​You’ve never been the type to seek trouble, trouble seeks you.

            ​For as long as you care to remember you’ve always been in some kind of problematic situation, some even potentially life threatening. In your life you’ve always been involved in more than just a few rights, petty crimes, and, the ever frequent, “being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Every instance of your misfortune has never been instigated by you (obviously, who in their right mind would want to bring misfortune upon them-self?), just indirectly by you being there. Though, by this point you’ve grown used to it, time has a tendency to do that. It is, after all, a part of living in this unpredictable city.

            ​This city is like something out of a book full of drawings, literally the definition of sketch—if you get the intended pun.

            ​This peninsula city of small-time criminals, a severe lack of officials (of every kind), and notorious gangs makes for a time-bomb of chaos just waiting to happen. All your past brushes with trouble couldn’t be helped; it’s inevitable with all that’s around you. Despite never wanting them, or ever imagining them, these experiences have turned out for the best. Since you’re stuck here you may as well learn how to survive. In no way are you a delinquent, certainly not (you’re a saint compared to your fellow city dwellers), however, you are capable enough that you can potentially wriggle your way out of any situation with what you’ve come to know.

            ​To deal with thieves you keep on a lamp at all times, it keeps even the most fearless away.

            ​To deal with a mugger you scream at the top of your lungs, they only go for people who don’t try to resist in any way.

            ​To deal with gangs—you don’t ever mess with a gang, ever. Gangs are another category of this city, another species. They are the upper class, the untouchables. They are feared by all yet, revered by all. They are the wealthiest of this third rate city. They are the cruelest in this city of criminals. Gangs, doesn’t matter which, are never to be taken lightly, ever.

            ​Lucky for you, you’ve avoided them for as long as you’ve been in their city, and you hope to continue doing so.

 

            ​Living here has definitely changed you, in every way. You went from a regular, everyday student to some kind of apathetic shell of a person to cope with all the madness of this lower class city. Before you were a relatively soft spoken person, a wall flower. Now, you’re some kind of attraction at school, the new girl and “Outsider” whom everyone feels the need to torment. You were never one for violence, you scorned the petty fights at your old school. Now, you can not only defend yourself but retaliate if anyone ever tries to mess with you, which they do  frequently. You’ve learned so much from experience that you thought was only for main characters in an unrealistic book about an unrealistic school of unrealistically delinquent teens.

            ​That is no longer the case.

            ​Yet, you find yourself not minding living here. For one thing, it’s a lot cheaper. As a student on your own you need every penny you can save, your parents aren’t around to help anymore. They did leave you some money but, that’s in case of a dire emergency in which the situation is literally life threatening. You are not about to poke around the money your parents left you after they died until university, when you’ll needit. Not to mention, you’ve lived here for about two years now (why you’re still being picked on as the “new girl” you’re unsure, your tormentors should pick a new name) you’ve become conditioned to the random bursts of perpetual chaos. If you tried to move yourself back into the more civilized side of society, you have no doubt you’d have a hard time adjusting to the normalcy of such a peaceful environment.

            ​Being suspicious of everyone has become part of your personality, there’s only so little people will be truthful about here. “Survival of the fittest” takes on a new meaning here. One day you could be talking to a neighbor, friendly enough and engaging in conversation. The next your home can be robbed clean by that same neighbor (thankfully, this hasn’t happened to you before). You could be making a friend at school, outgoing, welcoming, and nice. Next thing you know you’ve become the laughingstock of the whole school, the “friend” setting you up for a practical, borderline illegal, joke (this on the other hand has happened to you).

            ​With all that’s going on around you there’s only so much you can be thankful about. For instance, at least you’re not some kind of adrenaline junkie who gets a sick kick out of the ever present discord. You’re not stupid enough to want any of this, let alone seek it out. No, despite choosing to live out in this crooked city, you want to live a relatively quiet life. ​Although, some subconscious part of you may actually be that adrenaline junkie who craves danger, you are still here despite the dangers.

            Recently, there’s been a sudden increase in gang activity violence and crimes have become more frequent than ever, a common daily occurrence come to be expected. It’s almost overwhelming how often you hear about “the latest hit” as your classmates enjoy calling it. Just last week there was a bank robbery by some nameless group of thugs. A few days ago there was a yacht spotted a few miles out from the coast, a better known gang’s doing apparently. They’re a rag-tag group of six with nothing to lose and nothing to fear. They do as they please, when they please. You’ve never seen them before, no one has. There are rumors surrounding the alleged gang members constantly floating around.

