Be My Love by Dana

(I, for the life of me, cannot find this song online without it having to be downloaded. Such a shame because I absolutely love it)

"I'm not sorry." Jiyong glares at her through a blackened eye, arms crossed and nose flaring as he watches her fuss around the cramped bathroom. He sits atop the counter and his legs swing back and forth with far too much nonchalance for someone who had just been kicked in the face by a boy nearly three times his size. "He deserved it and you shouldn't have jumped in. I had everything under control."

Sandara pauses in her search for antiseptic to square Jiyong with a hard look. "You nearly punched his teeth out!" she shrieks angrily, and then she's digging through a half-empty first aid kit for something more useful than Disney-themed bandaids. "I swear, if I hadn't stopped you two, one of the guardians would have. And then what? You'd both be punished by them, or worse, sent to another home! Is that what you want? To be kicked out of here?"

"Of course I don't," Jiyong sneers. He turns his glower to the shower curtain and all of the stupidly-smiling fish decorating it. His voice is lower now, sheepish, "of course I don't...I don't want to leave you."

Sandara lets out a relieved sigh as she finally finds a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. There's only a bit left, but she supposes it's just enough to dab against the nasty scars on Jiyong's knuckles and cheeks. "I know," she says to him, "but still...I've warned you about fighting. You can get into serious trouble and I don't want you to leave me either."

Jiyong forces himself not to flinch as she pats his face with a damp cottonball. It burns slightly, and makes his eyes well up with tears, but he refuses to show any pain. Reading him like an open book, Sandara's lips pull back into a small smile but doesn't mention his poor attempt at appearing unaffected by the sting of medicine.

"Still," Jiyong grumbles when Sandara leans in closer, "like I said, he deserved it. He...he called you a bad name. Or, at least I think it was bad. The other kids started laughing so I know it wasn't anything good."

Sandara holds Jiyong's chin with her fingers, grip soft and hardly there as she wipes a dribble of blood off of his skin. "Oh yeah?" She raises an eyebrow. "And what was that word?"

Jiyong is quiet for a moment. And it isn't until Sandara presses her fingers into his chin that he looks up at her and swallows. "He said..." He watches her intently as her eyes dart over his face for more injuries. "He said...that you're a...a – a pras...prosti –" He doesn't know how to pronounce it, he doesn't remember, but he knows it was bad. It had to be, because it was said with such acidity. The older kids had all cackled and jeered. And when Jiyong had finally tackled the boy who spewed the word, the larger orphan had smirked the whole way through.

"You know I'm right," he had spat with a mouthful of blood from his split lip. "You're just mad because your precious noona was her dad's little ing who –"

"I know the word."

Jiyong blinks out of his thoughts at the sound of Sandara's voice. It's low and strained, barely audible over the sound of running water from the faucet beside him. Silently, she releases his chin and reaches over to turn the sink off. And though her eyes (of which he has come to know so well) are downcast, Jiyong still notices the glazed and almost hollow look within them.

"Don't say it out loud," she tells him, still refusing to meet his worried stare. "You're right, it's a bad word. And that kid is a jerk for using it. He probably heard one of the guardians say it...they're always talking without filter, you know. But it's fine. I've heard worse before and he most likely didn't mean it. People say crazy things when they're trying to impress their friends. So, yeah...it's fine. It's fine, I swear. Don't worry about it because I'm not and –"

Her words tumble off into choked sob as Jiyong wraps his arms around her shoulders. He buries her head into his chest, pretending not to feel the wetness on his collar or the way her body shakes in his hold.

"Don't lie to me," comes his gruff mumble. He tugs at her messy ponytail until it comes loose before weaving his fingers through the curls which now cascade down her back. Sandara doesn't reply, and instead wordlessly melts into his embrace as Jiyong lets out a deep exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You're not what he says you are," he declares. "You know that. I know that. And that's all that matters..."

She hums a noncomittal sound as she finally returns his hug with one of her own. "You're right," she murmurs for his sake. Her arms wrap around him, and he can feel the warmth of her shuttering exhale on his skin as she repeats, "you're right...you're right, Jiyong-ah. That's all that matters."

You're all that matters.

He holds her tighter then, so tight that he swears he can feel her heartbeat thumping with his own. For a moment, he hesitates, but then he slowly places a kiss to her forehead. It's chaste and quick, but it's seems to be more than enough for Sandara as she presses her own against the space beneath his ear.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"I know..." Jiyong swallows. "I know you don't like it when people fight, especially me. But I'll do it again if anyone ever hurts you. I'll hurt them even more. I will, even if you tell me not to."

Grasping her shoulders, Jiyong gently pushes her back until he can see her face again. Her cheeks are red, flushed and sodden with tears she'll later say were never there. She looks at him, finally looks at him, and the sadness in her eyes is as clear as day. And Jiyong frowns, fingers coming up to wrap around her chin just as hers did his before. He makes sure she doesn't look away, makes sure their gazes remain locked as he hisses, "I'll do anything for you, noona."

His touch strengthens.

"And I'm not sorry."

Lunch the following day is an uncomfortable affair.

All of the junior trainees sit with one another, heads bowed low in murmurs and wary glances to the cafeteria doors, and Sandara watches them all with a deep frown. Shim Changmin sits among them, his nose freshly healed from the day before save for a bit of discoloration, but he smiles that trembling smile of his even as the others ask him quietly, in cautious whispers, if he is alright. They give him comforting pats on his shoulder, wishes to get better soon, and offers of their own food (of which he turns down graciously). Only eleven years old – eleven, her mind shouts angrily – and he has more class than certain psychopaths triple his age. Oh, if only Sandara had a bit more reckless courage. She would’ve shown Eric exactly what happens when one is an absolute jerk while in her presence. Kwon Jiyong-style.

