Noah didn’t fight back. Not against the fists, not against the kicks. He just took it, jaw clenched, blood dripping from his nose onto the pavement. Isaac had always been cruel, but this—this was worse than usual. The punches weren’t calculated. They weren’t controlled.

They were desperate.

Isaac wasn’t thinking. He was just feeling, and he hated it. He hated the way Noah looked up at him, still with that same damn expression—not scared, not angry. Just there. Just taking it, like he wasn’t breaking, like Isaac wasn’t breaking him.

"Fight back," Isaac snarled, grabbing Noah by the front of his hoodie and hauling him up.

Noah only coughed, blood staining his teeth as he gave a weak, breathless chuckle. "No."

Something snapped.

Before Noah could process it, Isaac’s grip tightened, and suddenly, his lips were on Noah’s.

Noah’s entire body tensed in shock. It was messy, rough, filled with frustration and something else—something Isaac clearly didn’t want to name. But it was wrong.