​             They’re all young, the oldest only twenty-three. They just recently became six, the newest member only a year in. The most popular rumor revolves around their youngest. Rumors say he’s only sixteen, taken in by the leader a few years back when his parents left him to fend for himself. Sixteen and a part of the most notorious gang within a five city radius. Sixteen and still a student in your class (some rumors mention a second that is also enrolled, a year older, but people are more interested in this particular student). There’s always an idiot every so often who tries to pass off as this member. Boasting of their “latest hit” he’ll illustrate an over-exaggerated rendition that leaves him sounding like the feared leader himself. Of course, no one believes them, without any legitimate evidence no one ever will.

            If that’s not reason enough to leave then, you really must be a trouble magnet waiting for your next life-threatening experience to finally drive you out.

            Then again, you’ve never personally been interested in these gang rumors and theories. So long as they don’t have anything to do with you, you don’t care about their “latest hits.” It’s every man for them-self out here; you don’t have time to concern yourself with these six infamous gang members.

            ​B.A.P?

            ​Please, they’re like an urban legend.

            Still, you hope you never find out how they live up to their reputations, ever.

 

-

 

            ​You’re late.

            ​For some ungodly reason your power went out—again—taking your alarm clock out with it. Your body, used to waking up early (though it hates it), did manage to wake you up eventually. Of course when you woke up you didn’t realize the power was out until a good twenty minutes of drifting in and out of sleep. The lack of a shrill, obnoxious alarm finally got you up out of bed to figure out what the hell was wrong with your clock. Then of course the panic attack hit and your doomed race against time was on.

            ​You gave it your best shot but, you just couldn’t get all your crap together fast enough.

​            Though you rushed out the door, blazer ed and your hair a wild mess, as soon as the clock on your phone lit up with the unforgiving 8:30 AM, you gave up and slowed to a walk. The thing about this school, it’s different in more ways than one from most other schools. There are rules, loosely enforced if at all, that dictate punctuality, good behavior, and the like. The rules are more for show than anything else; no one follows them, not even teachers. You try to abide by them but, if you can’t (as in this case) you choose not to stress about it. Students walk in late all the time, if they do decide to show up, not that anyone cares.

            It’s just one of those things living here entitles.

            ​Chiding yourself for not setting a back up alarm you walk quickly to escape the heat. Another downside of living here, it’s horrendously hot more days of the year than should be naturally possible at all times of the day. Even this early the heat makes everything waver in persistent heat waves, the worn concrete and metal enforced buildings, massive garages (usually illegal gamble houses, black market centers, chop-shops, and other things of that nature) blurred in a dance of heat. On top of the punishing sun, yellowish dirt coats everything in a fine to heavy film, further dirtying the already unsanitary streets. The uniforms you wear aren’t the best for the sweltering sun, blazer, button up, and tights uncomfortably stuffy. Ironically, that’s the one rule every student follows, too lazy to do otherwise.

            ​Walking through dust caked street after street, you concentrate on getting to school and not the way your shirt starts to stick to your skin. After dodging various speeding cars, busy bikers, and every other hazard you chance a glance at your phone. You mentally slap yourself for being ten minutes late already. You could’ve sworn you were walking faster. The heat has a way of disorienting things, your mind the sufferer of these confusions.

            ​A grand total of twenty-seven minutes late, you rush up the yellowed steps of the school. Pushing into the old building you’re grateful the administration is smart enough to have the air conditioning regularly maintained, lest everyone inside drop dead at any second of heat . Hurrying down the halls to your class you don’t see someone else walking in late with you. Distracted, you notice them too late and awkwardly bump into them, your head hitting his much higher shoulder hard.

            ​Letting out a tiny yelp you stumble back, too dizzy and disoriented to correct yourself. Falling, you shut your eyes, preparing for your painful union of backside to dirt covered ground. To your surprise you’re caught by the arm, no painful fall coming to pass as you feared. Staggering forward you instinctively reach out for another source of stability. Your hand locks around something cool; metal—a necklace of some kind, maybe?

