#bro was getting bullied in school and grown ass adults were going out of their way to put down a fucking kid

[zxxalta]

Let’s talk about how Naruto didn’t have any friends until he was put on a team. That’s 12 years of just straight solitude

[biggie-chcese]

rain code age headcanons because i have literally only ever been choosing ages based on what's funniest but now i wanna cast away my grand layers of irony and be genuine for a moment. also. this goes pretty in depth so be prepped for the long haul when you click read more lmao.

spoilers for the whole game below and it's because of one specific character iykyk

Yakou - this man has the soul of a guy in his late 40s going through what would be his midlife crisis if not for the fact that he's fully aware he passed the midpoint years ago. but that soul is trapped in the body of a guy who doesnt look a day older than 28. what moisturizer does he use? i doubt he even uses anything other than that 13 in 1 shampoo. anyway, i think he's 32.

Halara - 26. nothing really to justify this other than they've got that mid 20s swag but 25 didn't feel right. adult enough to be as competent as they are yet young enough to look like that. moving on.

Desuhiko - 19. i think he's the youngest of the NDA because. well. idk man have you read his dialogue? he's got a whole lot of growing to do and is still very lost on his direction in life. he's giving 'bitch fresh outta high school (or in this case, detective training) and relishing in his freshly obtained freedom."

Vivia - 28? yeah i got nothing for this i am going purely on vibes here. 28 just feels right.

Fubuki - 23. she's clearly still a bit young but is also clearly a grown ass adult who wasn't raised right so i think this makes for a happy medium, especially if she's already been on some worldwide adventures n shit before the game. works out quite swimmingly methinks.

Kurumi - 18. for my personal comfort bc we'll get to yuma later but im not gonna sit here and ignore the way the game constantly grovels at the audience's feet to ship them so id rather she not be any younger than this. anyway, more about her: she tends to hold her own as an informant with more competence, maturity, and effecience than most of the NDA. but she also has a pretty childish black and white view on things, like believing her beloved detectives are always right (girl if you were real you would be ENTRENCHED in stan culture oml do NOT get into minecraft youtubers) but i've... seen 18 year olds on the internet that are exactly the same so whatever

Aetheria girls - putting them all at 17-18 because, based on honorifics, they are treated as upperclassmen by their peers in the Japanese dub. i think waruna is the youngest and kurane is the eldest.

Yomi - 25. he has that vibe. old enough to be taken seriously as an adult but young enough to act like That™. yknow?

Martina - 32. she's giving older woman sexy librarian vibes and generally carries herself with a certain level of poise and maturity but is also a freak in a way that can best be explained by being a woman in her 30s. not elaborating on this

Swank - 41. to me he's like those awful surly businessmen who go to cabaret clubs to drink and smoke their office job woes away and cheat on their wives. but he also has extreme mafia boss swag about it so i kinda love him for that. dunno what this has to do with age tho. moving on.

Seth - 22 because he's giving youngest brother. i think he's the youngest of the peacekeepers in general. guillaume definitely bullies him about this.

Dominic - 34. bro is built like a jojo character what else do you want me to say. he's still got that youthfulness about him that makes me think he's still not going through his midlife crisis, so i wouldn't place him any older

Guillaume - 23. guillaume is so girlypop manic pixie dream girl core that she's definitely got the energy of someone who is young but also strikes the balance of being someone who has a job and a mortgage. dunno how she does it. id like to think she isnt even much older than seth but still bullies him for being the baby of the peacekeepers. do u understand my vision. please. they have so much annoying coworker potential.

shinigami - idk like 1000. she's a death god who cares.

yuma - okay. yeah. look i dont give a singular fuck about age discourse- headcanon whatever you want- but from looking at canon material i genuinely think that he could not possibly be any younger than 21. 20 if we wanna push it. yes, i know he looks young. i have eyes. but also, im in my 20s and the most common thing people tell me when i reveal my age is "oh, i thought you were 15." one time a person asked me if i was 12. at my job. that i was actively working at. i was 20. adults can look young, and contrary to the classic 1000 year old loli dragon trope he doesnt act overtly childish. he acts like a normal fuckin guy. yes he cries but like. you wouldn't in his position? bro speedruns lifelong trauma so skillfully that he's backwards long jumping into alternate universes where everything is somehow worse. i'd be freaked out if he didn't cry. also im aware that the child prodigy detective trope is a thing and that kodaka has written that before but... he was number one three years ago. and the training takes two years. which means, if he is a minor in the game's present day, he started working at the WDO at 12 and became number one at 14... at the oldest. have you ever met a 14 year old? forgive me for not suspending my disbelief here. and really the kicker for me is that yuma has a line where he says he's not sure if he's drinking age (which would be 20 in japan), but you know who would be sure? you know who knows yuma's age better than yuma?

makoto kagutsuchi - this megacorporation CEO has a fully stocked minibar installed in his penthouse. <- sentence i cannot bring myself to believe if it's about a child. since i also cant picture him becoming CEO at age 14 without yomi at least once angrily pointing that out (he only ever mentions that makoto is an outsider, or has his head in the clouds), id like to think both him and yuma, at their youngest, earned their top spots at their respective organizations at 18. it keeps their gifted kid syndrome and young prodigy-ness without making things comically ridiculous or uncomfortable for the sheer amount of sexual situations yuma gets put into.

anyway that's my silly little ramble on age headcanons. this was actually really fun to think about. shoutout to kodaka for leaving out the ages. funniest choice he could've made

[gryffinwall]

Lucas Friar Appreciation Post

Lucas often gets a bad rap for not being able to choose between the girls during the Not-a-Triangle situation – the phrase “fuckboy” gets used a lot – so it's only fitting he's the next one to receive an appreciation post.

1. Lucas put in a lot of work to be a better person, and it shows.

We know him as New York Lucas, who keeps his cool, makes good grades, and stays out of trouble. But it’s pretty clear he had to work through a LOT before transforming into the easy-going Lucas we've come to know. Not a lot of grown-ass adults can successfully manage their anger issues, so it’s pretty dang impressive Lucas was able to do it on his own.

2. He’s a great friend who will always be there for anyone who needs him.

Lucas was quick to defend Farkle when cool jock bro Billy called him a nothing. He stood up for Zay against that 30-something middle school kid even though it meant Lucas himself possibly getting in trouble for it. He felt crushed at not being able to protect the gang from the high school seniors. And of course, in spite of everything I just said about his anger management prowess, he was ready to stand up for Riley when he realized she was being bullied. He was the protector of the group, and he took his job seriously.

3. Lucas truly supported Maya’s art.

Oh look, my Lucaya bias is showing again! But it’s true – Lucas was consistently a huge source of support for Maya when it came to her art. He encouraged her to keep trying when she was ready to give up, and who could forget when he didn’t want the arts program to get cut because he knew those classes made her happy? Sure, Riley and the others supported her too, but Lucas seemed to have a better understanding of how deeply Maya's art meant to her.

4. The Not-a-Triangle was hard on him because he genuinely didn’t want to hurt either of the girls.

Okay, this one might be controversial. After all, it’s where he gets his fuckboy reputation. But hear me out: Lucas cared more about not hurting the girls and not damaging their friendship than he did about what he would get out of picking one of them. I won’t deny that some of that has to do with guilt, but let’s get real, how many guys would feel that upset over hurting someone he cared about that he was practically unwilling to make a decision at his own expense? And let's call it like it is: Lucas clearly felt unheard for a long time during that whole situationship. The girls were very much a part of why it took him so long to decide, but somehow the blame falls mainly on him.

5. He was surprisingly well-rounded for being the “face.”

Farkle called him “just a face” a lot and that couldn't be farther from the truth. Lucas was a great athlete, but he worked hard in school to the point of winning an athlete scholar award. He had a clear vision of what he wanted to do in life (become a veterinarian, in case you’ve forgotten). He also was elected class president, was vocal about his religious beliefs, got cast as Romeo in the school play, showed he cared more about ethics than money and won a bull riding competition. He also had a good sense of humour and was able to "tangle" with Maya, her words, pretty easily. We got a hint of an interesting family dynamic, what with his mother being the doting, loving parent and his dad being a bit of a hardass (remember Lucas calling his dad “sir”? Yikes.). And of course, there's also his aforementioned anger issues and his mysterious past involving getting held back a grade. Lucas easily could’ve just been the cute boy with not a lot going on, but he ended up being a far more interesting character than expected.

[tonya-the-chicken]

I’m not going to change your views but it does feel a bit dismissive when you say it wasn’t that bad because he had rich parents who neglected him but hey they got a maid for him and he probably wasn’t outcasted or bullied so hey it’s not that bad right 🤷‍♀️! I don’t know he definitely didn’t have the worse out of the villains but I don’t know it felt a bit dismissive is all. Although we need to all remember these are fictional characters so have no idea why the other anon needed to get so aggressive! Also the person in the notes I don’t know how to say it but uh the whole the Todoroki’s had a rich father they didn’t have to work a day in their life take is not a good look. Just because someone has parents with money it doesn’t derail the fact that neglect can cause trauma.

Anyways for the real reason I sent this, you wonder why Dabi is so insane. Well take into account the neglect alongside the fact that he burnt to near death up on that hill alone at the age of what 13? That’s got to be extra traumatising, especially for a child that was already not mentally ok. We also don’t know what his circumstances were like after that fire, like was he homeless? Or picked up by someone nefarious? Kind of like AFO(not him exactly but someone nasty) who maybe fed on his brewing anger and hate instead of positive healing. I’m sure we will find out at some point? I don’t think it was just what happened in the Todoroki household or the fire that broke his mind? There had to be other factors after the fire after his “death”!

[[WARNING!!! I love Dabi as a character but I am not a woobifier so if you are too much into him don't read!!!! No complaints taken, y'all will be blocked for being rude I am too old to deal with people unable to interact with me in good faith (anon it's not for you, you are good and I can't understand your point of view I am just not as good as a person and too old for that shit)]]

I don't think I will change my mind either but I feel like the belief that every trauma is equally bad is just... Simply wrong. Like, we can legit compare this stuff and how badly it affects our brain, what do y'all think psychologists research 🤷‍♀️ Like, your therapist won't tell you this because it's not their job to make you understand you not the centre of the Earth (and it won't help because it is a legit trauma response that is very valid but is annoying you're fucking 25 yo). And to say that, neglectful parenthood is probably the worst parenthood style, as far as I know XD I wrote coursework about this (neglectful bitches are having a lot of need to make us the biggest victims (the bitches is me))... It also feels really American to me? Like, are we going to pretend people who got to live in a nice house and were neglect somehow got it as bad as people living in poverty or warzones? Hello? Imagine telling some orphan "I know you have no parents but actually, my trauma of my father not spending enough time with me is just as severe as yours". Bruh couldn't be me sorry... Like, even taking into account the fact that we can have weaker or stronger nervous systems or be more prone to depressive episodes *looks in the mirror and cries* I simply wouldn't find the guts to say my trauma is as severe as idk people who had physically abusive parents or no parents at all or who were disowned for being gay

And like **again** I am not saying that neglect is not traumatic I WAS NEGLECTED THIS IS TRAUMATIZING AS FUCK. I just am living in a country at war and with lots of discrimination problems and I like... Can't say I am the biggest victim. Sorry I can't though there were times when I was a lot more bitchy especially before being in therapy so I understand where you are coming from and I know what I am saying won't resonate with everyone (it's ok go on your own healing journey I believe in you) but this doesn't mean it is garbage and won't help me or someone else... I've already talked once about it but as a person, I am very easily irritated and envious and really not your local Jesus and partially my trauma turned me like this so being more humble about my sufferings helps me not be a complete bitch (believe me or not but people with traumas and mental illnesses are often insufferable *looks in the mirror* not me though I am perfect... BUT IT IS OK TO BE INSUFFERABLE OK??? like, bitch, that's normal. That's normal to stink when you are depressed it's ok to be a bitch when you are hurting. Forgive yourself because I forgive you (when you are not being an abusive asshole but if you apologize and explain yourself I will forgive that too)

