“What’s up, loser?”

Daehyun didn’t see the punch coming. All he knew was that the next second he’d flown across the corridors, his back painfully colliding into the wall of lockers.

The students, who had parted for him, were now steadily crowding around.

If the boys kicking and throwing the he dropped at his cowering figure wasn’t enough, the girls looking on were screaming insults, disgusted jeers.

His back was sore—those locks jabbing into his back sure hurt.

Stupid.

Something remarkably heavy smashed into the side of his head. There’s this incessant ringing in his ears, and his head felt both simultaneously light and heavy, and— hey that was my laptop!

Someone laughed, and the rest joined in; something about his horrible reaction time.

Daehyun bit down on his tongue. You try getting hit by a—

Someone had grabbed his history textbook and rammed it into his stomach.

Daehyun gasps, feeling the air knocked out of him, gagging.

Something was tracing along his bottom jaw, his chin… probably someone’s shoe.

Slacker.

It was raised, and Daehyun could only brace himself for the stamp onto his cheek, then for him to taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

It was a prestigious school.

Daehyun’s sitting at the bottom of the charts.

Either he was really just dumb, or the rest of the school was smart—fat chance it was the latter, he never sees anyone studying.

Or maybe they all paid for their Outstanding reports. That wouldn’t be too hard to believe—it was a prestigious school, remember?

.

How many of these heads were actually smart?

But they tag him down, labelling him, hitting him, for what?

For not being smart enough to get those good scores and dragging down the school average? For not buying good scores? Or maybe it was for not having the money to buy those A’s.

Daehyun could fight, but what was he, an ant trying to lift a car? How many were there in the school?

He was consistent last-place.

Black sheep.

It’s not like second-last was unoccupied, just that the difference between him and whoever that was appears to be pretty drastically large: Daehyun sits on a D minus for an average, a C if he’s lucky—whoever came next after him was most likely a B plus.

Probably another rich bastard unfortunately not rich enough to pay for a consistent A.

Daehyun groans, feeling that shoe that was poised to stamp on his face tap his cheek instead.

He’d long stopped trying to literally bite back his cries of pain, learning that not only did it pour fuel on the flame but it did nothing to preserve his dignity.

He reckons they probably even forgot what they bully him for—it’s probably become such a habit—

“Stupid.”

Daehyun wheezes a little, the foot nudging his face a little harsher. Someone must’ve punched there earlier, he’d lost count, but that hurt.

He cracks his eyes open, realising the jeers, the knuckle-cracking, and the rest of the punching had stopped.

Everything was, at first, just a blur of colours.

There was this pair of sneakers a centimetre or so from his face.

“Get up.”

Daehyun forces his neck to crane upwards.

He recognises that boy… but his head felt like a hammer was continuously pounding on his temple. It was ridiculously heavy.

The boy sighs a little, as if talking too much would kill him, and jerks his head, motioning above Daehyun.

He forces himself to look up, before realising he’s been lying infront of a locker.

And with a quick flurry of limbs, he scrambles to his feet.

Though his boy didn’t beat him, infact he ‘saved’ him, Daehyun wasn’t going to take any risks. He was afraid of what would happen if he dared disobey…

When he’d moved out of the way and the blonde still hadn’t moved, Daehyun quickly staggers forward to grab the bunch of books and laptop he dropped during the beating and hurriedly runs as fast as he could.

Daehyun wasn’t about to go to the bathroom—the first time he tried that, he found himself cornered in the bathroom.

He limps into class, running feeling like a thousand kicks into his side, wheezing as he makes his way to his seat.

He could hear the snickering from the students around him…

But just as one of them moves to get out of his seat, the teacher strolls in, and the guy just sits back down.

Why don’t the teachers care?

What can they do? Lecture those rich kids? Fat chance.

“Jung Daehyun? What is that on your face?”

Daehyun reaches up, head still dizzily spinning, for his fingers to come away from his temple painted in red.

