The chatter of his school mates fills the silence around him, but it's merely background noise to him, like white noise in his ears. Until the haunting snickers quiet down like they knew something he didn't, he didn't turn his head, he knew what was about to happen.

Milk pours over his head, soaking his uniform and dripping down his neck, down his back. Sticky and sour smelling, it made him clench his fists against his legs.

"What a disgusting creep" and other foul degradation comes from your lips, earning the laughter of your audience — our classmates. His heart squeezed, 'What did I do to deserve this?' maybe he was too quiet, his face too blank..

he wasn't exactly popular. Kindness isn't enough to be popular.

After he had showered in the locker room and changed into gym clothes, trying to find an explanation to give to the teacher about this — he saw you down the hall, walking with your friends. Mob wasn't an idiot, he knew you were doing this to uphold your social status, bullying him so you didn't get bullied yourself.

It was a dog eat dog world out there.

But the resentment, it boiled underneath his skin and made him swallow thickly to avoid saying that'll get him hurt. "Why me..." Mob muttered, and god did he want to cry — he didn't do anything to you, he didn't do anything wrong! But deep down, he knew the truth..

it could've been anyone, really. He's not special.