The reason why I talk about the fact he is rich is that I've got a disease called leftism and I am a person of several marginalized identities and since this fandom LOVES looking at characters like real humans, I looked at Dabi this way. And if Dabi was a real human, I wouldn't sympathize with him one bit. I would fucking hate him for being the biggest entitled asshole who commits crimes for the reason his Daddy didn't give him attention. Bitch, my Dad didn't give me attention either! But somehow I don't kill people! And I don't even have money!!!! But like... I am not denying that neglectful parents are not a problem. It is. But he is overreacting, bro. He needs to humble down and recognize the fact he is a fucking idiot (he is). He has inherently so much more resources to recover and heal himself than I had... Yes, I am just being jealous at this point but honestly. Making an entire country suffer for you is not a good thing and y'all need to stop using trauma and mental illness as an excuse for people. No! Being abusive to people because of neglect is not valid, is overreacting and you had no reason to do that. I am dismissing your trauma because you are exaggerating it to make me sympathize with your asshole behaviour. I won't judge people with different sets of standards as I judge myself

I bet it would be dismissive and bad if I said it in conversation with someone who is currently struggling with mental health and is not a murderer. But guess what! I don't talk with humans and my friends the same way I talk on my Tumblr about fictional characters 🤷‍♀️ Not to mention I don't have rich friends akabsksbxm

I think with Dabi there's this whole thing where we saw him at 14 (poor baby boy) and 24 (a grown-ass boy) and... Like, I am so sorry for 14 years old Touya not receiving the help he needs (bruh so relatable) but I am not gonna act like 24 years old bitch can't get his ass to a psychiatrist (extremely unrelatable and infuriating). We shouldn't apply the same standards to kids and adults. We can talk all day long about how society is bad and how our parents ruined us but at some points, you gotta take your life into your own hands and do something and be an adult. And it's fucking hard when you're born with a shitty brain that was fucked up by your parents even more in a society where no one gives a fuck but I sincerely don't know another way to live. You will feel bad and want to die but you either keep on recovering or keep on getting worse and at this point getting worse is Dabi's *choice* That's how I live, that's my framework and I am, of course, extremely fortunate in a lot of ways but I just don't know how are you supposed to survive without the notion that grown people are responsible for themselves and their mental health. We can't act like adults are babies

But as a character, Dabi is fucking hot ngl. Like, do I sometimes want to murder my entire family, make them suffer AND commit terrorist attacks? We all do. Dabi is the dark fantasy of us neglectful bitches craving some attention. Gotta kill the president and tell everyone that my Dad sucks. Imagine the entire country hearing your Dad sucks? That's the juice, that's the dream. Trauma makes you vicious. I get the sentiment. Imagine all those fuckers who made you feel like shit pissing their pants and crying? Imagine your Mom being afraid of you the way you used to be afraid of her? People do have the desire for some violent justice but like... Think of bullied kids committing school shootings. But instead of a kid, it's a grown man who graduated school and who also have a rich father

Ok too much about irl stuff and philosophy shit. I know my way of talking is kinda brute so just know the way I treat people is different from that I treat fictional characters, in particular, I don't call real-life humans submissive and breedable... And stuff...

Damn Dabi is kinda good to project your hatred of your parents in bruh, I should write a fanfic about that (would be cathartic)

To the plotline, I am also very interested in what the hell happened with him after burning because... How the hell he wasn't found? I kind of DON'T want him to be groomed at this point because I feel like it won't be as cool as him just more naturally evolving into what he became. Like, surely, he is an asshole but consider this: as a villain, he is morally obligated to be an asshole

I feel like someone hiding him and Touya overstating the gruesomeness of his living conditions to the dude so he feels *bad* for him and hides him and feels sympathy and Touya gets attention but also begins to reassure himself in the fact his Dad needs to be punished... Idk it's a lot of mystery but I feel like more suffering won't deliver the point the way I want it... I mean it CAN be handled this way and initially I thought a lot about Dabi being brainwashed a bit or having his memories altered so it seems worse to him or even him being groomed or lied too but nowadays I am not into it. I mean I believe in Horikoshi and that he will handle him well 🛐

I talk a lot so I will summarize

If we judge him as a real human

14 yo Touya - DID NOTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE PROTECT HIM

24 yo Dabi - go fuck yourself bitch you older than me and act like a child and kill people, I couldn't care less about your trauma rich boy

If you want me to talk as his psychologist

Yeah, it is painful and sad, I understand him so much and surely, his trauma is valid as is his hatred but probably revenge won't bring him what he wants. And what he wants is love and attention. But he gotta make choices that will lead to his healing. He needs to *want* to heal. And we will step by step go to the healing because it is possible. He is loved and he is enough. AND YOU ALL MOTHERFUCKERS WILL HEAL I BELIEVE IN YOU BESTIES

Also his therapist (behind his back)

You won't believe it but my client is the most infantile attention whore I've ever met

But if we talk about him as a character... Very delicious soup

If you talk with your friends

Please, if your friends are being abusive to you or someone else don't even LET them say how their trauma made them this way. No. Nothing allows you to be an abuser. Call them out and stop them and make them talk to the therapist. Like, surely, there are extreme situations like severe mental illnesses or extreme neglect where we should be more forgiving but babying adults won't do you any good and won't make them recover

Yeah, I guess this is what I forgot to say. When I say "it wasn't that bad" what I mean is that I would be more forgiving to people who had it worse. It's more of a personal measure where I can tolerate stuff from people who had particular traumas or from those who suffered greatly (it's not my place to be a bitch here). I can forgive 14 years old or a poor person for stealing stuff but not the 25-year-old man who got no need for money and is not a kleptomaniac. I would be more forgiving to Shigaraki than to Dabi because Shigaraki was groomed a whole lot. Same for Toga, who is not even an adult or Twice who is a poor orphan. But that doesn't mean I would forgive them completely. All of them are shitty people. It's just that they had fewer resources and possibilities to not be what they became while Dabi had more but he acts like he is extremely hurt and the biggest victim which is like... There will be people like this in your life, please, don't make friends with them, they WILL abuse you

I talked a lot damn. It's adhd I can't shut up

[salty-lesbians]

funny how women of all colours, time ages, and beliefs/religions can relate to eachother on the pains of womanhood yet transwomen only relate to eachother by being in elevated drag and wanting creepily in a biffaloo bill way to have a female body.

Literally! They pick groups of women they believe will 'relate' to them more and run with it. They believe black women and women with pcos/infertile women should relate to them more but no.

I have pcos and I have more in common with a black woman than I do a 'transbian', even if our lived experiences are different our sex connects us in a way that males won't ever understand. I would feel safer in a bathroom/change room full of black and/or infertile woman than I would with one single male.

Even gay men don't understand my experiences on the basis of sexuality as much as as other women do on the basis of sex.

I was taught different ways to avoid rape/kidnapping as a kid, walk in the middle of the street in dark, quiet roads. Yell fire, don't go anywhere alone, how to hide a weapon, always watch your drink, if it's been out of your sight then it's no longer yours. My dad would regularly tell me men were animals with only sex on the mind and that's all they'd ever want me for, essentially not to trust them.

I tried to hide my growing breasts as adults and students alike would comment on them, at 11 I was already a C cup and being asked why I didn't wear a bra, for some reason 'they're uncomfortable' wasn't good enough. Kids I never even really spoke to would talk to me just to ask why I wasn't wearing one. I didn't have friends in one school I went to because people believed I stuffed my shirt

I got my period at 10 at my friends house. I remember her mum setting up a little blackboard and teaching me what a period was, I thought it was exciting in all honesty. I quickly learnt from peers at school that it was something to be ashamed of or embarrassed by.

I had grown men hit on me more at 12 than I do now at 21, I was regualrly cat called but told that it wasn't offensive when it offended me, that it was just a compliment even though I didn't like it, in fact I hated it. I remember at 13 my friend telling a car full of men in their 20's to fuck off, we both kept looking over our shoulder for a while after that.

I had a kid in my year level who I thought was a friend ask me for nudes when I was 12 and I said no, he kept pressuring me and eventually after countless "no's" he gave up. It was humiliating. I felt so ashamed and disgusted by it, when I told my mum she told me that's just what boys do and not to worry about it, even when I said it made me upset she told me it nothing to be upset over. My best friend slammed him against a wall the next day and told him to never ask me something like that again or she'd kick his ass. (The same friend who screamed at the car of men)

I was bullied for not shaving, (only by boys mind you), some of who had more body hair than me. I didn't understand why my body hair was disgusting and made me a "gorilla" while theirs didn't, theirs wasn't even mentioned. I've been likened to a monkey countless times, jokingly a lot by my parents but the fact my brother isn't doesn't go unnoticed. I cannot shave consistently, even if I wanted to, as I often get infections. Instead of respecting my decision to not shave I'm given alternatives like laser hair removal.

I learnt after my first relationship that men, even your friends, didn't respect you like they respected eachother. A friend of mine dated my ex shortly after we broke up and he asked his friend if he was uncomfortable with it considering he had a crush on her. I didn't hear anything about it until they were already dating. I wasn't asked if I was alright with him talking about it until he'd been talking about it for a good 20 minutes. All in all not a horrible story but it showed me that his other friends comfort and feelings were evidently more important that mine due to the "bro code".

I had grown men talk to me online when I was 16, when I was severely depressed. One kept trying to sext me even after I told him it made me uncomfortable. I sent him a (sfw) selfie and he told me he 'loved the schoolgirl look' I was in school, it wasn't simply just 'a look' and he knew that. I had another man in my town get angry when I didn't want to go to his house alone 20 minutes after meeting him, he knew he was my only way home. I still think about what could have happened had I gone there.

I was well on my way to becoming a "sub" and getting involved in bdsm because of porn. It was so normalised to watch it that I didn't even realise that I was addicted, I didn't know you could get addicted! I believed I'd be some man's sub because that's what everyone's into right? At the time I thought I was bi and I believed to be with someome I had to either be a sub or dom and I couldn't be a 'dom' because I didn't like the idea of hurting someone, I didn't consider why it was ok for someone to like hurting me though. I would probably be in that kind of relationship had it not been for the radfem community and @radicallyaligned specifically bravely talking about her experiences. I was never really given the sex talk, I learnt everything from the internet which is so harmful for young girls.

I grew up interested in crime shows which means I grew up hearing about women being raped, trafficked and murdered. Even as a kid I understood they were targeted for being women, then I got older and I learnt about what the women before me endured and what the women worldwide continue to endure and I know they were and are targeted for their sex.

Those were my experiences but they're experiences I know many other women relate to, experiences I've been able to talk about with other women. This is how we're raised and taught to accept as normal. Trans women slap on she/her pronouns, some make up and a dress, they put on the chains we're forced to wear and think they understand any of that. It's quite frankly insulting.

[fairyshuuu]

Bleached Lilac

Pairing: Winwin x Reader Genre: Fluff, angst Length: 16.3k Warnings: mental abuse, physical abuse, addiction, attempt of suicide, abusive parents, alcoholism, extreme bullying, suicide mentions, substance use (it’s not all bad, i’m just being thorough) I love everyone in nct the most, I just needed a bad guy. Forgive me.

You sigh, rolling your eyes back into your skull. You hate Literature. Nothing against the subject itself, just… the people in your lecture hall are annoying, and loud. And having to spend 2 hours with them, two days a week, is too much. You tug your hood up more, hiding your bleach blonde hair from sight. You wanted to color it something cool, but got stuck mid-bleaching with fried hair that doesn’t want to pick up any color.

Somehow, you’ve grown to like it. It fits you. You chew your gum mindlessly, trying to distract yourself from the noises in the back, and look back down at your notes. You’re lucky to be keeping up quite well. You really can’t afford not to be though, this is the only shot you have at improvement. It’s one you’re not planning on slipping through your fingers.