            ​When you do right yourself you see that your assumption is correct, your hand gripping a heavy four pronged pendant of sorts. You immediately release it with an apology, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you, I wasn’t paying attention.” You really hope this guy will accept it without some violent show of pride. Prepared for the worst you cringe when he turns to you. Rather than do as you expected, the boy gives you an amused look, one that entirely compliments the bold sapphire of his hair.

            ​”I can tell.” he replies almost playfully. You’re unsure why he acts this way but you don’t question it. Strange behavior is better than a jerk asking for a fight to settle your “wrong doing.” Clearing your throat awkwardly you tug at your arm still in his grasp.

            ​”Uh, I need to get to class now.” you mumble obviously. Apparently it’s not as obvious as it should be. The much taller boy ignores your comment and studies you with furrowed brows. You squirm under his gaze, feeling as if you were some kind of new species he’d never seen before. Who knows, maybe he hasn’t ever seen an “outsider” before.

            ​”You’re that ‘outsider’ girl, aren’t you?” he tries slowly, a brow quirking into his bangs. You have to sigh at the inquiry.

            ​Seriously, you’re still “Outsider?” It’s been two years, come on.

            ​”I don’t know if being here for two years still qualifies me as being an Outsider anymore.” you mutter feeling all too sarcastic. Honestly, as much as you should be watching your right now, this is just too ridiculous. “Outsider” got old a month after you transferred. Can’t the bullies at least try to change it up, even just a little bit?

            ​The boy surprises you again with a crooked grin.

            ​”Well, you’re and outsider to my world so, it makes sense.” he says with a one shouldered shrug. You stare, stupefied by his easygoing replies. No one ever treats you like this. Not once in the two years, and a few months, you’ve been here have you ever been treated normally by another student without getting taunted, teased, or something worse altogether.

            It’s… weird, but nice.

            “Name’s Junhong, by the way. Mind telling a friend of mine that I can’t meet up today?” he asks after seeing you aren’t about to speak anytime soon. Caught off guard by the question you blink a few times before answering.

            ​”U-uh, sure..?” Why you? Not that you mind, you’re just confused as to why he’d ask someone he’s just met to do it. Why not ask another friend, or at least someone he knows to relay the message instead of you, a stranger. Then again, you don’t really mind so, it doesn’t matter. That and saying yes may get him to let go of your arm sooner.

            ​”Cool, you know the cellar doors at the side of the school?” you nod, “He’ll be out there after school. Just say Z’s out with Dae hyung for a last minute sweep, he’ll know what you mean.” he gives you a satisfied kind of smile, “I knew those idiots were lying when I heard what they said about you. You’re definitely better than them, that’s for sure. Anyway, thanks for running into me, I gotta head out.” With that he finally releases your arm (you were right), stuffs his hands into his pockets, and leaves in a long confident stride. You watch him go, horribly confused about the entire encounter. What an odd boy with odd hair to match. You’re not sure what to think of him, and why you’ve never noticed him before. He probably never shows up, you decide turning on your heel to head into class, you’d have noticed that hair if he did. Taking the last few steps to the classroom door you mentally prepare yourself to enter, as you intended to before getting sidetracked. Just as you grab the door handle Junhong calls to you from the other side of the hall.

​            “Oh, I forgot to mention, his name’s Youngjae, so you know.”

​            You give him a nod.

            ​Youngjae, alright, you can remember that.

 

-

 

            ​It’s funny, that name is all you think about of the rest of the day.

            ​Upon entering the class, which your teacher didn’t care to notice, your classmates immediately started their first round of ridicule. Nothing you couldn’t handle, or haven’t heard before.  Some girls did their daily mocking, a group of boys knocked your books out of your arms, some other boys pushed you over—nothing you couldn’t handle.

            Rather than pay attention to the lessons your mind wandered to the strange boy all day. What could have compelled him to ask you for a favor? And he was so nice, what was that about? You contemplated this in silent curiosity, unable to ask anyone for their opinion of Junhong.

            Then you got to wondering, what kind of person could his friend, Youngjae, be? Is he a student? If so what year? Maybe he’s out of school—a degenerate? Will he be as nice as Junhong was? What if he’s absolutely horrible to you for the two seconds it takes to give him Junhong’s message?

