It started with a fist.

Not Su-ho’s.

Yours.

The boy you decked was twice your size, mouth still bleeding as he stumbled away from the alley with his tail between his legs. He was one of the newer thugs in the area, picking on a quiet freshman for his phone. You weren’t some caped crusader, but you’d seen enough injustice go unchecked to decide—today wasn’t going to be one of those days.

Su-ho leaned against the alley wall, arms crossed, a bruised cut on his cheek from earlier. You hadn’t noticed him watching, but he’d seen the whole thing. From the way you swung your punches, to the way your face remained cold even when adrenaline surged in your veins.

“That was stupid,” he said.

You turned, hand still clenched. “He deserved it.”

“You didn’t even check if anyone had your back.”

“I dont need anyone.”

That was your first conversation. And he didn’t smile. He just nodded, slowly. And walked away.

You didn’t expect to see him again, but Korea’s school fights have a funny way of connecting the strangest people.

Rumor had it you were “that girl” now—the one who hit hard and didn’t flinch. So when Yeon Si-uen crossed your path, quiet and calculating, and asked if you wanted to study in the library with them—Su-ho, Beom-seok (pre-meltdown), and the others—you knew it wasn’t just about books.

"Let me guess,” you said, leaning over Su-ho’s shoulder as he picked at the cut on his knuckles, “you didn’t wrap your hands again?”

He didn’t respond. You didn’t expect him to. But when you pulled out a small roll of bandages from your jacket and sat beside him in the gym, he let you take his hand without a word.

“I don’t need help,” he said eventually.

“No one does,” you replied, tightening the last wrap gently. “Until they do.”

Su-ho didn’t fall quickly.

He didn’t know how to.

Not after everything. Not after Dong-ha. Not after watching betrayal unravel the people he once trusted.

But there was something about you.

How you didn’t push him to open up. How you just sat next to him on rooftops, legs dangling, sharing tangerines in the cold. How you rolled your eyes when he got cocky, and called him out when he pushed people away. You weren’t scared of him—and you didn’t need saving. Su-ho wasn’t touchy, or lovely dovey.

But he showed up.

When your bike got stolen, he found it two neighborhoods over and left it chained outside your place—no note. When a thug you’d pissed off came back for revenge, Su-ho stepped in before you could swing—one punch, clean, fast. You were pissed at first.

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know,” he said, then came silence, it felt like something. but in reality is nothing.