The professor beams up the powerpoint, and claps his hands. “Right.” You look around the hall quickly. A lot of people skip Literature. The class that was overspilling with students the first two lessons now barely has a half of their population on most lessons. “Guys! Quiet down now.” Your prof droans, walking to his desk.

“Before we begin today, let me just quickly take the time to address that we have a new student in our class. Dong Sicheng is a Chinese transfer student. I expect you all to behave like adults and help him if he needs help, since his English isn’t the best.” At the mention, everyone in the room turns around, looking for said person.

You can’t hold yourself, and turn back. All the way at the back of the hall, sits a young man with his black hoodie tucked over his head, looking down at his notes with a flush. Murmurs break out. He doesn’t look up from his notes though, hiding more into himself. You turn back to the front. That wouldn’t be you. You have enough on your plate already. Tutoring wouldn’t become another one of your worries.

You tug your hood forward again a bit when it slides back, and brush your hair behind your ear. Good that you’re sitting all alone, and not between the mess of people that congregate in the middle seats, and talk through the entire lesson. Class starts, and the professor starts catching up with last week’s lesson. At the one familiar voice, you just sigh. Too bad that you’re still in class with some people who know you from high school. High school sucked.

Walking out of class goes quickly, since you were sitting pretty much next to the door. You don’t have classes anymore for today, and would like to get home as soon as you can. You carefully squeeze past two girls who walk in front of you, and speed your steps a little more, rushing through the hall. You still have to go to the store for your mom, and-

“Hey!” You freeze for a second at the loud shout, keeping your eyes to the floor, before pulling your bag up more and speeding up the pace. Not for you, please, not for you. Not today, not right now. “Hey.” It sounds again, closer this time, with multiple sets of speeded footsteps. An arm slams down in the wall in front of you, blocking your path. You just pause your steps, and wrap your hands tighter around the straps of your bag.

“Hi there. So nice to run into you again.” The deep voice chuckles, earning more than a few laughs. You take a deep breath, before turning to the young man standing in your way. Johnny Seo. You look at the people gathered around you, like a pack of vultures. Do they really have to hold you up in the middle of the hall? People who pass look over at you with wide eyes, before whispering to each other while they walk out.

You lower your eyes to the floor again after taking a quick glance at the leading faces. Lee Taeyong. Jung Yoonoh. The Neo Oasis kids. Another horde of students pass, going to get lunch at this hour, probably. They all look at you, the person who is surrounded by guys from the most popular frat house, but no one dares to find out why you pissed them off. Johnny is the one to start, though you don’t look up at him at all. “Don’t have anything to say? Cat got your tongue?” He janks your chin up so he can look you in the face. “Or is it still glued to some old guy’s cock?”

“Fucking disgusting.” Taeyong grunts, earning some approval from the guys behind him. They are all NOC guys. Of course.

Yoonoh’s face pulls into one of disgust. “Wait, I guess I missed half of the conversation earlier, when I was talking to that chick in Literature. What the fuck is going on?”

“The slut that sucked off my uncle Terry.” Johnny lifts his one brow. “This is her.” You try to pull your face from his grip but it only results in Johnny grabbing your arm as well. It stings really bad, and you need to clench your teeth to keep tears from welling up. You didn’t ever do anything to these guys, you really didn’t.

“Oh,” Yoonoh responds, pulling his fingers through his honey colored hair, before swallowing, “I think I’m gonna puke.” He turns to you then, looking you up and down two times, before looking away with a frown. “Why would anyone want to touch that drunk fuck?”

Johnny shrugs. “You’re asking something there, bro. But I guess she’s used to it. Her dad and mom are alcoholics too, so it must come natural to her. Doyoung saw her go into his home just last week.”

“How old is that dude?” Taeyong cuts in. “Isn’t he like 56 or something? Everything must have sagged down to his knees at that point. How can she even- uh, fuck mate, I get sick just thinking about it.”

Rumours are dirty things.

You swallow, pulling your hair loose from your ponytail, and pull your old bag on your back. You hate working as a waitress, but it’s the only thing people want you in, and your parents need the money. So you work hard three days a week, to make sure you all don’t starve. The evening is cold, it makes your breath into little clouds.

You quicky pull the door of the restaurant closed behind you, and walk down the road home. You rush down the littered sidewalk quickly, body tired and aching to get into bed, glancing to your right for just a second. An older man sits on the sidewalk, sweating like he has a fever, surrounded by a few empty bottles. He murmurs to himself, in his drunken stupor. Your legs slow automatically.

You look left and right for anyone who might know this man, but you already know that it won’t be the case. Biting your lip, you blink, and walk over. You can’t just leave him in the cold, he’ll freeze. You’ve had to bring your parents home in a near hypothermic state more times than you can count. “Sir?”

“Wha-? I’m not hurting anyone, sir. I swear!” He mumbles, waving his bottle left to right. “I’m just- restin’ for a bit.”

You sigh, and nod. “Okay. I know. Come on, I’ll bring you home. Do you have your wallet with you? Anything that says your address?”

“I don’t have no money no more. You can’t take nothing from me.”

You help the man up, letting him rest into your frame, as you wrap his one arm around your shoulder. He reeks of a multitude of heavy alcohol. “I’m going to take your wallet out, to find your address, okay?” You sigh, and pull him up a little more, holding onto him with one arm, while the other fishes out his wallet. He mumbles some disagreements, but you have his clinic card out in a second. It says his address in clear letters on the front, along with the name of the kick-off clinic he goes to.

“Okay,” you sigh again, before starting to walk, “lets get you home, Mr. Seo.” You’ll be home late today, it’s quite the detour.

You swallow, before looking up at the guy. “Can you please let go of me? I just want to go home. My parents will worry.”

That calls for bursts of laughter. “Sure they will.” Johnny’s lips curl into a nasty grin. “And then they will grab for the nearest bottle, and forget they even have a child.” He lets go of your face. “Tell me. How bad do you have it? Do you need a bottle before bed too? Or do you just drink ‘casually’, like all of them?”

“I don’t drink. Now please,” you murmur, twisting your arm against his grip painfully, wincing at the skin that gets pinched, “let go of me. I never did anything like that. Just leave me alone.” You keep pulling, but really, Johnny is two heads taller than you, there’s nothing you can do. He uses his weight to keep you in place against the wall.

“Oohh, she’s feisty.” Taeyong giggles. He walks over, and grabs a handful of your hair, causing Johnny to chuckle. The pink haired man yanks your head back painfully, as you grab at his hands painfully. “I like that.” His other hand grabs at your shirt, pushing it up to reveal your waist, while you try desperately to get away.

Everything Taeyong does is followed by laughs of the others though. “Get off of me!” You yelp.

“She’s not bad, too. Look at that ass.” Taeyong grunts, holding you still. Again, people laugh.

“Turn her around, dude, we can’t see!” Someone yells, to which Taeyong gladly obliges. He turns you the other way, wrapping his one arm around your hips.

“Just too fucking bad that she’s probably filled with diseases, Tae. I mean, can’t be any different if she fucks a dude that sleeps on the street. But you have some yourself, so you don’t mind that, right?” Yoonoh grins, squeezing his friend’s shoulder.

“Oh, fuck off.” Taeyong huffs, before finally letting go off you, and pushing you to the floor. People giggle at the interaction between the two friends, and all walk away, you already forgotten on the floor by most. Johnny stays looking back for a while though. He walks over, pulls your bag open, and yanks out your books.

“Good riddance picking me, of all people, to piss off. Have fun the rest of your school run, whore.” He tosses your papers against the wall then, watching them spread all over the hall, and walks away, tossing his arm around one of the guys at the end of the pack.

Only when they all disappear down the hall completely, that you turn to lie on your back, and stare up at the ceiling. Your eyes sting, and soon tears are rolling down your cheeks, as you tug your shirt down as far as it can go. With shaky arms, you push yourself up, and wipe the tracks on your face away. Normally, you’d be embarrassed, but everyone has already left to go get food, so you guess there’s no one to be embarrassed to.

As quickly and silently as you can, you bend down to collect all your papers, and stuff them into your bag. Half of the papers crinkle in the process. You don’t care, you want to get out of here. When you look at the floor, you see some drops reflecting on the ground. You swipe them away with your foot, and straighten up, turning the opposite way the guys left.

You eyes flutter for a second. In the middle of the hall, there’s someone looking at you with wide eyes. You recognize him. It’s the new transfer student, that sat all the way in the back of the lecture. His hair is wild and fluffy, tucked into his black hood which is pulled up all the way. It’s a soft shade of faded purple, standing out against his warm skin color perfectly.

His eyes are wide and soft, as he focusses straight on you, from where you’re staring back at him, a slight blush on his face. You don’t know if he saw. You hope not. He blinks a couple of times, before finally closing his mouth. You just take a deep breath, lower your eyes to the floor, and walk past as quickly as your legs let you. Your footsteps echo the hall too loud, drumming through your frame. You hurry past, and take the quickest way home.

--

You pause when getting at the door. Shouts sound from inside, both male and female. Only when they die down and the hall is left in silence, do you move again. You bite your lip and fumble for the keys in your pocket. The door to your apartment is painted a gross green color, though the paint is chipped off in multiple places. You jam in the keys quickly, and keep your head low. You know what you’re walking into, and the best way not to get hit is to not look.

You push open the door, and quickly shut it again behind you. You floor is littered with papers, empty bottles and candy wrappers, like always. You walk past the table, and over to the back room. When you push it open, you’re met with a strong smell of whiskey. You sigh, and drop your bag by the door, walking over to the bed.

Your mom is lying in the bed, empty glass on the bedside table, and deep streaks of purple under her eyes. Her eyes flutter when you put your hand on her forehead, and brush away some of her hair. “Wh- Ah- little-”

“It’s me, mom.” You mumble, taking her hand as she reaches it out for your cheek. Every time she drinks, she thinks that you are your little sister, which means she thinks that a lot. You’re not little Sophie. Sophie is dead, has been for years. You don’t tell that her right now though. You stand up and walk into the kitchen.

With a small hop, you climb onto the counter, and reach up to get a glass out of the cabinet, hopping down with more care, so that you don’t accidentally smash it. You quickly fill it up with some cold tap water, and look around for a second. You don’t see your dad, but you know that he’s most likely home. He had work in the morning, which means that he went to a bar after, and must be home for a while now.

With soft steps you walk back into the room. Your mom has been addicted for 23 years now, falling back in and out of it so many times you’ve lost track. You dad has been addicted for even longer. Both of them have been drinking too much as long as you can recall, though the last 7 years have been much worse.

You sit back down next to her on the edge of the bed. “Here you go.”

She shakes her head though, reaching her trembling fingers over to the empty bottle of whiskey. “I want this.” She says, frowning at you. The water gets pushed aside, almost spilling everything on the floor.

“You can’t have any more, mom.” You murmur, reaching over to pry the bottle out of her hands, but she doesn’t let go. “Mom. You can’t have anymore, let go!”

“I want this!” She suddenly screams, pushing you off the bed in anger, and sending you to your knees on the beige carpet.

You just close your eyes, and hold the tremble of your lip, standing up again. When you reach for the bottle, she screams like a child throwing a tantrum, before swinging the thing back and forward to keep you away.

You just look at her for a while, tears welling up to rest at the sides of your lashes, and take a shaky breath. You can’t do this today. “Where is dad? Do I need to put him to bed too?”

“I want more, right now!” Your mom seethes in anger, angrily fisting her hand into her hair.

“You can’t have any more! You drank the whole bottle! You drank everything! It’s gone!” You yell. Your voice rings through the apartment for a second. You really, really don’t want to do this today. You sink down the floor next to the bed, and hide your face in your knees. If you would only be strong, so that you could help your parents through this like a good child would. You don’t want to right now, though. You’re disgusting, and selfish.

Loud stomps sound from the bathroom then, and in two seconds you’re wrapping your arms around your neck and face. Your dad pulls open the bedroom door. “What is all the noise in here?! What are you doing!” His voice sounds double too, tongue thick from the alcohol, just like how you predicted.