The teacher stares at him, hands on her hips. If you looked closely, she may have had a look of nicely hidden concern over her stern glare, but that is beside the point. The point is that she’s an incompetent teacher.

“Please go to the infirmary to get that off please. Don’t take your books—I’m expecting you to come back here as soon as you can, you need catch up work. Yes, even if that means going into lunch.”

Daehyun stands, his body moving of its own accord. Everything else was blank—the pounding in his head hadn’t gotten any better, if not much, much worse.

Thankfully, he manages to climb the two flights of stairs to finally reach the infirmary, before collapsing on one of the sterile white beds.

The nurse here seems to be the only person why cared about him, enough to do something. Even if she only wrapped up his wounds, he’s learnt to never ask for too much. That’d just leave him disappointed.

--

“Yoo Youngjae, late!” some jerk cries gleefully.

The professor raises her eyes from studying the textbook in her hands, peering over at the boy who’d just strolled in through the door from over her spectacles.

“Mr Yoo.” She says simply, raising her brows in an unspoken question.

Youngjae dips his head a little. “I had to go to my locker Ms.”

“Going to your locker takes five minutes?”

Youngjae pauses, mentally sighing. “There was a slight disruption there.”

“Alright Mr Yoo. Take a seat.” The woman sighs, before going back to writing in her fancy writing up on the board.

There were looks of gleeful delight thrown at him every step he took towards his seat at the back of the room.

Oh what a life these idiots had.

It was rather sad, how Youngjae coming late to class once in a blue moon could make some people so very happy.

--

When Daehyun got to the cafeteria, he wasn’t surprised, at least.

There wasn’t a single vacant seat left for him.

Students had put their bags on all the empty chairs.

What’s more, apparently the rich of the rich kids had ordered so many second servings there wasn’t much, if not any, left for him.

He knew this would happen.

He had briefly considered asking the nurse to share a little food, but didn’t want her to lose her job. If the nurse left… Daehyun isn’t sure whether he’d survive school.

The cafeteria rings out in laughter, just watching him dumbly stand there, limbs aching from the beating from earlier but having no seat, stomach loudly growling from an hour of catch up work with his teacher but having no food.

Youngjae raises his head from the novel he had buried his nose in, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose.

Of course he remembers him, the pathetic kid from earlier. How else is he supposed to score full marks on every history test with a memory?

The commotion was really getting to him.

He’d finished his food ages ago, but sat there in his seat, opting for a bit of reading before his last class.

He stands, swinging his bag over his shoulder, and heads out of the cafeteria, immersed back into his book.

He’ll just read somewhere else.

Daehyun has a salad.

Half a container of left-over salad, to be precise.

It wasn’t even Caesar salad—but he was way too hungry to care.

He was about to head out of the cafeteria, to eat somewhere else, when someone abruptly stands, silencing the rest of the school.

It was the boy from the lockers.

And this time, Daehyun was able to comprehensively match face to name.

Yoo Youngjae brushes right past him on his way out the cafeteria, nose buried in a book.

Daehyun has half a container of left-over salad in his hands, but now he also has a seat.

---

Yoo Youngjae hums a little to himself, strolling into the bathrooms only to silence completely, sharp ears instantly picking up the sound of hurriedly stifled sobs.

He wouldn’t have bothered, if he didn’t notice a boy dragging himself further into a dark stall at the end.

Youngjae sticks his hands in his pockets and takes a few strides over to peek in the door and blinks at the trembling boy.

Ah, Youngjae blinks, face his usual stoic expression. Locker-boy.

The boy’s torso was dripping wet, and stunk. And considering the fact Youngjae discovered him on the bathroom floor not too far from the toilet, it took nothing of his genius brain to piece two and two together.

Youngjae takes another step towards him, only for Daehyun to attempt to cower back, only hitting his head with a loud thunk on the toilet bowl.

