He loved Victoria Song from the tips of her Doc Martens to the ends of her waist-length hair – whatever color she decided it would be that week – and all the tattoos and piercings inbetween. He loved her smile, her laugh, and the special twinkle she got in her eye when she lectured about dismantling the patriarchy and fighting institutionalized oppression on every level.

 

            So when Kyuhyun got a call at 5:30 in the morning from the local police station begging him for bail money, he gladly put on his own boots and made the trek downtown to snatch his girlfriend out from the clutches of the Man.

 

            “What’s she in for now, officer?” Kyuhyun asked when he arrived at the front desk of the lobby. “Is it her blog again?”

 

            “Nah, she’s already been cleared of any charges of communist sedition – her home country says she’s too radical for them, so they asked us to keep her,” the grizzled, older man said. “That’s a non-issue. It appears that she went to the local bar with some friends of hers, a couple of Americans and some local kids, and got into it with some idiot that had no concept of the hell he unleashed.”

 

            The story had been told at least five times before, but the ending was always a little different. “She didn’t kill him, did she?”

 

            “No, but she broke his nose.”

 

            “Ouch,” Kyuhyun winced. “What did he do to deserve that?”

 

            “In his report, he said he was simply making a remark about his girlfriend’s prowess in bed. In hers, Miss Victoria says that he made some very terrible comments about what he’d like to do to one of her companions with his buddies,” he replied. “So she says that she hit him because she and her friends felt threatened. Normally, we’d let it go; but the little she hit pressed charges. He’s also a beloved nephew of some stupid chaebol family, so our hands are tied.”

 

            He imagined the scene, with her standing above him triumphantly in the Louboutins she wore for Saturday nights and screaming ‘Women hold up half the sky, motherer!’, and sighed dreamily. “So can we just pay the settlement money and move on with our lives? Or is this kid going to make our lives hell?”

 

            “He seemed pretty adamant about the charges, but one of his friends reminded him that it would look bad for him and his family if it hit the newsstands that a woman as little as Miss Victoria managed to put him out with a single hit.”

 

            Never in his life had Kyuhyun loved that woman than at that moment. “So no charges?”

 

            “Not even a settlement charge – not that he needed it, anyway. She’s free to go.”

 

            A minute later, the lady herself stormed out of the holding area, scowl distorting her features and eyes darting around – presumably for the er that forced her there in the first place. Her expression brightened up immediately when she saw Kyuhyun waiting for her at the desk; she quickly darted across the room and into his waiting arms (no small feat for someone in seven-inch heels).

 

            “Guixian, thank you so much for getting me out of there,” she sighed as she buried herself into his chest and into the warmth of his leather jacket. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble I caused you – and to you, too, Officer Kwon.”

 

            “It’s no problem, Miss – but next time, just drag him down here? We can take care of it.”

 

            “I’ll be sure to remember that,” she nodded politely – she still had manners, after all. “And I really am sorry about making you come down here so early in the morning. I’ll make it up to you.”

 

            “Don’t lie to me, Song Qian,” he teased, using her real name to get a rise out of her. “You love causing me as much suffering as possible in the name of the revolution.”

 

            “There are always sacrifices to be made for justice,” she laughed. “Now let’s get out of here before I find the little bourgeois pig and break something else of his.”

 

            “You wound me,” he said dramatically as he led her out of the door and towards his motorcycle. “But I suppose I will forgive you this once – you fought the good fight and it’s time to take you home, Warrior Queen.”

 

            “Damn right, I did,” Victoria sniffed, settling herself into the rear seat. “ got exactly what was coming to him. He’s just lucky the rest of the collective wasn’t there; he wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

 

            “Alright, Rebel Girl,” he said, gunning the engine and backing out of the parking spot. “Let’s get the out of here; police stations weird me out.”

 

            “ the police!” she yelled, wrapping her arms around his chest and holding on for dear life. They tore out of the lot and into the chilly Seoul morning, the streetlights mingling with the creeping dawn and illuminating her carnation pink hair as it flowed out behind her.

 

             Maybe she’d never see the day when oppression was a dirty word written in history books and inequality only found in math classes, but here on the back of her boyfriend’s Kawasaki with the wind in her hair and his body solidly within her grasp, she felt truly free.