“Nothing. I’m not doing anything.” You whisper, chest pulling into itself. You don’t want to have to cover up another bruise for the next two weeks.

“What?! Speak up.” He barks, looking over your mother and then at you. His height towers over you even now when you’re an adult. “And this is what I come home to! I work the entire day, and for what! You two are home the entire day, you can’t even make sure the house is clean and the food is ready!”

“I was at school.” You say, making sure you’re not talking into your clothes this time.

He walks around the bed, and glares down at you, hands hanging next to his body limply. “I said speak up! Don’t say anything if you don’t want me to hear it!”

“I was speaking up!” You say, clenching your teeth. You recognize your mistake as soon as his hand connects with the underside of your jaw. His smack is sloppy, knocking you over.

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady! Do you have any idea who you are talking to?! I have to take it from your mother, I’m not taking it from you.” He towers over you, and points an angry finger, clenching his teeth. “Understood?”

You just swallow, and hold your hand against your chin, pulling up your nose when it starts running. Your eyes skim over the grains of the wooden bedframe. “Yes, dad.” You’ll probably have to go find him in the early morning, hanging at the bar. Another detour before school.

--

You keep your face down when walking into the lecture hall. This class is Linguistics, one you don’t share with most of the NOC guys, but you’d rather not catch anyone’s eyes at all, today. Your bruise didn’t show up too much, so a layer of concealer was able to hide it pretty well. Your grey sweater is to warm, but you don’t dare wear short sleeves, for multiple reasons.

Your hands shake a little when you take a seat more at the top of the chairs, and put your bag down. You haven’t had money to buy new contacts, which is why you sit at the front, but you don’t want to be in the direct view of anyone. As silently as possible, you take out your book and some empty papers, before sitting down.

Further along the row, all the way against the wall, sit a couple, but they are too lost in their own world to even spare you a glance. The other seats next to you are empty. You sigh deeply, and pull the hood down from your face. It’s really hot here. You quickly flick to the correct page in your textbook, and read over it again quickly.

Only when feet appear in your line of vision, you pause. You don’t dare to look at the person. Surely, they wouldn’t start something in the middle of class. The feet pause a little when passing by your row, that’s all that you can see out of the corner of your vision. For a moment you think they’ll just walk past to sit in the very last row, but the person turns around.

He, judging by the black sneakers, you guess it’s a he, walks into your row, and sits down two seats away. When he bends down to get his stuff out, you glance over. The transfer student. Oh, that’s right, you’re probably sitting in his seat. Immediately, your anxiety ebbs away, and you let your head lull back in defeat. Your body hurts from being stressed all day.

You look back at the front, but glance over at the taller boy once again. He has a backpack with pikachu on there, along with a bunch of other pokémon, and a bright red pencil case. Strange contrast between the all black he’s wearing. You look down at your own clothes. You’re also dressed in all back, apart from your sweater, which has a giant oker and blue school logo on the front.

You tutt your lips. You just want the class to pass quickly. Suddenly, a soft voice breaks your little bubble. “I’m- Winwin.” You look over, while the young guy peers at you from under his hair. His voice is deep, a silvery roll of words, even though he has only spoken so little.

You bite your lip, and give him a shy nod, hesitating for a split second. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” You don’t look him in the eyes as you say it, though. It’s just a habit you picked up. You don’t like making eye contact when talking. The little exchange you had quiets down after that, both of you seemingly unsure what to say.

Winwin swallows, and looks to the front, picking at his papers mindlessly. Your mouth goes into a tight line, as you look to the front too. “You- you know… China?” The soft spoken boy suddenly says, turning back over to you. His words sound quite foreign, and very unsure. You can’t help the little smile that crosses your lips at that. It’s cute.

“Yes.”

Winwin nods, and looks around the hall again, before looking back once more. “You go… to China?”

You blink at him softly, before a giggle erupts. You’re not laughing at him, not at all, it’s just that he looks so boy-ish and shy when he speaks, that you can’t help but find it terribly adorable. “I’ve never gone to China, no. But if I had the chance, I would love to go.”

“I’m from China.” He smiles, nodding happily.

“I’m from here. I have lived 10 minutes away my entire life.” You counter, leaning over your desk a little. Not that you’ve never had friends, you had some in high school, but in college you never got brave enough to introduce yourself to anyone. So now you didn’t really have anyone to talk to anymore, let alone call a friend.

“Are you English major?”

“Yeah, I am. What about you? ”

Winwin juts out his bottom lip, and gestures with his hand. “Uhm- in- international…” He doesn’t seem to remember the second word, so just says it in Chinese. “International-”

“Oh, international relations!” You cut in, glad to see Winwin nod.

“International relations.” He repeats, clicking his pen a few times. “My English is … not good.” He seems apologetic saying it, while you raise your eyebrows.

“No, it’s good! I can’t even speak English properly, let alone another language.” At that Winwin blanks for a second, before smiling. You guess he needs some time mentally translating the sentences.

“You new-”

Winwin gets interrupted by the professor that speaks up suddenly. “We have a lot to go over, everyone. Please pay attention from now on, we’re starting.” She calls, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

You give Winwin an apologetic smile, and look at the front. The boy looks a little shocked by the sudden interruption. He looks around truly lost, before bending over his book and starting to flick in it. You look over twice, before leaning over the empty seat, and whispering under your breath.

“Page 36, at the bottom.”

Winwin gives you a big eyed stare, before relaxing a little, and smiling. “Thank you.” You slide back in your seat then, and give him a thumbs up, which he copies.

--

You and Winwin have a load of classes together, it turns out. You don’t know why he needs a lot of the courses an English major needs, but you guess it’s to get more accustomed to English, and how it sounds in a natural habitat. You can’t even imagine having lectures in another language though. Every lesson you two both have, you and Winwin end up sitting together in the back of the room.

He doesn’t know a lot of English, but tries his very best to keep conversation going, something you appreciate immensely. Though you don’t have a lot of conversations, you think he starts feeling more comfortable very quickly. You help him with lessons, or try your best to, since you don’t know Chinese. The week passes quite quickly, and Thursday afternoon, you and Winwin walk the same way out of the building.

“Mrs. Toblone is not very nice though, I think you’ll have her on Monday. If you need any help, just ask me and I’ll-” Loud, high pitched giggling sounds from the side of the hall. You look over. Sat on the windowsill sit two girls, looking up from their phones to stare in your direction. Winwin’s shoulders immediately tense.

“Hey, Winko!” One of the girls calls. Her long brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail, as she takes out one of her headphones. You don’t recognize either of them. She flutters her long lashes for a second. “How has the dorm life been so far? Do you enjoy your little side of campus?” You frown at the tone she uses to talk to him. It sounds extremely condescending. What the hell is her problem?

Her friend smiles, before talking too. “There’s another ching chong there, right? Have you two been getting along well?” Your mood takes a flip for the worst very quickly, but you don’t dare cut in. Most of the time that doesn’t help against pretentious people like that. “Still not gonna talk?” She giggles.

“Suit yourself.” The other rolls her eyes, and pushes her headphones back in. You just take a deep breath and keep walking, grabbing a hold on Winwin’s hand. He doesn’t say anything when you do, though he flinches a little at the sudden move. You keep a hold on his hand until you are outside the halls, and breathe in deeply. You know what it feels like to be bullied, and it sucks.

Winwin seems like a genuinely good person though, he doesn’t deserve that. You deserve the torment, he doesn’t. Winwin smiles softly when you let go of his hand and cross your arms over your chest. “They don’t like me.” He mumbles.

You instantly frown. “Don’t worry about stupid girls like that. What do they know, anyway? I don’t see them learning a new language from scratch. They’re just stupid, pretentious bimbos.” Winwin looks at you a little blankly, like he doesn’t understand a word of what you just said, but he seems to appreciate the sentiment. You sigh, and give him a little push in his arm, smiling. “I like you. And other people will like you too.”

After that you and Winwin get close really quickly. He doesn’t say much, but there seems to be some sort of mutual understanding between you both. You hang out on Sunday, to run over your notes, as you read them out loud for him, rolling around on his bed. His dorm is very clean, surprisingly. Monday, you sit together before class starts, and watch as he draws little smiley faces as a border on his paper.

Winwin is a genuinely bright person, you notice. He loves taking time while walking to look around and stare at the sky, or thanking people multiple times when buying food. You start really anticipating seeing him again, since it gives you a sense of normality, to hang out with him. One thing you don’t look up to though, is Tuesday. Winwin smiles when walking into Literature, and gives you a little shove when you tug up your hood more.

Normally, you’d play back, but one glance at the group of loud guys in the middle of the room, and your entire mood is spoiled. Winwin notices pretty quickly, and looks up at the rest of the room. You take a deep breath and stick to the wall when ascending the stairs, hoping that some of the other people that walk up too hide you from the view.

Winwin takes hold of your hand when you get to the middle of the stairs, and pulls you back. “Y/N?” He catches your eyes, and then points at the board. “Eyes hurt.”

You told Winwin about your contacts over the weekend, and that sitting in the back made you have to squint the entire lesson, so on Monday you both took a seat more to the middle of the room. Now though, you want to get as far away from the middle of the room as possible. You bite your lip, and shake your head intently, pulling your friend past the middle rows.

“Not in the middle, Win.” You whisper, and keep your face to the ground, in hopes that they didn’t see you. Winwin looks confused, but follows behind you to where you take a seat all the way at the back. When you sit down and slump into your seat, the boy frowns.

“Why?” He runs a hand through his floof of hair, and blinks his big, dark brown eyes at you, pouting a little.

You just blink blankly, and look at your table. In your peripherals, you can see Yoonoh turn back in his seat though, glancing in your direction quickly. “Fuck.” You bite your cheek and lean down to get your stuff out, slamming it down on the table way more aggressive then normal.

Yoonoh whispers something to Johnny, before they both start laughing. It catches Winwin’s attention too. You really didn’t want to deal with them today. Luckily class starts soon, and you are glad to sink back all the way in your seat, to hide from anyone’s view. You can practically see the talk about you spread through the room, eyes and faces turning back and looking back to the front, before giggling or talking is hushed tones to their friend.

The entire lecture hall seems to know about the rumors that the NOC kids started. Rumors backed by zero actual evidence, but they don’t care. They just want a reason to hate you. Johnny already hated you way back in high school, when he discovered, along with a lot of your class, that your parents were drunk most of the time. Why it bothered him on a personal level, you don’t know.

You take notes to the best of your ability, but it’s hard when you keep feeling eyes on the side of your face, both from other students and Winwin. The class crawls past painstakingly slow. When you finally watch the clock tick on the last minute and the professor announces the end of class, you sigh deeply, closing your eyes.

“Y/N?” Winwin stands up from the seat, and starts packing his stuff into his backpack, as he glances over to you. “Go to my house and study?” You rub your hands over your eyes for a second, before looking up at him. His pout is obvious.

You swallow, and see movement from the corner of your eye, before pushing your nails into your arm. “No, not today. You can go on!” You smile at him, and stand up from your chair. You know Johnny and his posse is coming, but you’d rather have Winwin out of the mix. Your smile slips off as you help him stuff his textbook into his bag.

Before you know it though, a group of people appear at your side. Most students are leaving the room, and you can hear a girl laugh as she walks out. “Whore.” You just keep your eyes on the floor, and then look back over at Winwin. He’s not looking at you though.

“Hey, Y/N.” Johnny trails his finger over the edge of the desk, and grins down at you. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” His dark eyes slide over to Winwin then, who looks quite lost. “Who’s this?” He most likely knows who Winwin is, he just feels the need to drag him into the conversation.

You fist your hands into your papers, grabbing them tight to keep your hands from shaking. “I’d just like to go to my next class, if it’s the same for you.” You mumble, and put your stuff into your black backpack. When you look back over though, Johnny has his eyes fixed on Winwin, who doesn’t look away. “Johnny.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch, I asked him a question.” Johnny puts his hands on the desk, leaning forward a bit with a cock of his eyebrow. Winwin stares with a small pout, before looking back at you. When he does, Johnny grins, cocking his head in disbelief. “Taeyong,” he calls, making the pink haired man look up from his bored scrolling on his phone from his spot against another desk, “did I fucking stutter?”

