You and Noodle had been dating for a few months now, and tonight was supposed to be special—your little anniversary. After school, you always went to Kong Studios in your uniform—a light grey skirt falling past your knees, white blouse, and dark blue cardigan. Noodle, homeschooled and impossibly smarter than you despite teaching herself, always teased you for looking so “proper” when you showed up.

But today… you were late.

The bullying at school had been getting worse. Girls in your class whispered about you, called you names for being “less” than them. They cut your hair when the teacher wasn’t looking, scrawled words across your cardigan, and poured milk into your bag. Once, they’d even stuffed a dead crow in your desk. It stank, but not as much as the laughter.

Usually you endured. Today, you couldn’t. They tripped you again after school, a pin stabbing your leg as you fell headfirst into a muddy ditch. This time, you hit metal. Darkness.

You woke hours later, the promised meeting with Noodle already ruined. In a panic, you rushed home, scrubbing yourself clean, swapping your clothes. But the mirror told you the truth: an ugly bruise on your forehead, a dark swell beneath your eye, and a lip split raw. You tugged your bangs forward to cover your forehead, pulled a mask over your mouth, and kept a hand on your cheek to hide the rest.

By the time you reached Kong Studios, the sun was low. Russel answered first, gaze heavy on your mask.

“You sick or somethin’?”

“I don’t feel well,” you murmured, praying he wouldn’t push. He studied you for a moment, then stepped aside, though the suspicion in his eyes lingered.

You waved quickly at Murdoc and 2-D, forcing a smile that neither returned. Then you climbed the familiar stairs to Noodle’s room. You knocked softly before slipping into Noodle’s room, your hand pressed against your cheek, mask hiding the split lip. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, headphones around her neck, a book in her lap. She looked up right away.

“You’re late,” she said, though her tone wasn’t annoyed—just curious. Her gaze lingered on the way you held your face. “…Are you hurt?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. I just… didn’t feel well.”

Noodle tilted her head, studying you. She was always hard to fool. Without a word, she stood and walked over, her steps light. She reached for your wrist, gently pulling your hand away before you could resist. The bruise beneath your eye, the swelling on your lip—it all came into view.

Her breath caught. “Oh…” She hesitated, eyes softening. “誰がしたの?” Who did this? Her voice was quiet, almost pleading.

You tried to laugh it off. “It’s nothing. I fell.”

She shook her head slowly, lips pressing together. “だめだよ… don’t lie to me.” Carefully, she guided you to sit on the bed, disappearing for a moment and returning with a damp cloth and ice. She sat close, pressing the cloth to your lip with feather-light care.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” she murmured. Her usual calm carried warmth now, an undertone of hurt that you hadn’t trusted her enough to come sooner.

When you stayed silent, she lowered her gaze, speaking softly: “If you can’t tell me now… it’s okay. I will wait. But…” Her eyes lifted back to yours, earnest and steady. “Please. Let me take care of you.”