat. They were brutish, relying on brawn and their numbers rather than any kind of combat skill—no, they definitely were not a threat, and AhRa needed some means of hiding her identity, keeping these criminals out of her everyday life.

"If it takes all five of you to beat up just one guy….well, I'd say that's pretty pathetic." She deepened her voice, the words coming out in something akin to a growl before she lashed out. In the second it may have taken for the men to react, AhRa already had one hand closed firmly on the shirt of the closest man, wrenching him away from the group in one smooth motion. As he backed toward her, AhRa spun, the motion enabling a hefty kick to the man's jaw.

Another man hurled himself toward her, though AhRa was quick to twist around him, using the man's momentum to throw him into the ground. A heavy thud and a resounding crack confirmed that her single, swift action had successfully incapacitated the attacker. Two of the remaining men stepped away from the broken figure, their surprise and caution evident in the harshness of the nearby street lights. The other grabbed his victim by the arm, jerking him from the ground.

AhRa only caught a brief glimpse of his face, just a flash of bloody nose and skin turned so black and blue that he almost blended in with the shadows. "Oh, isn't this cute, YongGukkie? Your little girlfriend's come to recuse you, huh?"

"Yeah, and it looks like she's gonna kick your ." The words were strained, the voice halting and broken, but undeniably defiant. AhRa saw some semblance of a smirk, rebellious and arrogant and refusing to let the thugs think they could better him, regardless of the situation.  The thug's lips twisted into a snarl as he threw YongGuk back down, bringing a boot-clad foot onto his back as a means of reminding him who had the advantage.

The man returned his attention to AhRa, whatever wariness he might have had well masked by his eagerness to preserve his dignity—'as a man', no doubt. Really, AhRa thought wryly, watching the man with her face turned slightly to the side, hair falling wildly over her features to hide them, this wouldn't even be such a big blow to his ego if he weren't so misogynist…

"You might have caught us by surprise, little girl," he spat, stepping over the fallen body and drawing himself to his fully height, "but are you stupid enough to think you're gonna walk away unscathed?" On cue, one of his cronies marched forward, towering over AhRa as he neared.

His cautious expression had, too, been masked by one of menace, an ugly snarl of features as he raised his fist. AhRa was moving before the fist had landed, one hand closing around his wrist as it flew past her head and twisting it towards his back. With a cry, the man fell to his knees, trying to easy his arm into a more normal angle—but AhRa did not relent, pulling it even further against his back until she heard a distinct pop from his shoulder. The cry turned to a wail, and when AhRa released the arm, the man doubled over, his arm hanging uselessly at his side.

In the periphery of her attention, AhRa noticed another man coming towards her. This one was more muscular, more determined, and having witnessed her strategies, must have had one of his own. AhRa's hand dug into her jacket pocket, emerging with the pocketknife. A flick of her wrist opened the blade, and with another, the knife made a beeline for the man's leg. A grunt and a thud told her that the knife had hit its mark.

AhRa straightened, her posture casual as if she'd just been tying her shoes rather than dislocating shoulders. "Hm...I'm pretty sure I'm going to walk away unscathed. Unlike you guys." Her hand dug into her pocket in a strong, deliberate gesture, appearing to be playing with something—another knife, perhaps—as she waited for someone to break the stunned silence. There was no movement, no sound but the labored breaths of the young man still hunched over on the ground.

Then, somehow coming to a silent, unanimous decision, the men fled, taking off in the same direction in some slow swagger of a walk as if they weren't actually in a hurry. There was little they could do to recover their dignity, now, having been defeated and intimidated by one single, young woman.

When they had disappeared from view, AhRa finally turned her focus to the young man on the ground, frowning when his shoulders heaved unsteadily, breaths laboured and unsteady. She paused mid-stride, wondering if she should just leave him there now that his life was in no immediate danger. She never did hang around for these things, never long enough to see the paramedics arrive to save the day and the police to wrap things up.

It didn't quite sit well with AhRa to leave him alone, though, not with potentially lethal injuries. Before she had a chance to change her mind, she approached the stranger, lowering herself onto one knee. Alerted by AhRa's proximity, the young man lift his head, looking at her with an expression rendered unreadable by the bruises and swelling. It took her a moment to remember that she had nothing but her hair to hide her face, and quickly turned away.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Her voice was beginning to strain from the way she'd deepened it so.

"No." A grimace. "I'll be...alright." The depth of his voice startled her, the words themselves being little more than a low rumble at the base of the man's throat.

AhRa thinned her lips, glancing at the injuries sideways. Each breath he took seemed to bring even more pain; his face was swollen and coloured with so much black, blue and purple, further marred with drying blood; his knuckles were bloody, raw, and there was blood on his shirt, seeping through a jagged tear that could have only come from a knife. "I doubt that, you need—"

"No." It must have taken too much strength to put such finality in his voice, as his face twisted into a grimace and he doubled over once again.