Taeyong looks between you and the taller man next to you twice, before frowning. “The guy must be a mute. You didn’t stutter to me.” He straightens up when you zip up your bag and look at the floor. “Honestly, bro, I’d rather go back to Taeil and the guys, than spend time having to look at these freaks.” He puts a hand on his taller friend’s shoulder. “Besides, nothing we could say could can make her look like more of a fucking loser than she is, just look at the girl. The freak gang doesn’t need our help.”

Johnny laughs at that, and straightens up, his height towering above you. “You’re right.” He stuffs his hands in his pants, and frowns at you. “We’re holding a party at the frat tonight. If you or your dumb lapdog even so much as come anywhere near the house, I’ll make you wish I’d do something as nice as beat your face in.” He gives you a mean smile, before pushing your hood off, and ruffling your hair. “Have a good day~”

His footsteps, along with those of the set of guys waiting for him, ring through the otherwise practically empty lecture hall, as you blink at the floor blankly. Without being able to help it, tears line your waterline, but you blink them away before they can fall. You swallow, and pull your bag up your shoulder, before looking over at Winwin. He’s staring the side of your face, but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure how much of the conversation made sense to him, but most of it must have been pretty clear by the tone used.

You feel sorry towards him. This is all your fault. If you wouldn’t have been friends with Winwin, he wouldn’t be in this situation. You are so stupid. You grab his backpack from the floor, and hand it to him. “Why didn’t you go, like I asked you to?” You breathe, and take a step to the side, walking past. His hand wraps around your wrist as you do.

“Who is that?” His voice is heavy, deep, and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear he looks angry.

You just give him an empty smile. “Someone who doesn’t like me a whole lot.”

“Why?”

You look away, and pull your arm from his reach. You don’t want to talk about it, not to him. Not to the first person who seems to be able to stand you on most days, you won’t ruin that. “Go home, Win. Can you do me a favor and try to work out the exercise for Calc on your own tonight? You’re good at that. I’ll try to figure out the lab, and explain it to you tomorrow then.”

Winwin’s eyebrows pull together, but his face stays soft. His eyes glide over your face when you look away, before he sighs. “Meet tomorrow?”

“Yup.” You give him another empty smile, one you’re sure doesn’t reach your eyes, before patting his arm. “I’ll come to your dorm tomorrow, after my class. See ya.”

--

The days fly past way quicker than you imagined they would. School starts becoming your primary focus, Winwin, your second. He doesn’t question you, or your silence, and you’re eternally grateful for that. Along with the days picking up, so does the talking. People laugh when you walk past, whispering things to their friends. You don’t know what they say, but you don’t really feel like hearing it.

Johnny’s words get more mean with every interaction, but luckily those are rare. He doesn’t seem to want to spend his time on you. The damage is done though, people know. Winwin hangs out with you a lot though, which makes NOC despise him almost as much as they do you. And even though you don’t want him to suffer because of you, you’re glad to have him.

On a weekend where your parents are out, you invite him to your house, after a gigantic cleaning. He studies hard, along with making some shy jokes, the more comfortable he becomes in his speaking. Months go by in a flash, time in which you rely too much on the soft spoken boy, but he relies on you too. It’s scary, because you’re around him all the time. Every free moment you have is spent with Winwin, and somewhere along the road you started to think about him as your best friend.

You don’t want to think about what will happen if he leaves. So you don’t. That doesn’t stop your thoughts from drowning you at night. Every time he leaves, the words swarm your mind. You cry at night, until your eyes are so swollen you can’t even feel the tears anymore. Your parents don’t notice, of course they don’t.

Every time you wake up though, that one beam of light still stays. Winwin, with a cup of coffee, waiting at the end of your street. He’s gotten more buff since coming here first, since hitting the gym before class. You don’t know how he does it. The only thing different about you is your roots that have been steadily growing out. You should really get that done again. Through the months, you also hear people talking about the parties. All the parties you never got invited to.

You wonder sometimes if Winwin regrets talking to you that first day, because now he misses out too. You can’t help but think he must, deep down. He never mentions it though, and you guess he likes hanging out with you whenever you get the chance. Whenever you two go to his dorm, you get to stay over, something you love about Winwin more than anything, because you hate being left alone with your thoughts.

You’ve broken into your parents alcohol cupboard a lot in the last few months. It’s something you’re not proud of in the slightest, but it numbs the pain that nights alone bring, and it’s really the only way that you can fall asleep. You feel safe when you’re tucked in next to Winwin, who doesn’t mind sharing a bed. It’s nice this way, you feel like a normal person for some moments throughout the day.

--

You’re about to walk out of class when suddenly one of the girls you recognize from seeing around class stands up on her desk and turns around with a giggle, some of her friends cheering her on. She smiles widely and flicks her long brown hair off her shoulder, before clearing her throat. “It’s my birthday today!” She beams. You resist the urge to roll your eyes because that’s a little over the top in your opinion, but go along when everyone wishes her happy birthday.

When you look over at Winwin, he’s cheering enthusiastically, shaking his little sweater paws. You chuckle at the young man’s antics, and go to put your stuff in your bag.

“Thank you!” The girl smiles, before making another round on her desk. “So because it is my birthday, I’m having a party at my house tonight! And I expect you all to come!”

Her friend chimes in too, grinning proudly. “Heorin on Blackwood Avenue 6!”

Then they leave, under loud chattering from the others in the room. You look around for a second, and pause. ‘All’ as in, you all? ‘All’ as in, also you and your friend who people talk bad about all the time? That seems unlikely. When you turn to face Winwin though, he has this look on his face, arms crossed over his chest easily.

He stares for a moment, and then nods. “You want to go.” He says it just like that, which makes you frown. Sure, you want to go. But you’re not willing to get embarrassed by trying to get into a party and then have people toss you out after two minutes.

You lift your eyebrows at him, and stuff away your pencil case. “Is that a question or a statement, Win?”

“A fact.” He reaches over at takes your backpack out of your hands so you can’t hide your face in there, and ruffles your hair with a smile. “If you want to go, we’ll go.”

You just smile and try to take your backpack out of his hold. “I don’t think so. They don’t want me there.”

“They do. So that’s decided then. We’re going. So go home and get dressed. Text me when you’re ready.” Winwin uncrosses his arms and leans in to pinch your cheek. He smiles happily when you swat away his hand, but doesn’t give you room for discussion. “Want me to walk you home?”

You sigh but decide to give in. “No, I’ll be fine. You get home safely, please.” You pat him on the butt to usher him out of your way. Maybe it would actually be a fun night. Your parents are out of town too, so you don’t have to worry about them for a while.

“You too. I’ll come by later, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod, and give your best friend a quick goodbye hug.

--

You hadn’t expected to get inside like how you did. A slightly intoxicated Heorin had welcomed you with a friendly smile, and pushed open the door for you, motioning you inside. You aren’t sure if she just doesn’t recognize you because you aren’t wearing one of your signature dark hoodies, but she doesn’t say anything. The long sleeved top and shorts you are sporting right now are a little exposing, but you are glad because the house is so warm.

You had expected this too, but not to the extent that even walking into a room made you sweat. Tons and tons of people are packed into the spacious living and dining room of the house, dancing along to some music with a bass that vibrates through your bones. You reach behind you to hold onto Winwin’s hand tightly, and try to push through some people. With a little luck, no one would recognize you.

You also checked, and to your knowledge, Johnny or the NOC pack have another party to waste their evening at, so they won’t be here to ruin your fun. When you finally get to a space where you can stand without having to be pressed up against multiple others, you turn to Winwin and smile up at him. “Why don’t you go check out the dance floor while I go find the bathroom? I’ll be back in a second, okay?”

The next half hour goes by in a flash, being filled with a mini search for the purple haired man, and a two sets of drinks. Your eyes slide over the crowd again and to your relief, you still see no sign of any of those horrendous bullies, which brings a true smile to your lips.

You quickly poor two solo cups, one for you, one for the lanky man awkwardly dancing with a girl that seems so drunk she might topple over any second. You giggle as you catch his eyes, the look of ‘help me’ he gives you growing with the second, and you walk over rapidly.

“If you take anyone home, she better not be even a 10th as drunk as Mrs. Floppy Noodle over here.” You grin, taking his hand to pull him out of the mess of people. You don’t think Winwin is one to just take a random girl home, though he definitely had the looks to do so.

At your words, his eyes widen about twice the size, and he gives you a shove. “I’m not taking someone home.” He pauses, and looks at the red solo cup you push into his hands. “Except you.”

Maybe you’re being too into the teasing, but that sounded like he’d take you home. You, to his home, his bed, and not for any innocent reasons like in the past. You know that that’s not what he means though, and smile. “You better get me home safe, big guy.” Winwin rolls his eyes, before holding up his drink to you. “Cheers, Winko.” You two tap cups, and throw back whatever you just poured into the cups.

It’s a mixture of vodka and some red drink you don’t know what it is, but tastes like something peach, and it burns in the back of your throat. You cough after downing the whole thing. “Ew, I think that wasn’t a good idea.”

Winwin still has a sour face too. “What is that?”

You grin. “I have no clue. It’s horrible.” You agree, and put the cups away. You smile at your friend, and take his hands. “Okay, now we’re going to dance. I don’t care if you want to or not.” Winwin sputters behind when you drag him away from the kitchen and through the mess of people, holding onto your hand tightly. You get to a spot where people are sitting in the couches a few feet away, but there’s still enough space to move around, and turn to him.

When you just start moving, Winwin stares for a second. You close your eyes, feeling the rush of alcohol spread slowly through your skin. You feel warm, a little hazy. And right now you really don’t care if you look stupid or not, because you feel nice. You feel confident, if that’s a word you’ve ever used to describe yourself.

Your eyes flutter open to see the purple haired man raking his eyes over you, from top to bottom. You tilt your head. “Winwin. You do have to move, you know.” He swallows, and starts swaying to the music. You know Winwin can dance, and really good at that, but this isn’t really the place to break out into a gorgeous and elegant Chinese dance, like you’ve seen him do twice while waiting for him to finish practice.

This is more of a awkwardly-side-step kind of situation, so you can’t blame him for looking uncomfortable. That, and you’re kind of standing two feet apart, which doesn’t give him much space. Instead of watching as he bounces on his feet, you reach for his hands and turn around, gently guiding him to hold onto your waist.

When you look back and smile, he breathes in deeply. His hands glide a bit higher, but he doesn’t look away. You take that as a go ahead, and start dancing again. It’s not even been five minutes but whatever you tossed back is already tingling in your system and making you feel ten times more confident than you are. You enjoy the way his warm hands rest on your sides, even if you know that he means absolutely nothing with that. When you close your eyes again and lean into him a little more, everything seems to blur and slow. Winwin’s fingers that press little ovals into the soft skin that just peeks from under your crop top. The vibrating of the loud music that bounces off the walls. The swaying of your hips, and in turn, Winwin’s along with you.

His hands move more down, to hold onto your upper thigh, chest pressing against your back. You reach up your hand and tangle it in the base of his hair, pulling gently. A soft hum is pressed into your hair when he brushes his lips along your head, pulling back quickly but long enough to make you flutter. Like a hot fever that rushes over you all of a sudden, you feel this incredible weight on your chest.

Gratefulness and love for your best friend, the only person who has ever taken you in fully, accepted and cherished all of your sides, even the ones you know are not worth to be seen in broad daylight. You stop moving, suddenly feeling too aware of what you’re doing, and turn around slowly. Your heart beats loudly in your chest.

Winwin’s eyes stay closed for a second longer, long lashes spread out beautifully and perfectly. His hands hover in mid-air, as if holding onto your ghost, before he opens his lids slowly, eyes finding yours. His dark orbs don’t move for a second, though you have to look away again. You feel his gaze on your face though. You swallow then and scan the room once, before smiling softly as you take one of his hands, and look over at his soft expression. “Do you want another drink?”

