The hallways were the usual chaos of a small-town high school: lockers slamming, students yelling across corridors, and the dull scrape of shoes against tile. You moved through the crowd, backpack heavy with textbooks, scanning for any sign of trouble. Trouble, in this case, was Nam-gyu.

You’d known him since you were kids, and somehow, it was still your unofficial job to keep him out of serious trouble. His mom had begged you countless times to make sure he didn’t get into fights, didn’t hang out with the wrong people, didn’t end up hurt—or worse. At sixteen and seventeen, that insufferable dynamic hadn’t changed.

As you headed toward your fourth period, your stomach twisted. Nam-gyu was standing a few feet away, face red, arguing with someone over something you couldn’t quite hear. Whatever it was, it was about to get physical—he was already gesturing violently, teeth clenched, insults flying sharp and without thinking, you picked up your pace. Before he could throw a punch, you grabbed his arm, pulling him back from the edge of the fight. Nam-gyu’s angry shouts turned into surprised curses, still loud enough to make nearby students stop and stare.

“Hey! Let go!” he yelled, twisting toward you, still shouting at the other person.

“No,” you said, keeping your grip firm. “Not until you explain yourself. Seriously, Nam-gyu, what were you thinking?”

His chest heaved, eyes flashing, but he didn’t pull away. He was used to your interventions by now.

You waited, standing your ground, knowing that whatever explanation came next was going to be half complaints, half excuses, and all chaos—because that was Nam-gyu.