            That’s how your day goes, a fit of “what if’s” and “whys”.

 

 

            When the final bell rings you slowly gather up your things, in no hurry to leave with your fellow classmates. Most of them ignore you, shoving past and more concerned with getting the hell out of class than bullying you. That doesn’t mean some don’t leave without what they think are “clever” insults hurled at you as they stalk out. No one really takes the time to notice you at the end of the day, everyone just wants to go home or do something you don’t doubt is illegal with their friends.

            You, on the other hand, have a favor to fulfill.

            Fully packed, you finally leave the empty classroom to try and find this Youngjae. Walking with a purpose around the crowds of your tormentors, you ignore their jeers for Junhong and his friend’s sake. Even if it was just one time you want to do this favor for the only person who was nice to you. You may never see Junhong again but you don’t care, you want to do this for him to show your gratitude.

            That is, if you ever make it to this Youngjae.

            Just as you push out of the school you’re pushed harshly from behind. The only way for you to go is straight down the stairs. Ducking your head you brace for the painful fall and keep your jaw loose. The initial impact knocks the wind out of you, your ribs taking the brunt of the fall. Then, by sheer luck, you don’t roll all the way down the stairs as your pusher probably hoped. Instead you tumble down halfway, jaw clicking, shoulder throbbing, onto your back, sprawled awkwardly sideways on the dusty steps. Regardless, you hear laughter from above, a loud rowdy mash-up of guffaws and whoops.

            Retaining your pride you push yourself up, clenching your jaw against the sharp pain up your sides. Keeping your back to them you dust yourself off with as much indifference as you can portray and continue down the steps as if nothing happened. You can hear that they’re disappointed by your reaction, the laughs reducing to a low mumble. Satisfied, however trying your hardest not to wince with each step, you keep your head high on your search for Youngjae at the side of the school.

            The moment you turn the corner of the school out of your classmates’ lines of sight you lean against the cool concrete, aching all over. With a cautious hand you press as hard as you dare against your tender skin to feel the bone underneath. By some miracle nothing is broken; your ribs are extremely sensitive but, intact. You are without a doubt horribly, horribly bruised though. Your arms, sides, and legs all throb with the early makings of bruises, angry purple ones that’ll take weeks to heal.

            Your groan, why do those idiots insist on making your life harder?

            Whatever, what’s done is done and you have a favor to carry out. Letting go of your frustrations you keep a hand on the wall for precautionary measures, your legs a concern. Carefully you make your way further into the side of the school’s shade, nearing the cellar just before the other corner of the building. Pathetic shrubs litter the path before you, scraggly little messes of a nondescript dry brown plant that crunch under your feet.

            A few feet from where you remember the cellars being, you finally see someone. He has his back against the wall, hands in his pockets and he hums, as you hear the closer you get to him, idly to himself. The crackling of the dying shrubs alerts him of your presence, his humming coming to an abrupt stop.

            “About time you showed up, Zelo. What, did you not want to leave or…” he trails off realizing you aren’t who he thought you were. He gives you a strange look, an analytical glint in his dark eyes. You note how he doesn’t look that much older than Junhong, and you for that matter, he probably just got out of high school. You’re not sure what you were expecting but, it wasn’t who’s standing before you. He looks so…squishy, for a lack of better words and proper vocabulary (his looks are not somewhat distracting you deny to yourself). You don’t know what it is about him but, he seems so approachable, likable. However, the hard look in his eyes is incredibly intimidating and it makes up for his lack of ferocity in looks. Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable you break his gaze and clear your throat awkwardly.

            “U-uh, are you Youngjae..?” you ask unsurely, suppressing the need to wince. Your jaw, on top of everything else, hurts when you move it, a dull ache making it sore. You silently fume to yourself about it, highly annoyed.

            “Yeah,” he glances at your uniform, “Youngjae oppa to you, student.” he says, the right side of his mouth curving up slightly. Looks like Junhong’s friend isn’t horrible as you feared he’d be—so far, anyway.

            “Right, sure, oppa,” you emphasize unnecessarily. The elder quirks an amused brow at you, you ignore it. “So, uh, a friend if yours, Junhong, told me to tell you that ‘Z’s going out with Dae hyung for a last minute sweep’ and that he can’t make it. You’re supposed to know what that means…” you explain watching his face for a reaction. You’re curious as to whether or not he does understand Junhong’s message, and of course what that in turn means. His brows knit, a small frown replacing the little quirk of his very full lips (not that you’ve been staring).

