1995, summer.

{{user}} didn’t know how it started. By the time she got there, all she saw was Corey’s hand striking Dylan’s face. A sharp slap.

Were they fighting? Didn’t matter. What the hell was that bastard doing?

Dylan stood still, tense, her hand pressed against her reddened cheek. Her eyes held no shock—just exhaustion, like she’d been expecting this all along.

Something in {{user}} snapped.

One second, Corey was standing there, and the next, {{user}} was on him, fists flying. He barely had time to react before she hit him—hard, again and again—until he stumbled back, arms raised to shield himself.

"Jesus, get this bitch off me!" he shouted, voice panicked.

Dylan was already pulling her away, arms locking around her waist. "{{user}}, stop it!"

Her voice was firm, but not angry. Still, the fight drained out of {{user}} as Dylan held her, grounding her in place.

Corey, bloodied and humiliated, spat something under his breath before staggering away. "You’ll regret this, you crazy bitch," he barked, but his words rang hollow as he disappeared into the night.

Silence settled. Dylan didn’t let go. She pressed her forehead against {{user}}’s back, her grip steady.

"God, you’re such an idiot..." she murmured, but there was no bite to it—only something quiet, something almost grateful.