Two more drinks in, you start to feel full. Full of alcohol, full of emotions and full of sudden doubt. Some people glare at you when you walk past. Strangers, judging you on sight. You put your cup down on the counter and walk back to where you left Winwin, who had assured that he didn’t want another drink, and look at him where he’s resting against the wall for a second.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and is looking around with the most adorable blank slate expression. You’re so glad to have him. You breathe deeply, and pinch yourself once. It’s hard to know how you’re feeling, and what that means, when you’re in this state. Maybe the line between friendship and true romantic love has blurred because you’re so close, or maybe you are just standing on the line separating the two, you really aren’t sure anymore.

You’ve been in love only once though, so you can’t even really tell. You hope with all your heart though, that it’s just a deep rooted care for your friend. From what you remember, love is like a thick layer of fog at the break of dawn. It’s thick and there for a little while, shrouding everything, and then, as soon as it came, it burns away with the harshness of reality.

You don’t want to experience that with him. You want it to feel like this forever. You take another deep breath, and walk back over to him, smiling softly. Winwin looks up a little surprised when you suddenly come to stand in front of him. He doesn’t say anything, but opens his arms, to allow you to walk into his embrace. Right when you walk forward though, his breathing hitches. “Oh no.”

You look at his frown, and turn around. Johnny and Taeyong are standing at the far of the room, looking around casually. You hear tons of whispers from the girls around, and probably some boys too. Suddenly, you feel so small you might sink into the floor.

The infamous NOC frat commands attention as they walk around, greeting people and laughing. Johnny frowns though at something a friend of him whispers, and turns around in your direction. Since he towers out above most people, he spots you easily, definitely now that you don’t have a hood to hide your face in. As out of necessity, he walks over, face stone.

“I’ll give you two seconds to get the fuck out of my face.” He sighs, not even looking at you. He smiles at a girl behind you instead, winking at her. When you don’t move right away though, he looks at Winwin, and then at the ground where you’re stood. “What are you waiting for? A permit?”

You bite your lip harshly, and ball your fists. “We were here first. If you don’t want to be near me, then maybe go visit a party elsewhere.” You’re as surprised by your own courage as Johnny is.

The surprise melts into anger quickly though. Lucky for you Heorin comes to grab at your arm right at that moment. “Woah, what’s with the hostility, Johnny? We’re all trying to have a good time, right.”

He sighs, but tuts his lips at her. “If she’s staying, none of us are going to have a good time. I want her to fuck off out of my face. That’s all. No fights needed.”

Heorin opens her mouth to respond but you take that as your clue to leave. Really, your evening was ruined the moment he came through the door anyway, it’s not worth being tormented over even more later on. You grab your best friend’s hand, and walk out of the circle.

“Wha- Where are you going?” Heorin stumbles, “you don’t have to go! Don’t listen to Johnny here.”

You shake your head, looking at the floor instead of the gazes of the curious people around you. “We’ll be on our way. Thank you though.” The birthday girl sighs deeply, but waves it off when she sees you’ve made up your mind. You want out of here.

“Let me at least walk you out then.” You and Winwin keep close while Heorin leads you to the door, to keep the warmth between you two. You smile at the host of the party. The pretty girl sighs, and gives you two an apologetic look. “You’re welcome to come next time, really. I just-” She rubs her hand across her forehead, smoothing out the frown wrinkles. “Those guys are normally really fun to be around. Johnny most of all. I don’t know why he’s so rude and annoyed today.”

You shrug, and give her back her red solo cup. “They don’t like Winwin because he keeps me company. They don’t like me because…” You look at the floor and blink slowly. “Well, I’m sure the entire school knows the rumors by now.”

Heorin suddenly puts a hand on your shoulder, making you glance up in shock. “Not all of us believe everything that comes out of another’s mouth. I never believed the rumors in the first place.” With a small smile, you thank her soundlessly, before waving her back inside.

You give her a shy nod. “Go have fun. Thank you for letting us come out tonight.”

“Any time, sweetheart.” She nods, before waving again and closing the door. Winwin doesn’t say anything, though he suddenly pulls you into a tight hug. You blink blankly at the open stretch of road in your view, feeling his breathing on your collarbone. When he pulls back, he gives a tight lipped smile, before tugging you with to walk towards the sidewalk.

The road home would be pretty long. Your arms and belly get goosebumps almost right away, the difference of the night air stark with the inside walm of heat that comes from all people moving and rubbing up against each other. Strange to say that you enjoyed the night, when you don’t like either. You did though, you wish you and Winwin could come out more.

“I’m cold.” You sigh, pulling your top to cover more of your naked shoulders. The haze you felt inside somehow seems multiplied outside, blurring the houses on both sides. The street lights feel really bright, too. You swallow the thick feeling on your tongue, but it stays stuck in your mouth like glue. You might puke. “I’m really cold.” You say again, pouting at no one in particular.

Your taller friend nods, before looking down at your arms. He wraps his hands around yours, and pulls you into the side of his body, tucked safely under his arm. This way his shirt tickles your face, but you won’t complain. Winwin looks down at you after a second of silence, but you’re looking at the dents in the pavement, doing the best you can not to break your ankles on them.

“We can’t go to parties anymore.” His face is void when he says it, voice serious and jaw set.

Your lips curl up at that. There’s something humorous about being told the exact same thing so many times. “You sound like-” a giggle, “Johnny if you say that.” You look up at him, jutting out your bottom lip. Winwin looks down with his big brown orbs, face morphing into a frown. You just frown back, and blow out your cheeks. “You and your alcoholic friend aren’t welcome in the frat,” you mumble, lowering your voice to imitate said man, “take your mess somewhere else, freaks.”

Winwin shakes his head and looks back to the front, unable to help the small grin creeping up. It stays quiet for a while, as he mentally translates his words, and then he speaks up, deep voice sounding more playful than normal. “I hear some of druggies were ‘drugging’ under the bridge, go join them.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, giggling too much. “He definitely didn’t say that.”

“He said it to me.” He nods, pulling you aside a little to avoid a deep crack in the floor.

“No one says drugging~” you smile with a shake of your head, dragging out the word teasingly. “Who said that? Johnny?”

Winwin looks back at you again, before tutting his lips. “No, the other one.”

You smile at that. “The other one? Who? Taeyong?” At Winwin’s confirmation, you laugh again, letting your head fall back into his chest. You close your eyes for a second, listening to the blasting music from down the street, and sigh. You really hate those guys. Like, so much. They have no reason to torture you two as much as they do. You never did them anything.

“Oy!” A rough voice sounds, one that sounds echo-y because of the alcohol in your veins. You look up, seeing someone across the street. Yuta. Another one of the frat brothers. You have never talked to him personally, only seen him hanging around with Taeyong and Yoonoh in class, or sitting together in the grass.  Judging by his reaction though, he knows enough about you.

His dark hair parted two sides of his face, with dark smoked out eyeliner, and a wide grin on his face. He’s wearing a black tank top, and a grey jacket on top, with some dark bleached jeans. Of course he’s wearing a tank top. “Are you two fucking each other now?” His voice is too loud, almost shouting the entire street into a bunch.

Sober you would probably say something back, a denial, something, but right now your tongue is clumsy and you don’t feel like interacting with him. Winwin doesn’t say anything. His gaze just stays to the front. “What?! You couldn’t find any desperate middle aged dads to blow on a friday night?” He grins for a second, the look mean on him, and you look away to the floor instead. “Come on~~ It must be easy with your reputation. Like mother, like daughter, right?”

Your throat feels too heavy, alcohol burning in the back. You really don’t want to be sick right now. Yuta doesn’t give up though, even walking back the way he came a bit, just to follow you two across the street. “Right?! Answer me, dumb bitch.” You look at the floor near his feet.

Your answer comes almost immediately. Lucky that you’re not talking to your dad, a big mouth like this would have gotten you nothing but a smack to your cheek right away. “No.” Your tongue sounds double when the words falls from your lips.

“No?” He smirks, though the empty gesture slips of soon, transforming his face into an angry grin. “No? I think yes. I think you’ll end up just the same as your dumb ass whore of a mother. And that mute next to you will sell drugs on street corners like all the stupid cunts who don’t want to learn.” You look at your feet again, just following Winwin in his steps, and pull your lips into a tight line.

Probably noting that you won’t answer again, Yuta shrugs. “Cool.” He chuckles, looking around the street. Suddenly, he throws his empty vodka bottle. You both can’t move out of the way quick enough, so the hard glass smacks into Winwin’s shoulder, before clattering to the floor. “Fuck you guys!” He beams, voice thick. He holds up his two middle fingers when you look back, before walking towards the party with a giggle, and leaving you and Winwin on the side of the street.

Both of you stay frozen in place for a second, feet away from the next street light. It buzzes loudly. You stare out over the grass for a second, tears lining your waterline. When Winwin huffs, you reach up and brush at your eyes harshly. “I’m sorry.” You say, unable to keep your your lip from shaking. You look at his sharp face for a second, that is pulled together in a belated wince.

With a sniffle, you step from under his arm to push the jacket off his shoulder. Winwin protests in Chinese, but you don’t let him pull back. Carefully, you lift his shirt enough to reveal the nasty bruise that’s already forming. Vodka bottles can really make ugly marks, you know from experience. It’s right on his shoulder blade too. It’ll hurt for a while. You pull his shirt back down with a pull of your nose, and pull over the jacket again. This is your fault.

Your voice shakes the more times passes, unable to help it because of the drinks you downed. “I’m sorry.” Winwin pauses for a second, before shaking off the expression. You try to walk on, but he grabs your hand.

“What does it mean? What was he talking about?” Winwin bends down a bit to get into your vision. You don’t answer. Blinking away the tears, you just grab his hand, and pull him on more. You want to get out of this street, get home. “Y/N. What does it mean?” He repeats, trying to get you to stand still. You burst out crying when he pulls your shoulders, turning you to him.

“Nothing, Winwin!” You look at your feet, nose running. “It means nothing! Everything they say, means nothing to you! They are talking about me, talking to me! Don’t- Don’t try to un- understand. Just s-stop!” Your voice breaks at the end of the sentence. “Stop trying to change anything, because it won’t. They won’t stop. Ever!”

With a deep breath, you close your eyes, trying to stop your chest from closing in on itself. It’s not like you to lash out like this, and you immediately feel bad. Winwin is the only person you have. How dare you even speak up to him like this. How dare you. You really are an ungrateful child. Your lips shake. “I- I- I’m- s-s-” Pulls of air interrupt your apology, but Winwin seems to get the jist.

He pulls you into him. Your face pressed into his chest, while you probably wipe your mascara and snot on his clothes, he gently puts a hand on your head. You don’t care about getting his shirt dirty now though, and fist your hands into the fabric, keeping him close. “Come on home.” Winwin nods, and looks down at you for confirmation.

“Yeah,” you sniffle, pulling the back of your hand under your nose, “home, please.”

--

The walk through the city goes slowly, because you keep twisting your ankles. It doesn’t hurt a lot, but doesn’t show of much sobering up. You’re glad Winwin didn’t drink a lot. The more you walk on, the more of the alcohol seems to filter through, in fact. By the last stretch, your body is slumped into Winwin’s almost completely, and he has one arm under yours, the other around your stomach.

You don’t know if he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t have the vocabulary to do so, or if he just doesn’t want to speak, but at least he is helping you. You swallow thickly, and stare as he puts his hand in your back pocket to get out your keys. “Hey! Tha’s not for you, Winko.” You smile, grinning as he rolls his eyes at you.

He searches around for a second, while you rest your arms around his waist. Winwin pulls back empty handed though, frowning. “Where are your keys?”

“Keys?” You mumble, looking around with unfocused eyes. Didn’t you take it? “I don’t know. I didn’t have them earlier.”

