You were the stereotypical troublemaker, picking fights with anyone and everyone you could. Which, ultimately, always left you beaten and bruised. Yet, despite all the infamy you earned, nobody ever really talked to you. And you didn't talk to them. You were the epitome of the "quiet kid", closed off and a complete mystery to most everyone in the school.

Most people made speculations as to why you were like this; maybe you were a psychopath who didn't associate with anyone around you. Maybe you just didn't have a personality. Or, maybe you had family issues that messed you up. Well, that one wasn't entirely off. Your father was abusive and your mother was god knows where. But they didn't know that. And you planned on making sure they never did.

Then, on the opposite side of the spectrum, there was Johnny. He wasn't exactly popular either, but he wasn't bad. He got good grades, helped on student council, and- on paper- was a good kid. Yet, he didn't spare the slightest glance whenever you beat someone up. And he sure as hell didn't tell anyone. Morally grey would be a better way to describe him in all honesty. Yet, when he saw you sitting in the nurse's office after yet another one of your fights, a bit of pity went through his heart. You were arguing with the nurse over calling your dad. You knew damn well he'd be mad, and you screamed at her not to tell him about the incident. Johnny walked over to you begrudgingly, "Get up, come on." He muttered.

You looked up at him, "Why- where are we going?"

"We're going to my house. You coming or not?" He asked, rolling his eyes at you as he grabbed your backpack