It’s Youngjae, Daehyun stares up at him in utter terror.

Even though the renown genius had never hurt him before, infact quite the opposite, Daehyun couldn’t help but not understand why he’d take another step towards him if not for ill purpose.

And even Daehyun knew Youngjae was precariously balanced within the school hierarchy; if he wasn’t the notorious first place for everything, he’d probably be in Daehyun’s place.

So, with a reputation already strained with his (lack of) attitude and unexplainably good grades, Daehyun worried for himself, because Yoo Youngjae was crouching down and staring in his face.

“Hey, you okay?”

But the boy only continued to stare at him, eyes wide in dread.

Youngjae furrows his eyebrows just the slightest, though concealed by his neat blonde side-swept bangs.

He snaps his fingers infront of ‘stupid’s face, and when that backfired, the boy shrinking away from him, Youngjae blinks and reaches for the toilet paper.

This seemed to frighten him another degree more, but Youngjae reaches out, roughly grabbing the boy by the chin.

The boy’s look of nervousness and fear escalates to pure panic, as he begins thrashing around, kicking and attempting to shove Youngjae off him, shouting what sounded like a string of incoherent threats, with Youngjae squeezing his face.

He quickly shuts up, however, at the glare Youngjae fires him.

“You’d think there’s a going on here,” he mutters, much to the boy’s confusion. He didn’t actually think Youngjae would him, did he?

Youngjae scoffs, but before the boy could open his mouth to make another sound, Youngjae’s roughly wiping at his face with the wad of toilet paper in his hand.

What?? What?? What??

Daehyun’s otherwise completely blanked brain was just repeating that one word, utterly confused. First he thought Yoo Youngjae would shove him down the toilet again, and he really wasn’t up for more throwing up, then he thought Yoo Youngjae would start molesting him, but he did neither.

In fact, he scoffed at him, almost for thinking such ridiculous thoughts (Daehyun sure hoped he wasn’t a mind reader because he seems like one) before wiping his disgusting face.

Daehyun was staring at him, eyes widened and mouth dropped open.

“Shut your damn mouth,” the boy mutters in a low voice, startling Daehyun enough for him to instantly obey, opting for staring at Youngjae with immensely wide, confused eyes instead.

Why is he being so nice?

Youngjae sweeps Daehyun’s bangs to the side, gingerly dabbing at his hairline before releasing his incredibly tight grip on Daehyun’s face (his cheeks had been aching for ages).

Daehyun watches, speechless, as Youngjae wipes down his own hand from touching Daehyun’s face before dropping the bundle of toilet paper he’d used to wipe down Daehyun’s face at his feet and turning his heel to walk out of the bathroom without another word.

Daehyun hears, very faintly, the sound of the boys’ bathroom door clanging shut.

His eyes travel down to the wad of tissue at his feet, before his hands slowly, very slowly, lift to feel around his chin, where Youngjae had gripped him in an attempt to still him while he cleaned the toilet water off his skin.

What was that…?

---

Daehyun was sprawled on his side, his eyes barely open. His face was dotted with purple, and lips a horrendous, glinting red.

He didn’t have the strength to cough up any blood.

Soon, all the spectators filtered off the rooftop.

Maybe if he actually had the strength to bring himself to his feet he’d fling himself off the rooftop, but he couldn’t move. Maybe he was just being a sissy, internally whinging at the stinging all over his body, from both the kicks and the times when he’d been kicked into the walls. Maybe he could get over the temporary pain of having to move his body to lean over the edge—

The door to the rooftop swung open, hitting the wall behind it with a clang. Daehyun’s heart sinks down the many floors of the school and into hell below ground.

He has no idea how long he’d been lying there where they left him, wheezing and contemplating whether to muster enough strength to cough, but they’re back.

Maybe they’d fling him off the rooftop and do him a favour.

So he was here.