            “Really,” he looks maybe even a little concerned, “alright, thanks for letting me know.” There’s a distant look in his eyes, looking through you rather than at you. Shifting your weight, awkward and uncomfortable again, you bid him a small farewell and carefully turn to leave. Other hand firmly on the wall you make the trek back to the front of the school, and then of course home. Four steps in you feel a sharp pain in your right ankle, a duller pain in your left knee joining it a step later. You mentally curse whoever was the smart aleck that pushed you, wishing ill upon him with a scenario involving him getting cornered by gang members (you’re a little more than just bitter about this).

            Not that it matters what happens to him anyway, you’re still injured regardless.

            Smothering your creative ideas of karma and revenge in forced apathy, you concentrate on getting one foot in front of the other. The shrubs crunch under your feet in a staggered pattern.

            Crk-crk… crk… crk-crk… crk…

            You mentally run a list of first aid supplies you still have in your home.

            Crk-crk… crk…

            You may have to stop for some cloth bandages to wrap your ankle with, you ran out the last few times this has happened.

            Crk… crk-crk…

            What you wouldn’t give to just go unbothered for the rest of your life—or at least your school career here.

            Crk-crk… Crk-crk-crk-crk—

            You pause, looking over your shoulder uncertainly. Though you know the only other set of footsteps can be Youngjae, you’re still surprised to see him catching up to you, rather than walk past. Does he want something? Does he have a message of his of his own he wants to pass on to Junhong, perhaps? You stare at a loss as he brings himself to a stop in front of you.

            “Are you okay?” he asks, those dark eyes of his softer than you thought possible. The question goes right over your head, your distracted and solitary mind unable to comprehend his concern.

            “What?” of course, is always best reply in these situations of utter perplexity.

            He nods his chin, gesturing to your feet, to indicate his point.

            “You’re limping, or do you usually walk like a challenged pigeon?” he replies with an all too cheeky grin. You seem to do a lot of staring today, your mind drawing a complete blank as you give him the absolute strangest look your face can possibly contort into.

            “Excuse me, a challenged—you know what, I do. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to get home before some this pigeon runs into another smart aleck with more ‘clever’ comments. I can only take so much in a day.” you retort, snuffing out the amusement in those rich chestnut irises (not that you’ve taken the time to compare browns to call it). Realizing his harmless comment took a wrong turn, he immediately shakes his head, startled.

            “No, no, I didn’t mean—it was a joke.” he amends running an agitated hand through his hair. You don’t reply, adamantly silent. You know it wasn’t meant to be an insult, you’re not that dense. Unlike the harsh words of your classmates, his were light, playful even. Yet, you snapped anyway. It may be because you’re unused to his friendly behavior or that he breached the only part of you that you hate to reveal, weakness. You only just met him and he’s trying to help, you can see it in his face. Masking your weaknesses before the classmates trying to bring you down is only thing that’s kept you alive since coming to this godforsaken school. No matter how much they hurt you, with words or with brute force; you’ve always held your ground, walking it off as if nothing ever happened.

            You can’t afford to accept help. It’s not in your nature.

            “Look,” Youngjae eventually speaks up to break your tense silence, “I was just going to ask if you’d like some help. I’d feel better about it if you’d let me.” he says scuffing the toe of his shoe against the brittle shrubs. A small cloud of dirt kicks up and powders his shoe, which he ignores. You have to commend yourself for being such a good judge of character. You were right about his intention. It was clear from the start. You absently your lips, dry from the heat, and shake your head.

            “I don’t want it, I’m fine.” you say, stubbornly. To emphasize your point you turn your back to him and continue with your uneven walk.

            Crk-crk… Crk… Crk-crk…

            You pay no mind to Youngjae easily keeping pace beside you.

            Crk… Crk-crk…

            What’s with him anyway? It’s not like he knows you or cares enough to be doing this.

            Crk-crk…

            Him and Junhong both, they’re strange.

