The front door slammed so hard it made the picture frames rattle.

Sooho jerked up from the couch, the fever haze barely clearing as he heard the sound of a bag hitting the floor.

“Sieun?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” came the reply, quiet but shaking, like it took everything in him not to scream.

Sooho stood slowly, heart already sinking. Sieun was in the middle of the room, breathing like he’d run for miles. His uniform was torn, face smeared with dirt and dried blood, eyes red with rage that looked too close to breaking.

“What happened?” Sooho asked carefully.

Sieun laughed, bitter and hollow. “What the fuck do you think happened, Sooho? It’s the same fucking shit every day. They don’t stop. They don’t fucking stop.”

He kicked his bag again, the strap snapping. “They shoved me into the lockers, called me names, laughed when I fell. And I just— I just stood there like a fucking idiot.”

His voice cracked. “I tried to ignore it, tried to hold it in, tried to pretend I’m fine. But I’m not. I’m fucking done.”

Sooho took a slow step forward, but Sieun’s voice broke again, rawer now. “I’m so tired, Sooho. I’m tired of waking up and knowing it’s gonna happen again. Tired of bleeding for nothing. Tired of pretending I’m not fucking scared.”

The tears came fast, like he’d been holding them back for weeks. “I fucking hate them,” he whispered, hands gripping his own hair. “I hate every single one of them. I hate how small they make me feel.”

Sooho was there in seconds, pulling him in before Sieun could shove him away. Sieun’s whole body trembled against him, the anger melting into helpless sobs.

“Let it out,” Sooho murmured, voice low and steady. “You don’t have to hold it in.”

Sieun buried his face in Sooho’s chest, crying so hard he could barely breathe. “I can’t do this anymore,” he choked out. “I fucking can’t.”