AhRa flinched indecisively, feeling as though she should do a little more to comfort him but being uncomfortable with that, herself. Instead, she seated herself in front of him, strands of hair obscuring most of her features. "Do you have a friend you want to call, then? Preferably someone with a car...and medical training." She had little doubt that he did, indeed have such a friend; this YongGuk appeared far too calm for someone who might have been beaten to death had she not stepped in.

As she'd predicted, YongGuk nodded, easing the mobile phone out of his pocket and grimacing at the cracked screen. His finger pressed onto the power button, and much to AhRa's relief—she certainly was not going to lend him her own phone—the screen flickered to life. The LCD remained intact in spite of the damage to the glass, and the only challenge now was to navigate the contact list without cutting one's fingers on the cracks.

AhRa paced listlessly beneath the harsh light of the street lamps, exploiting it to cast sharp shadows over her face. Though she appeared idle, AhRa's ear remained on the hushed conversation over the phone, barely able to make out the words through YongGuk's deep voice. The conversation eventually ended with something of a relieved sigh, the phone sliding back into its place in his pocket.

He gave her a furtive gaze as she glanced toward him, but did not look away in spite of the impatience in her posture. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" The question, despite the grating of his voice against his throat and the toll it took on his injuries, was earnest, unabashed.

AhRa shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest as if that was an answer. Undeterred, YongGuk continued. "Why did you help me?"

There was a shift in her posture, perhaps a sign that she might be contemplating an answer. Then, as if she reconsidered, she spoke. "Because you needed it." Softer, this time, with an uncertainty that did not match her previous cold and forceful persona.

Though not entirely unexpected, the answer still took YongGuk by surprise, and was enough to subdue him. He was not entirely ashamed to say that he might not have stepped in, had he been in her position. After all, playing a hero had never really gotten anyone anywhere, and YongGuk believed himself to be better off reserving his energy for matters other than satiating one's conscience.

The silence that settled was hefty and only made YongGuk more uncomfortable. Though she did not have any intentions to socialize, this girl seemed intent on watching over YongGuk until help arrived. He wanted to ask her—wasn't there anyone waiting for her at home, worried? Had she snuck out in the dead of night—and for what? None of these questions left his lips, and the silence persisted until it was broken by the low rumble of a car engine.

YongGuk recognized the silhouette of the vehicle before it neared enough to really be seen. The arrival of his friend eased the tension in his shoulders, the buzz of adrenaline as his wariness dissipated into exhaustion. The girl watched his friend warily from her position beneath the street lamp, her gaze flickering back to YongGuk as if to confirm this new comer's identity.

"Yah, you idiot, what did you get yourself into?!" The voice—almost as deep as his but of a different timbre—sounded both abrasive and concerned at the same time.

"Yah, HimChan, no need to shout." To emphasize, YongGuk made a grimace, and HimChan moved as if to punch him in the shoulder before stopping himself, eyes widening at the obvious injuries dealt to his friend.

"Really, YongGuk, what happened?" His voice had softened, as did his features, as his gaze swept over the blood and bruises and the split lip. HimChan barely seemed to notice the girl hovering just in the shadows, having moved away from the two of them. "Hey, who're—" He only caught a brief glance and turned slightly to address her, before she'd determinately turned and walked away. HimChan's brows knitted together. "YongGuk, who was she?"

"I'm not sure...she kind of just appeared." It didn't occur to him how bizarre his answer might have sounded; his attention had narrowed in on an object sitting a few feet away. It shone where the light hit it, a flash of sliver and vermillion against concrete. "HimChan...can you grab that knife?" YongGuk nodded in the direction of the pocket knife, feeling a sudden sense of excitement.

Frowning, HimChan complied, dangling the weapon between his index finger and thumb. "Is this yours?"

"No—hers." He stopped short of a real explanation, and though HimChan was now incredibly curious and quite worried, did not pursue the matter. YongGuk's injuries were a priority, especially as HimChan helped to haul his friend back onto his feet. Every movement seemed to cause YongGuk intense pain, and though YongGuk was evidently trying to mitigate it, HimChan could now feel how he was struggling to breathe, each breath no doubt adding to the pain.

"You better tell me everything, later," he grumbled, carefully seating YongGuk in the passenger's side. HimChan tried to ignore the streak of blood YongGuk left in his wake, and entered through the driver's side.

YongGuk responded with a non-committal grunt, staring out the window at the street onto which the girl walked. Seeing that he wouldn't be getting any form of explanation out of his friend any time soon, HimChan heaved a sigh before driving off.