“Your radishes don’t deserve that.”

Sandara’s eyes flash to the boy in front of her while Chanyeol focuses on her tray of unfinished lunch. Sandara follows his gaze and makes a face when she realizes she’s been stabbing her food with her chopsticks for the last ten minutes. She rises her head to give him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“No kidding,” he snorts. Warily, he slides her tray away and replaces it with his own. Sandara accepts the un-smooshed food with a purse of her lips. Peeling open his milk carton, Chanyeol gives her a look. “So, wanna explain to your buddy what's bothering you? Don’t tell me it’s that scrawny bug-eyed girl again. What's her name...Soyoung? I thought you said you wouldn’t let her get to you.”

Sandara shakes her head. “Inyoung," she corrects though Chanyeol doesn't look like he cares. "And no, it’s not that. As if I’d waste a good meal over her.”

Chanyeol remains unconvinced but doesn’t speak against her. Instead, he leans forward and tilts his head. The curls of his hair hang loosely over his eyes. “Then what is it?” he asks with genuine concern. "You can tell me."

And Sandara almost suffocates with how heavily she sighs. “Why didn’t you warn me Eric was such a...a –” She flails her hands, struggling to find the right word. “A blah? A total, unparalleled blah?”

Chanyeol blinks at her from across the table they share (it’s empty, save for the two of them) and sits back. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, merely biting at his his bottom lip. And then, with what appears to be great exhaustion, he lets out a sigh of his own. “Look, Darna-yah,” he begins slowly, “although I haven’t had Eric-seonsaengnim’s class in a year or so, I can assure you that whatever he’s done –”

“Better have not included touching you,” Donghae interrupts, and Sandara instinctively slides further down the table so the newly-arrived trainee can sit. His eyes are narrowed as they seem to sweep over her face, and when he sees no visible injuries, he relaxes and begins picking at his own food. “So the Yankee’s gone serious on you guys, huh? Took him longer than usual this time around.”

As Chanyeol berates Donghae for cutting him off, Sandara looks at Donghae oddly.

“What are you talking about?” she asks incredulously. “You mean this is normal? You see that boy over there?” She points across the cafeteria to the table where Changmin sits, and when Donghae stubbornly continues to remain fixated on his tray, she grabs his jaw and jerks it sideways. Ignoring Donghae’s indignant squabbling, she goes on, “yesterday that kid was hurt by a trainer. His nose was bleeding. And you’re telling me something as criminally deranged as that is usual?”

Donghae breaks out of Sandara’s hold with a huff, and Chanyeol takes it upon himself to try and reign her anger in. “Examinations are coming up for the juniors, right? Well, all of the trainers get a little more strict when this time of the year rolls around. Eric-seonsaengnim,” Chanyeol says his name pointedly, as if to correct Donghae’s silly nickname for him, “is just doing what he’s been doing for years.”

“Assaulting children.” Sandara crosses her arms. “Abusing his power and assaulting children.”

Both Donghae and Chanyeol squirm under her glare.

“Okay, I admit his methods are a little...off. But, at the end of the day, it’s all for our benefit.” Chanyeol ducks his head as Sandara flings one of her chopsticks at him. He raises his hands in placating gesture and squeaks, “hey! I’m just telling it like it is. And this is coming from someone who got a busted lip from the man!”

“Oh man. This kid cried for weeks after that,” Donghae cackles. “Any time he saw the Yankee, he’d get totally spooked. Nearly pissed his pants each time, I swear.”

Sandara doesn’t miss this time as her chopstick flicks Donghae in the middle of his forehead.

“Hey!”

“This isn’t a time for jokes,” she hisses. “I’ve never seen something so scary before. There’s no way the higher-ups know the trainers are doing stuff like this. If they did, I’m sure they…” Sandara trails off as she takes in Donghae and Chanyeol’s tight expressions. “What?”

“You don’t think they know?” Chanyeol asks her. “Darna-yah, they advocate for trainers to do this.”

“Tough love, is what they call it,” Donghae adds grimly. “And it’ll only get worse until the New Year. The Snake and Rain will look like saints compared to how ugly some of these trainers can get. This is the period where most junior trainees call it quits because of how brutal things get. It's only just getting started, kiddo.”

“No way.” Sandara shakes her head in disbelief, mouth falling agape. “There’s no way –”

“Darna-yah,” Chanyeol calls her name gently, “this is just how things go here. The sooner you accept it, the better. Trust me. This is all a part of the job.”

Well, Sandara thinks as she jumps to her feet, palms slamming down into the table. Chanyeol and Donghae flinch at the sheer fury on her face. She turns to look at Changmin – his eyes are lowered, fingertips brushing lightly against the stark purpleness of his nose – and all of her raging thoughts align to form one coherent decision.

Time for some intervention.

The ride from the first floor to the seventh is nerve-wracking.

But Sandara stands in the center of the elevator with her back straight, chin high, and nose in the air as her eyes follow the digital numbers on the wall, each one losing their luminance as she climbs higher and higher up the large Taiji building. Her foot taps impatiently on the carpeted floors, and somewhere in the back of her head, her inner self is yelling at her to turn back now and escape while she can