Winwin pauses, and turns you around to check all your pockets. Nothing. He sighs, before frowning in thought. “Do you have spare keys at my place?”

You blink up at him, while sinking down against the hall, and tutt your lips. “Yeah, I think so. I think I left ‘em last time, right?”

Winwin nods. “Okay. Come, we need to get them.”

You shake your head though, jamming your fingers into your shoe. “No.” You pout, and try to pull of the thing, though it doesn’t really work. “My feet hurt,” you mumble, voice trembling sadly, “I don’t wanna walk anymore.” When you give him another sad look, Winwin just blinks for a second. He’s clearly torn.

But taking you with would have it take twice as long, and you don’t want to move anymore. He runs a hand through his hair, and nods. “Stay here.” You nod limply, but Winwin bends down in front of you. “Really. Don’t move.” You just nod again, and let your head cock back against the wall. Not that you’d have anywhere else to go. “I’ll be back soon.” He nods, and takes off his jacket to drape it over your exposed legs.

Then he’s off, with quick footsteps. The walk to his dorm is quite a while, but at least he doesn’t have to drag you around. You frown, and let your eyes flutter closed. Your worry spikes up when you hear the door downstairs open and fall back shut though, indicating he’s really gone. What if he runs into the Oasis dudes again. You let your head fall to your shoulder, and think back at Johnny, earlier.

He’d really like for you do disappear. You would like that too. Time ticks by slowly, and after a good five minutes your eyes flutter closed.“I’m tired.” You whine into the air, opening your heavy eyes again. “I wanna go… i’side.” You frown, and jam your clumsy fingers in your pockets again. The key is really gone. You sigh, and look up at the door you are sat next. Your vision sways a little because of the brisk movement. When you focus though, you see the flower pot at the end of the hall, and a light goes on.

You hid some extra keys behind there, for safety. You huff and drop the jacket next to you, pushing yourself up from the floor and keeping yourself from toppling over by holding onto the wall. You lift the flowerpot, and smile at the single key that lays on the floor. You quickly pick it up, and rush over to the door, looking around the hall proudly. Winwin would be proud of you. You pick up the jacket and push in the key door, letting your weight lean into the door while unlocking it.

With heavy steps you enter the tiny apartment, stumbling against the wall for a second, and close the door behind you. Winwin is going to run all the way back for nothing now, but he’s probably already halfway home, so it’s no use trying to call him back. You huff and try to kick off one of your shoes, failing a few times at first. Sitting down in defeat, you pry your fingers into the boots to pull them off. Why are these shoes so difficult?! When you look around, you notice that the apartment is uncomfortably warm. You should have left the window open a little. You’re too hot right away, your skin feels sticky in this top.

With fluttering eyes, you push yourself up from the floor after kicking your shoes off, and turn on the button to the speakers that sit next to the door. Some soft background music fills the room. You run a hand through your hair to brush it out of your face, and frown at the mess on the floor. It’s not the first time Winwin has been here though, so you don’t care too much. He knows that you’re a disaster. You toss his jacket on the old couch, and slump against the wall for a second. Your head is really spinning badly now.

You’re still thirsty, mouth sticky from the last drink you smoothly tossed down. Maybe drinking something will help your head from buzzing. You walk over to the fridge, and take out a bottle, quickly taking one of the many spoons on the counter, and crack open the drink. That’s one thing you’re good at, at least. You take two quick gulps, but the drink feels painful and raspy in the back of your throat. You don’t want this. With a frown, you put it on the counter. Maybe Winwin would want it later.

Your feet drag when you walk over to the window, and lean your forehead against it quickly. The coolness of the glass feels immediately better, bringing your headache down a bit. At least, that’s the plan. You feel really drunk, more than most days. Yet your head is heavy, while your body feels joyful. Standing with your head down, makes your stomach twist though. When you close you eyes, images of Taeyong and Yuta come to mind, their hands on your neck and hips, and Johnny towering over you. You pause.

You never did them anything. Never bothered them, yet still they torture you and your friend. Maybe it’ll be your legacy for the rest of your life, being the fucked up daughter of two alcoholics. You probably deserve all the shit they give you. Tears prick at your eyes, and you wipe them angrily. Why are you crying this time?! You shouldn’t cry, you don’t have anything to cry about. Johnny’s voice rings through your ears.

Whore. Dumb bitch. Freak.

You loll your head, letting it cock back away from the window, and let your gaze travel the room. On the counter that cuts up the kitchen and living room, there’s a pack of beers. You’re drunk, but clearly not drunk enough, if you can still remember those guys’ faces. You walk over to the lowered wall and pull the pack against you, trying very hard not to drop them. Clumsily, you let the pack rest on your lifted thigh, and pull out a can after some trying, cracking it open and downing it too quickly. It’s bitter. You don’t mind.

Again you look around, realizing again you’re really too hot. Your first thought is ice, but instead of looking for it in the freezer, you walk over to the bathroom, and flick on the light. You try to pull your sweater over your head a couple of times, but it doesn’t work. So instead, you walk over to the shower, and turn it on cold. It rains down into the white bathtub.

You hold out your hand to feel the water drip through your fingers. It’s is freezing, and it cools you down. Good. You dunk your head in first, getting your hair all wet, and next your entire body follows, when you lift your legs to clumsily tumble into the tub. The cold shower feels good. Another drink is opened, and downed. Your head hurts, just like your chest. After a while, you look around, and see that your socks are getting drenched too. The bathtub is filling up. You slide down into it, letting the cold drops hit your face.

With your empty hand, you twist open the tap too, making the bath fill up slowly. Maybe you’ll disappear finally, if you let it fill up high enough. You toss the empty can to the floor and reach for another. Someone would tell you to stop if you weren’t alone, but you don’t care. You want more to drink. A long while passes, just resting in the cold water, before it starts reaching your neck.

You look over at the tap, and at the mess you’ve made. There’s two cans left from the pack of eight, one of which you grab for again. The tap stays on, water pouring into the bathtub, while the shower head drums drops on your face. You lift the beer to your lips again, not caring if half of it spills into the bathwater. It’s only when rushed feet sound from the hall, that you pause.

The water now reaches your cheeks, and you have to tilt your head to breathe. A shout sounds from somewhere, but it sounds too distant, your face is dunked under the water. “Y/N!” It sounds again, more clear now. A person comes into the bathroom right as you close your mouth and eyes from the raising water, and let the water swallow you. His hands are on you before you can realize, and are pulling your head up. Your vision sways along with the movement.

Winwin falls to his knees, wrapping his arm around your back, and pulls you out of the water so that your top half is resting against him. The showerhead rains down on him too, but he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t lessen his hold on you as he looks around. His eyes slide over the dirty floor, the crumpled drinks, and back to the water where you’re laying in. He swears something in Chinese, before reaching his hand into the water. His hand searches around, pushing your thighs apart to pull the plug from the bath.

The water gurgles as it drowns out of the bathtub quickly. Winwin breathes deeply as he puts you down to turn off both taps, and then falls back on his butt. You should say something, but instead you just start laughing softly, looking at him over the edge of the bath. “I’m done, Winwin. D’chu ... d’chu know what that means? I give up ... I really want everything to stop now.”

Your tongue doesn’t want to work with you, causing your words to come out messily. You rest your head against the cold stone as your fingers shake. You hadn’t noticed that you were too cold, until just now. “I want a drink.” You sigh, pushing your limp body up from the slippery bathtub as not-drunk as you can, and hold on desperately to the edge, only to trip while trying to get out and tumbling on the floor. “Aw.” You pout. Add another bruise to your skin.

Winwin frowns, and moves over to help you up. “You are cold. Where are the towels?” He asks, brushing your wet hair out of your face.

You take a deep breath, and cock your head in the direction. “In the closet of my parents’ room.” Winwin helps you up and nods, letting go of you when you stand stable to go look for a towel. You follow behind a bit, pausing in the kitchen against the counter. There’s an opened bottle standing at the corner, that you vaguely remember opening. Most of what happened about a half hour ago seems to blur out though.

You pick it up and press the cold glass against your lips, tossing back your head. You’re sloppy, messy, but in a way that seems strangely amusing, and when some of the drink slips down your face and neck instead of down your throat, you giggle. You can’t help it, it’s so funny. And it tickles.

Winwin comes around the corner with a towel in hand, only to stop halfway through the door when he sees you giggling to yourself in the middle of the room. He frowns, sighing deeply. You notice that he looks upset, so your smile slips off quickly. If something upset him, you don’t want to be the reason.

You lift your nose again, messily tilting back the bottle again, and feeling the cold drink slip down your throat, leaving a bitter taste on your lips. You don’t feel that drunk anymore, but your body seems desperate to prove otherwise. Winwin moves from his spot, and grabs your wrist to pull the bottle away from you. “Stop.” He mumbles, eyes flicking over your face in muted worry.

You pout up at him. His hand is warm on your skin, holding it in the air, away from you, like you’re trying to hurt the bottle. If anyone is hurting anyone, it’s the bottle you, not the other way around. When he doesn’t move, you breathe, focussing on his face for a second.

His hair falls in wet tresses over his face, covering his forehead and brows, a drop of water dangling from the single strand that falls into his eyes. You focus on his eyes, big and wide and beautifully slanted just that little bit, with long lashes that spread out over his cheeks. The same lashes that blink down at you dumbly. He’s so pretty. He really is.

A strange urge comes over you. One where you want nothing more than to hold him in your arms, and tell him how pretty he is. You pull your hand away, trying to put the bottle away, but Winwin doesn’t let you. He still has that worried look on his face, not wanting to let go of your wrist. You frown, and pull back again. “No.” He says, voice stronger than before, shaking his head in denial.

You know why he doesn’t want to let go, but it stings. Does he have that little trust in you? Of course he does, how could he not. You mess up all of the time, it’s only logical for him to anticipate and stop you before you do. You look away from him, looking instead at the obnoxious patterned carpet on the floor. You hate that carpet, the stains on it. You want to pick it up and throw it out, but your dad wouldn’t like that. “I won’t drink more.” You whisper, eyes not moving from the stitches making up the patterns.

You’re lying. You will drink more, maybe just not now.

Your friend breathes deeply for a second, before clasping his big hand around your smaller one, holding onto the brown bottle more steadily than you are. When he feels your grip slipping, he takes the bottle out of your hands all together. “No more.” He repeats, putting the drink on the counter, safely out of your reach. You watch his movements, getting a little dizzy when he moves around the small kitchen too fast to jank open the cabinets that you are too short to reach comfortably.

He takes out a glass, while you take a step to the side to lean against the fridge. With a small glance back at your movement, he fills the glass with tap water, and walks back over to you. “Drink all of that.” He says, tilting his head back in a motion that shows you how. It’s so sweet, you start laughing. Winwin seems confused at your sudden laughter burst, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t want water right now though.

“I don’t want water, Winko.” You mumble, pouting like a child. Winwin won’t give up though, pressing the glass into your hands. At the motion, you take a step back, staring blankly at the crystal in your hands. Your eyes get tired looking down like this, so you look up at the kitchen cabinets instead. You don’t want water, you don’t want the pleasant buzz in your head to die down. Really, you want it stronger.

You want it filling you up to the edge, until you can’t feel anything anymore and you end up passed out without having to cry before sleeping. You want the buzz to overtake everything. Who is Winwin to stop you? “I don’t want water.” You say, suddenly sad. Winwin, your own best friend, doesn’t even want you to be happy. You just want to be happy.

Tears well up in your eyes, ones that roll down your cheeks when you close your eyes to get away from his burning gaze. You hear a sharp intake of air, before his footsteps sound, coming closer. Your eyes flutter open again when you feel his warm hands on your arms. Winwin looks up with huge eyes, confused beyond knowledge, crouched down in front of you to watch your face. “Wh- You’re crying?” He just questions, reaching up to brush the tracks away.

Your lip wobbles, but you don’t respond. You’re pathetic. Winwin must think you’re pathetic. Instead of leaning into his comfort, you walk around him and back to the counter. You put the glass down next to the bottle, looking at it sadly. For a moment, your fingers twitch to glide around the brown glass, but you hold yourself. You want something stronger. When you turn around, you smile at your friend.