But Youngjae’s sense of triumphant success was short lived, seeing the boy sprawled out on the rooftop tiles, purple dotting his face and arms while his temple and lips gleamed red under the sun.

Youngjae’s eyes widen, hastily running up and crouching down infront of him.

At least his absence was explained.

After a bunch of confrontations, and understanding the extent of the bullying, any normal person would find themselves naturally spotting the victim, almost as a form of self-reassurance. But Youngjae was sent into a mixed whirlwind of worry and confusion when he doesn’t catch a single glimpse of the boy since lunch.

He hears thudding footsteps, and nothing else.

When Daehyun dares to crack open a swollen eye, he manages to actually make out the form of someone crouching over him, and Yoo Youngjae’s face.

His heart, from where it dove underground, shoots up so fast he suddenly feels like crying.

And as if noticing, Youngjae reaches out a hand to gently caress the bruises on Daehyun’s face.

It’s probably pity, Daehyun tries telling himself. He probably looked hideous. But no matter that, his throat was constricting, his chest was hammering horribly loudly, his heart felt like it would explode, and he couldn’t help but want to bury himself into Youngjae’s warmth.

He doesn’t even notice his eyes drooping shut on their own accord to Youngjae’s fingers on his skin, but they shoot wide open, feeling Youngjae gently dab at the corner of his lips and the stinging that ensued.

“How’d you get beat up so bad?” he could hear Youngjae saying softly, his voice low and quiet.

He doesn’t attempt to part his cracked lips.

“Whatever test you failed must’ve been important.”

Daehyun, despite himself, manages a tiny smile.

“Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.” Youngjae’s fingers leave his skin, Daehyun’s eyes cracking open at the sudden loss of warmth before he feels them wrap around his wrist.

A flash of searing white pain up his arm and Daehyun’s screaming.

Youngjae instantly drops the boy’s wrist, staring in alarm as the boy’s eyes quickly moisten with tears.

He stares, before deeming himself more stupid than he thought he is.

He gently, very, very gently, takes the boy’s wrist into his palms again, running a soothing thumb over the bruises, and taking note of the limpness.

“Sorry,” he mutters gruffly. The boy had stopped crying in pain.

So instead of taking his wrist, Youngjae gently hauls the boy to his feet, a steady grip on his shoulder and elbow, before beginning the ever-lasting task of dragging the boy down the stairs.

Only when the Daehyun’s seated upright in a bed, the nurse having left after bandaging up his wrist, does Youngjae raise his head from where he waited at the entrance to the infirmary.

He did fail a test.

He got it back just after lunch.

And well, those big boys obviously thought it necessary to jump with all their body weight on his right hand, in an attempt to kind-heartedly help him fail every other test.

He raises his head from where he stared down at his bandage, only to quickly look back down, finding Youngjae’s eyes firmly planted on him.

“Thank you,” he manages to croak out, wincing at his voice.

When he glances up again, he’s taken aback. Youngjae’s smiling at him, and although it was very small and didn’t show any teeth, his cute cheeks were pushed up, and Daehyun finds himself staring.

Youngjae shakes his head.

“They hate me too.”

Everything clicks in Daehyun’s mind.

The mysterious, quiet boy. The straight-A student. The top of the school.

That could only mean one thing. Yoo Youngjae earns those marks.

“I’ll be going now.” Youngjae turns his back, before twisting his neck around to look back at Daehyun. “Rest well. Don’t strain that—”

“My name isn’t ‘stupid’,” Daehyun blurts, mind taking him back to their first encounter.

Technically they’d passed each other around in the corridors, but to Daehyun, it was the first time.

Youngjae grows a barely visible pink. It was natural to adopt the habit of calling a nameless person what everyone else called them.

Youngjae turns around, Daehyun dropping his gaze back to the white bandage on his arm.

“Daehyun. Jung Daehyun.”

Youngjae nods. “Youngjae. Yoo Youngjae.”

“I know.”

---x

wow that was a ridiculously ending