(ignore this if this is your first time reading the story. if not, then congratulations, you found my easter egg.)

Devising a plan to get Sehun out of my house turned out to be easier than convincing Sehun to actually put the plan in motion and get out of my house.

“Did you find your sweatpants?” I asked Jaeeun as I burst into her room to find her throwing her whole closet around the room.

“Nope,” was all she said before delving further into her mountain of clothes.

Ducking back into the hallway, I went to my door and knocked on it. A moment later, Sehun poked his head out, my New York Yankees hat sitting on top of it.

“She’s occupied. Come on,” I said before starting down the hallway with my backpack on my shoulder. The door clicked behind Sehun before he followed along behind me.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I peered into the utility room to make sure it was clear before beckoning Sehun forward and handing him my backpack that he was supposed to put the old clothes he was wearing in after changing into his own clothes that I had managed to sneak into a load that my mom was washing and drying. Atfer he slipped inside the room, I headed for the living room where the TV was blasting.

“I’m going to see Grandma,” I said, leaning over the back of the couch where my parents sat.

“It’s late, just go tomorrow,” Dad said, flipping the channel.

I shook my head. “It’s important. I’ll be back before it’s too late,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t be too persistent with the parental controling at the moment. Planting a kiss on each of their cheeks, I backtracked to the utility room, checking the stairs for Jaeeun before knocking on the door.

Sehun came out, fussing with the cardigan around his neck. I veered my eyes away from the bruises and reached for my backpack which he simply slung over his own shoulder. Instead of fussing, I went to the front door and slipped on my shoes before pushing him out the door and shutting it behind me.

“Your shoes are in that bin,” I told quietly, starting down the steps and walking in the direction of the trash where his Nikes were.

He followed, tiptoeing in his socks. I paused, waiting for him to get his shoes on before heading out of the gate.

“Let me see my backpack,” I said, holding my hand out.

He pulled it off his shoulder and held it out for me to it. Digging all the way to the bottom of the bag, I grabbed the soft fabric that I had put there and pulled it out.

Sehun blinked at me. “Is this a joke?” he asked, bemused.

Trying not to be smug, I shook my head. “Your clothes are covering the other bruises and the hat is all that you can do for your face,” I said, holding up the green scarf. “At least covering your neck will prevent the majority of stares you might get on the bus. I don’t need people thinking I’m some mental woman that beat you up,” I added, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Discussing his beaten state wasn’t such a comfortable subject for him (or me), which I had discovered as we argued over our plan to keep him unseen in case Jongin or anyone else was around while we traveled to my grandma’s.

He zipped the backpack back up and put it on his shoulder before snatching the scarf from me and throwing it around his neck, not even covering half the bruises. I frowned.

“Fix it,” I said, pointing.

He started down the street. “It’s fine,” he said.

Catching up to him, I reached out and pulled the scarf off. “It’s not covering anything,” I pointed out, grabbing the front of the backpack to keep him from walking any further.

He exhaled and turned back. “Then fix it,” he said impatiently.

I rolled my eyes and reached out, placing the scarf around his neck.

“It’s not even cold enough for a scarf,” he grumbled.

Looping the fabric around his neck, being as gentle as possible, I situated it to hide all the bruises as best I could before taking my hands back.

“Now,” I said, turning back the way we came. “The bus stop is this way.”

Despite having covered most of his bruises, a few of the ahjummas on the bus eyed Sehun and one of the young ladies’ kids pointed at Sehun, asking why that hyung had a bruised face. I tried to smile as politely as I could to them, acting like nothing was wrong, while Sehun shifted uneasily beside me. After a few minutes, their stop came and I breathed a sigh of relief. As the bus started to move again, Sehun sat up straighter.

Taking up the silence, I wondered about the first time we had met, on a bus. I remembered what he had said after being locked in the principal's office.

Do you know that I had never bullied before that day?

I snuck a glance at him. Was it normal for a bully to so easily remember the day they started bullying their victim? Did he ever wish it hadn’t happened like I did? What had even made him do it in the first place; what spur of the moment was he talking about? And why didn’t he stop?

Being on a bus with him again brought back many memories of the other times we had managed to be on the same bus together, most of the time without him even knowing. Like the time he was running late and was only halfway in his uniform. But the one I remembered most was the time he actually spoke to me, asking how I knew of his allergy after I prevented Taeyeon’s kimbap from killing him. For him to actually speak to me, he must’ve worked up an immense of amount of curiosity and swallowed some pride. Just like what I was doing in that moment.

I managed to sneak another glance as he turned his head away, bringing his bottom lip in between his teeth. Rather than turning my eyes back ahead, I promptly took a solid look at the side of his face. Those weren’t just bruises and scratches, but they were marks that looked undefended or unpreventable. My eyes trailed down to his hands that sat in his lap: they were entirely unscathed, not a single scratch or bruise. Either he hadn’t fought back or he couldn’t.

“Stop staring,” he said, turning his face forward and not even sparing me a look.

Exhaling, I stared a moment too long and he faced me, looking me straight in the eye. Then I realized what he had said that night, right after bursting into tears, after he told me that I could hate him. I hadn’t been able to figure it out, the words sounding jumbled and undecipherable as he blubbered. It wasn’t that he had to even say it; I could see it all over him.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Oh Sehun. The guy who walked around school as if he owned every brick put to the walls of the place, the one who had the perfect group of friends, the cheerleader girlfriend, the wealthy family; the one who never seemed to doubt himself for a second in his life. I looked straight in his eyes and knew that Oh Sehun had no idea what to do. Even worse, he was letting me call the shots without even saying a word. What made him think I had any idea wh