            Crk…

            You stop at the edge of the wall. Peering around it you see a few students still lingering on the large dirt field of the school’s front land plot. You recognize most of them as your tormentors, some even from the group that laughed after pushing you. You grit your teeth, scorning your bad luck. Jaw clenched tightly, you push off from the wall and walk, no limp, no evidence of any injuries at all. Against your protesting legs you don’t leave an ounce of your weight off both feet, each step bearing the painful burden of your entire body. Those jerks will not get the satisfaction of seeing you stumble, seeing that they’ve hurt you. No matter how much it hurts, you refuse to let them win.

            And it hurts, a lot.

            Your ankle flares in an acute pain right in the joint, an angry throb that promises of a swollen tomorrow. On the other hand, your knee has gone numb, making proper walking that much harder for the rest of your left leg. Stubborn, prideful, and stupid, you press on. Your teeth ache with how hard you grind them against the pain. Of course, just because you decide to act as if nothing’s wrong doesn’t mean Youngjae follows your lead.

            ​”What are you doing? Are you trying to mess yourself up more?” he exclaims grabbing you by the wrist. You give it a hard look, and then direct it to his face.

            ​”Just leave me alone, I know what I’m doing.” you snap, jerking out of his grasp. You take two steps before he grabs you again, that serious glint back in his eyes. You keep you gaze steady on his, daring him to say anything against you.

            ​”No, you don’t.” he admonishes flatly, unimpressed. Before you even get a chance to retort he pulls your arm over his shoulders and puts one of his own around your waist to support you. Your first, independent instinct is to shove him away and off of you. The next is to hit him, for violating your personal space. Instead you let out a dignified squawk of surprise and feel your face burning with embarrassment.

            ​Well, this definitely isn’t what you expected.

            ​Taking advantage of your surprise, Youngjae, more or less, drags you out of the school dirt lot. Gathering your wits you try to wriggle out of his unexpectedly strong arm. Locked like iron around you, his arm holds fast as he ignores your useless attempts to free yourself.

            ​”Get off me! You don’t know what you’re doing!” you hiss throwing a worried look over your shoulder. Sure enough, the very classmates who pushed you down, who wait for you to show any sign of weakness, are watching you with those smug, jeering smirks.We’ve finally caught you, they say, your life is hell from now on.

            During all this, of course, Youngjae is oblivious, stubbornly helping you ruin your life even more by being too considerate at the wrong time. You give him a stony sideways glance and brood to yourself about your misfortune. Why is it now that the world gives you someone nice in your life? And why does he have to be too nice? Couldn’t he have been around before you became such a bruised mess?

            As you exit the gates of the school Youngjae pauses and gives you an expectant look. “Where to?” he asks, tone softer. You refuse to completely look at him, using that same cross sideways look, but mutter your address. As much as you’re resenting the help, it’s not like he’s about fall away. You may as well just comply to get him away sooner. The two of you continue on without a word.

 

 

            “Thanks, by the way, for letting me know about Junhong.” Youngjae says, literally out of nowhere. The two of you have been walking for more than ten minutes in dead silence, honking cars in the distance and passing strangers serving as the only noise between you. Although, in the heat it’s better not to talk too much anyway, you may dehydrate suddenly if you’re not careful. However, taken aback you, despite your persistent annoyance, give him a bewildered look.

            “No problem… Why the sudden thanks?” you ask confused. That was a while ago, not to mention there’s really no need for it.

            He smiles at you. You stare dumbfounded back.

            “Figured I’d try to get you to do the same too.” he says shifting his arm around you not to subtly. Forgetting how against his help you were just a few minutes ago, you find yourself flustered. You may have been walking for a while like this but, it just registered that this guy (this pretty good-looking guy, to be honest) has his arm around you and is taking you home.

            It’s more than a lot to take in after having nothing but abuse for the past two years.

            You feel the burden of guilt weigh heavily on your shoulders as you realize this. Youngjae’s the only person to show you this much kindness since you’ve been here, the only person who’s ever cared so much. He’s doing all this, adamantly supporting you home, being lighthearted, and being nothing but helpful, and he’s just met you. Literally after two minutes of talking—not even a full conversation—is he doing all of this and he doesn’t even know your name.

            What have you done to deserve such selflessness?

            Absolutely nothing, in fact, you scorned him for it.

            You chew on the inside of you lip, uncertain with yourself.