“You’ll like this, Winko.” You walk over to one of the farthest cabinets, and pull it open, bending down on your knees to rest them on the tiles. With some clumsy fidgeting, you grab hold of one of the unopened bottles of vodka, and get back up. You leaned forward more than you expect though, and smack your head into the frame. “Ow.” With a giggle, you back up more, and sit down on your butt.

You crack open the bottle way easier than you should, in your drunk state, and down a few good gulps before Winwin has scrambled up and is back over your hands. “No, no, no more. Really.” You don’t let him though, pushing him away with your shoulder. “Give it.” He grunts, reaching his obviously longer arms around you to grab at the bottle. You hold it away, spilling everywhere as you lie down on the floor, holding it as far away from his as possible.

Winwin’s one arm is squeezed under your back, the other reaching for the bottle, which means that his body lies on top of yours, his breathing heavy. When you realize how close his face is to yours, you still, suddenly not that courageous anymore. Winwin looks pissed. He is still so pretty though. You let him grab the bottle from your hand and put it aside, let him push himself up from the dirty floor to sit on his legs. His one arm is still stuck around you, so you quickly lift your back from the floor to release him, scared of angering him.

It says quiet between you two for a whole while, your back awkwardly lifted from the floor so he can move his hand, but the entire moment of silence, he just looks. From your eyes, to your neck, your hands that are littered with bruises, and then at the bottle. He sighs. Suddenly, you feel the hand wrap around your waist, to pull you up.

Winwin doesn’t say anything, he just takes a breath, and pulls you closer. This way you’re sat in between his thighs, as his hands rub up and down your arms softly. He doesn’t look at you as he warms you up, not that you need it because you’re burning from the alcohol swimming in your belly and spreading over your chest. You don’t find the strength to look away from him though. So you don’t.

“Winwin?” You whisper, only now catching his eyes as he looks up in surprise at the added closeness. You gently lift your hands to his face, resting them on both sides of his face. You don’t know what you’re doing, but it feels nice. He feels nice, under your fingertips. You take a sharp breath.  God, you’re so fucked. The only sound in the room for a moment is the blurred background noise from the music from the speakers. Then you lift your hands to brush over his cheekbones. His brows. The soft slope of his nose, bottom lip and jawline, and then his lips again. All the while, Winwin doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.

When every dent and curve has been followed, you drop your hands in your lap, and rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Do you hate me, Win?” He doesn’t respond. You don’t expect an answer, you’ve already made one up for yourself. He hates you, and you hate yourself. One day he’ll get fed up, and leave you. And you’ll kick and scream, but when they leave, they don’t come back. People don’t stick around for messes like yourself. You’ve brought yourself here.

He’ll leave.

“Are you tired?” He asks, pulling back to look at you, face close to yours again. You just rub your eyes a second, before shaking your head. “No?”

“Not yet.” You mouth, running your hands through your wet hair to push it away your face. You scoot back a little, and push yourself up from the floor. Winwin’s eyes don’t leave your shape as you walk past the kitchen to turn around the living room. You pout a little, and look over your shoulder to catch eyes with your best friend. He pushes up from the floor slowly as well, right when you open your arms. “Dance with me.” You beg, cocking your head to the side cutely.

Winwin frowns a little skeptically, but comes to a halt in front of you like asked. He’s even taller than normal, because you’re on socks and he on shoes. You smile a little at Winwin’s confused expression, and come to stand between his feet, wrapping your arms around his chest. You’re normally nowhere near this cuddly, but you’re drunk and hazy and in awe of how much you care about your best friend. “I never got to dance with anyone I care about.” You whisper, breathing softly into his shirt, and lean into him more.

Winwin hesitates for a second, but then brings up his hand to brush your hair carefully, the other wrapping back around you and holding you close. You two sway back and forward softly to the music that comes from the bathroom. You have no clue how long you stand like that, pressed safely into his hold, listening to his heartbeat.

After a while, you sigh. “Win.” Your friend doesn’t respond, only hold you tighter and keeps swaying. With a little shove, you start giggling against his clothes, unable to break away. “Winwin.” You call again, cocking your head back. “Let go, I need to pee.”

Winwin blinks blankly and lets you step out of his arms, and over to the bathroom. After washing your hands, you also brush some water over your cheeks, which are a bright red against your paler than usual skin. You sigh at your reflection. Your mascara is smudged, the skin under your eyes purple and irritated, your clothes still pretty drenched and your blonde hair like a mop on top of your head. You would regret all of this in the morning, if you can even remember any of it. You brush your hands underneath your eyes quickly to get rid of most of the mess.

When you walk out of the bathroom, Winwin is just taking off his shoes, sat in the big couch and almost disappearing in it. He looks up with his big eyes when he spots you, taking you in too intently like usual, and then smiles. You smile back. He pushes himself up from the floor and walks over to you to back hug your smaller body, taking both hands to interlace your fingers with his. “Lets get you sleep.” He mumbles into your hair.

You don’t respond and let him lead you about the place, like he owns it. Though he’s been here many times, you doubt he’s ever seen it quite this way, this messy. And you as the biggest mess of all right in the middle of it. Your friend deposits you in front of the bed, helping you under the blankets. When he tries to walk out though, you’ve already pulled him down with you, determined to keep him close.

Winwin seems like he wants to protest, but eventually gives in, and with that comes to lay close to you, so that you can be tucked under his chin and bury your face into him. Winwin lets out a deep sigh when melting into the hold. “I’m sorry about the vodka bottle,” you suddenly say, remembering Yuta as you brush your fingertips over his clothed shoulder blade very carefully, “and about the bruise.”

“I’m happy you didn’t get hurt.”

You fall asleep soon after Winwin’s closing sentence, dreaming solidly for once of something happy. You can’t get hurt when you’re already broken, but for tonight you’ll believe that you’re healing.

<< 6 months later >>

You brush your hair behind your ear and smile, giggling softly as Winwin bumps into your side and motions you over to the table mid in front of the windows. The tall young man smiles back, and looks down at you. “It’s weird to be back for another year after three months of doing nothing. I missed it, weirdly enough. I missed you.”

You frown at that, and laugh, while plopping down on the bench and tossing your backpack next to you. “Winko, you saw me legit every day of those three months. Without fail.”

“Yeah,” he nods, settling into the seat opposite you and taking out his lunch, “but you’re a lot less annoying in public.” Your jaw drops open at that, and you kick his shin softly under the table. Winwin winces but when you try to pull back, he catches your foot between his legs and doesn’t let go, smile pulling at his cheeks.

School has been up and running for a good two weeks now, but the cafeteria has been closed under renovations, so now everything finally feels normal again. Well.

“Yo~” A voice calls, as you look back and grin, catching the two approaching figures while other people fill in around the room. A brown haired boy with gold rimmed glasses on his nose and a slightly shorter figure walking next to him with fiery red hair come to join you at the table. Mark and Donghyuck. Both first years smile brightly. Mark settles next to you, the redhead making Winwin slide over instead. Winwin lets go of your foot with a frown but does so, while Hyuck smiles proudly. The boy knows how much power he holds with his adorable face.

Mark takes the word, smiley as always. “I’m so done with school already, and we’ve barely just started.”

You giggle at that. “Mark Lee. You are one of the smartest people on this campus. I’m not letting you fail any classes, you hear? Besides, you’ve been in class for two weeks.”

Donghyuck smiles too. “Yes, mom. We’ll do our very best.”

“I know that you will, Hyuckie.” You wink, returning quickly to your food, because you’re starving. “But don’t call me mom, you punk. I will not stand for this slander.”

“Why do I have a feeling that Hyuck could call you every bad word in the book and he’d still get away with it?” A bubbly voice calls then, from beside the table, and you look over. Doyoung is walking with his backpack in one hand, two books in the other, and balances a tray on top of that all. He comes to take a seat next to Mark.

You smile at that, looking between both boys twice. “I’m not saying that he could, but that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Donghyuck giggles at that, and reaches over the table to grab a candy from Doyoung’s tray, who fusses loudly. “Hey, hey- That’s mine, you little-” Mark clasps his hand over the older’s mouth, and smiles a little guiltily.

It’s strange that you get along with Doyoung now, definitely since he’s the one who basically started everything that ruined your days all throughout first year. Somehow though, he left the frat towards the end of the year, and apologised to you. He was ‘childish and insecure’, his words, and rather made someone else feel horrible than feeling it yourself. You forgave him quite quickly, even though he didn’t ask for it. Now, he’s someone who you’ve spend the last month and a half with any time you’re not spending it with Winwin or Markhyuck.

You quickly stuff some more food into your mouth, and look up to catch eyes with the purple haired man across the table. Winwin’s hair is a darker purple now, more blue than when you first met him, already more than a year ago. You grin when he looks up, eyes narrowing. “Winwin~” You beam.

He swallows his piece of mango, and hums in response. “What’s up?”

You smile, unable to help it when a wide grin pulls on your cheeks. “I love you.” Winwin’s eyes widen, though a shy smile comes on his lips. The three others around the table start loudly groaning though.

“Ayy, don’t be like that~” Donghyuck whines, putting on a face of disgust and stuffing some food in his mouth.

Doyoung just sighs, while Mark looks between you two and squeezes the air in cringe. “Oi, oi, oi~ That’s not okay.”

Right at that moment, another person comes to join the table. Kun looks around a little confused. “What did I miss?” Kun is another exchange student, who transferred just last month.

“Winwin and Y/N are being greasy.” Hyuck sighs, crossing his hands over his chest. You can’t help but laugh brightly at that.

“I can’t help that you like me so much, Hyuckie.” You smile at your younger friend, and then reach over the table to take your boyfriend’s hand, squeezing it softly. “But Winwin owns my heart, and I have to express that every now and then.” There’s a soft glint in his dark eyes when you say that.

You pull back after another squeeze, and take a mochi to stuff it in your face. Mark hums softly, and pokes a hole in his Caprisun. “It’s weird to think you guys are dating, to be honest. You are never close like that, like others are.”

Winwin’s mouth twitches, and you have to hold your laugh at that too. You don’t know what he’s imagining, but have a clue. He giggles softly, shoulders shaking, but takes a deep breath. “We just don’t twirl around each other when you guys are around.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung takes some of your mochi’s too, “otherwise Donghyuckie’s little heart would be crushed with one kiss.”

The redhead glares at the older, and tosses something at his head. “Will you stop that?! I never said I liked Y/N, you guys are just being bullies!”

Doyoung looks almost offended at that. “You did!”

Mark nods, pointing a chopstick at his younger friend as well. “Right. First second we step foot inside school, and I quote: ‘Wow- this is so cool and big and- Oh my God, look- at- her. Let’s follow her. Mark- Mark please.’”

Hyuck’s cheeks burn bright when everyone giggles at Mark’s accurate copy. “Whatever.”

Right when Doyoung wants to dig in again, his eyes flick to the side, and he sighs. “Oh no.” You look over your shoulder, looking at a familiar dark haired man walking in your direction. He’s not dressed dark like how you remember him to for the last year of your life, which is still a little strange.

He’s about to walk past to get to a table a bit further along, but comes to a sudden halt in front of your table when he spots you. Johnny, hair now a softer brown color than his usual raven, nods with a clenched jaw. “Hey, Doyoung.”

The younger nods with a little smile. “Johnny.” That’s all he says though, before looking back at his food.

The tallest seems torn between his body which is ready to leave, and his mind. He looks down at you for a second, before looking at his feet. “Hello, Y/N.” You nod, and give him a small smile as well, before he walks away to his friends along the wall, a tiny girl jumping up around his neck and pulling him into a kiss quickly.

You breathe out deeply, and look around the table. Maybe one day you can forgive him for what has happened. For now though, you’re happy to just distract yourself by losing yourself into the people who surround you. You smile at Winwin when he catches your eyes, and wink.