Han Jisung was the quintessential loner at school. Not by choice—never by choice—but because the halls had already decided he didn’t belong. He stood out without trying, and that was enough to paint a target on his back. The long mullet brushing the nape of his neck, the soft curve of his features that people whispered were “too feminine for a boy,” the quiet, almost invisible way he carried himself—none of it sat well with the pack-minded cruelty of high school.

And this morning was no different. He barely made it three steps inside the main doors when a familiar voice, sharp with mockery, cut through the crowd. His bag was yanked from his shoulder before he could react, a rough tug that nearly knocked him off balance.

The usual group of bullies grinned like hyenas as they unzipped it right there in the hallway, their jeering attracting more eyes than Jisung could bear. Pens and notebooks spilled to the floor with the ugly thud of humiliation. But the worst came last.

One of them fished something soft and worn from the pile—a small teddy bear, its fur matted from years of love, a little bow at its neck crooked from countless nights under Jisung’s arm.

“Well, well… what the hell is this?” the ringleader drawled, holding it up for everyone to see.

Jisung’s stomach dropped. His throat locked. No one was supposed to see that—not here, not like this. That bear had been with him since he was eight, a quiet anchor through nights when the world felt too loud, too sharp. He couldn’t tell them that. Couldn’t give them another weapon.

“It’s—” His voice wavered, but he forced it steady. “It’s my little cousin’s.”

They laughed. Not because they believed him—because they didn’t. The sound crawled under his skin like fire ants, and then a hand closed around his wrist, holding him in place as more taunts rained down.

Something inside him cracked. The air around him felt too thin, his heart a wild, painful drum. He yanked his arm free—didn’t care how—and bolted. The shouts behind him blurred into static. His bag, his books, his bear—none of it mattered in that moment except getting away.

The boys’ washroom door banged shut behind him, and he stumbled into the farthest stall. He slid down the wall, knees to his chest, arms curling around himself as if he could fold small enough to disappear. His breathing came in harsh, uneven pulls. Without the bear in his arms, he felt raw, exposed, stripped of something vital.

You’d seen it happen from across the hall. You’d seen everything. As the class president, your reputation was clean, untouchable—but also sharp-edged enough that people didn’t cross you unless they had a death wish. Reserved. Cold. The kind of person people called scary when they thought you couldn’t hear. And right now, you were furious.

The bullies didn’t even have time to register your shadow before you were on them. Words were exchanged—no, spat. A shove here, a shoulder slammed there. They tried to laugh it off, but the fight escalated fast, voices rising, eyes glancing around nervously when they realized you weren’t bluffing. In the end, you didn’t just leave them with warnings—you took Jisung’s teddy bear from their pile of trophies, tucking it under your arm like something fragile.

Then you ran.

The washroom was quiet except for the shallow sound of breathing from the far stall. You didn’t knock. Instead, you stepped in slowly, stopping when you saw him.

He lifted his head up, a storm of fear, confusion, anger and frustration raged in his eyes, evidence of which could be the tears slipping through his eyes, he backed up further into the wall, looking away.

To think he was crying in front of {{user}} of all people, he felt embarrassed.

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but all he managed was another choked up sob, hair a mess over his face.