            The last time you’ve felt this bad about anything was… you don’t remember. It’s been so long you don’t know how to properly respond to this situation, to him. You’ve been on your own for so long you can’t properly accept help from anyone anymore. Being forced to fend for yourself, at school, at home, everywhere, it’s jaded you into a solitary state of prideful independence. It’s strange to have this help, this person reaching out to you after such a short amount of time.

            You’ve forgotten how to be treated like a human being rather than a target.

            Yet, that doesn’t mean you can just throw all this away and thank him for this. You are but, at the same time, you’ve just become a helpless victim to your tormentors. You were someone they were trying to break, someone they were forcibly trying to expose your weaknesses. Now that they’ve seen how badly they’ve hurt you, you’re their plaything. Who knows what they’ll do to you now.

            “You know most people would take my hint and say ‘thanks’ even if they don’t mean it.” Youngjae half-seriously (is he teasing you?), interrupting your thoughts. When you don’t immediately reply (no really, was he teasing you just now?), he adds, “Then again, you don’t seem like ‘most people’ to me.”

            “What does that even mean?” you manage, overcoming your befuddlement. How can he possibly know enough about you to make that assumption? If anything, he’sthe one who’s unlike “most people.”

            “You don’t like me, do you?” Youngjae asks, ignoring your question, however, morbidly curious. You find yourself stammering.

            “W-what, I just met you! I can’t decide—what? Why?”

            What is with this guy?

            “No need to spare my feelings, I can handle it. Besides, I can tell, you’re not all that great at hiding your emotions. Then again, maybe you’re just always bitter looking?” he muses, lips pulling up at the sides in amusement.

            “And if I am?” You’re pretty sure you are.

            “You should try a new expression, you look too suspicious of the world.” he replies, smile falling just the slightest bit. Is it just you or does he seem almost… woeful..?

            “If I’m not then no one else will be left to look out for me.” you mumble, more to yourself than him. It’s true. You’ve known it since the day your parents died. Saying it out loud makes it that much worse. On top of your silent guilt you feel burdened by the world, by everything. Conversation ends there, the last leg of your walk done in silence.

 

 

            With Youngjae’s help you do eventually get to your door on the third floor of your worn little apartment building. Upon his insistence, honestly too spent to object, you let him take you inside. The little apartment is filled by his added presence. You’ve never had anyone other than yourself in it before; you never noticed how small your little flat actually is. Carefully he sets you down on your couch, as if you’ll break if he sets you down too hard. Your body feels relieved as you sink into the aged cushions.

            Now is the part you’ve been dreading.

            As you settle comfortably, or rather uncomfortably, Youngjae opens his mouth to say something then closes it, thinking better of it. You’re more than certain he was going to offer more help, maybe even wrap your busted ankle. You speak up before he can offer to do anything, regardless of what it may be.

            “Right, uh, yeah, it’s… been an experience. I’ll see you around, never, probably. Bye, don’t get mugged on the way out.” you say hurriedly, awkward and uncomfortable, as you are by default.

            He laughs a clear ringing sound with no ill intent. It’s a real laugh, purely entertained, one you haven’t heard in a very long time, let alone caused one.

            “I appreciate your concern,” he gives you a warm smile which only succeeds in discomforting your further, “here’s my bit of advice, if you ever get into trouble, any kind of trouble, find Junhong. He’s a good kid. He’ll be a good friend to you.”—it’s hard to tell but you think his smile falls again, just barely—”Oh, and fix that scowl of yours, it’s not very becoming for a pretty young lady like you.”—it got really hot all of a sudden, your face is burning. You’re probably sick, yeah, just feverish from the heat, that’s it—”Smiling, try smiling.” With that he gives you one last curve of his full, pink lips and turns on his heel, leaving you gawking at him like an idiot from your couch.

            This is the friend of Junhong’s whom you were only meant to pass on a message too. You stare after him, the stranger, the message recipient, who showed you so much kindness and impossibly stubborn selflessness. As he crosses the room you want to say something, anything, to show that you aren’t all that inconsiderate, suspicious, as he said. You want to ask why he did any of this, why he wasted his time with someone who didn’t ask for any help. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to voice any of your gratitude or questions. You let him leave, without so much as an insincere thank you or a small forced smile. You let him leave and shut the door behind him with nothing.

            That’s the last you see of Youngjae.