A finger tapped the screen, and within seconds, a flood of messages filled the chat. Luca's own image reflected back at him, his grin spreading wide, burnt-sand lips curving in an effortless smile. He patted the neat rows of his cornrows, woven delicately over his head, and leaned into the camera, his dark eyes flickering with amusement as he scanned the messages rolling in from his fans.
"I know you all love to see it! Five-star things only!" His voice rang out, smooth, brimming with energy. "It's your favourite streamer, Luca!" He pulled at the open lapels of his school uniform, revealing the black tank top clinging to his lean frame.
: omg this popped up when I started eating
: clapped
: where's our girl?
: super senior extreme
: stream more regularly!
: The most positive streamer there is
: can ur gf fight?
: what's going on this time?
: I missed u no glaze
: Where's Evelyn?????
Luca chuckled, squatting down as he held the selfie stick close, adjusting the camera. "Oh, Evelyn? Yeah, she's here."
He turned slightly, eyes gleaming. "Evie, they're looking for you."
Leaning lazily against the rooftop wall, Evelyn took a slow pull from her bright red vape, exhaling a curling wisp of smoke into the open sky. Her brown cocoa fingers tapped against the device, her acrylics gleaming under the sunlight. When Luca panned the camera toward her, she met the screen with a sultry smile, lifting her hand in an elegant wave. Her blonde hair shimmered as she ran fingers through it, casually pushing it back, and Luca barely concealed his smirk when he saw the viewer count skyrocket.
"Wow," he snorted. "So you're all here for my girlfriend?"
: I want her bad
: ask if she remembers me
: ouuu she fine fine
: how did he manage to bag her
: blackie
: I prefer an Asian baddie
: I could bag her 10 seconds top
: clapped
Luca feigned a frown, but the excitement in his eyes betrayed him. He turned back to Evelyn. "It's annoying how obsessed they are with you."
Evelyn hummed, stepping closer, her bold lashes fluttering as her cat-like eyes flicked over the chat. "Is that so?"
[itsJames has donated $50]
[Evelyn, please say my name just this once.]
Luca scoffed loudly, putting on an exaggerated look of disgust. "Woah, really? While I'm right here, chat?!"
Evelyn only smiled, before blowing a playful kiss at the camera. The chat exploded. Luca, grinning, pushed her back lightly. "Do you love the attention that much?"
Evelyn just giggled in response. Luca turned back to the screen, tilting his head. "You guys love that she's whoring herself out for views?"
: she's our whore, Luca
: you're sharing her, sorry bro
: where is our pig?
: I want to see piggy
: give us piggy!!
: I'm getting bored, I want piggy
Luca's smirk widened, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. "Ah, piggy. I almost forgot."
He stood, dusting off his pants. "Just making it clear," he said, voice carrying an unmistakable edge, "this is all a fake scenario. Everything is scripted."
He grinned, and behind him, a group of schoolboys chuckled darkly, their amusement rolling through the open rooftop space. Luca panned the camera. "Right, piggy?"
: right, this is all fake!
: don't ban our boy!!!
: finally, piggy
: oink oink oink!!
: PIGGY
: piggy!!!!!!!
: what does L have him doing now TT
Luca switched the camera view, revealing the rooftop in full. Below, the school buzzed with the noise of students laughing and kicking balls around, a clear indication of lunchtime.
However, the chat was filled with confusion.
: where's Piggy?
: what did I tell u abt lying
: PIGGY!!!!!
Luca said nothing, just let the anticipation build, let them simmer. He already knew they'd stay glued to the stream, watching, waiting.
Luca's grin widened, sharp and knowing. "Oh, sorry, I should show the angles right." He glanced behind him. "Dee, hold it for me."
Behind him, a larger boy with bright orange hair stepped forward, gripping the camera stick. twisting it and switching the focus to Luca as he turned toward the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping around him.
: Is L okay?
: imagine he jumps off
: okay but where's Piggy?
: it's finally gotten to him that ppl want to see his girl and Piggy over him
Luca squatted low, his dark eyes glinting. "Piggy, can't you say hi?"
: L has totally lost it
: yeah, he's gone crazy
: stop, I see something
: wait, show us better angles!!
A drone buzzed to life, shifting the view from Luca's back to his front. The camera now focused on the edge of the rooftop, where a boy clung desperately to the ledge. His pale, freckled face was streaked with tears, his dark hair hanging messily over his eyes, lifted slightly by the breeze. His breath came in frantic gasps, fingers gripping the concrete with every ounce of strength he had left. The school courtyard sprawled three, maybe four stories below him. If he fell, he knew he wouldn't survive.
: LMAOOOO
: PIGGYY
: he looks so goofy crying
: do the Lion King scene with him!
: i missed that face
: BRUHHH this is so funny
: this is real CONTENT
"Please… help me," Piggy choked, his voice raw with terror. "I—I'm going to fall."
Luca hummed, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. "I could help but... You're not going to just leave your school bag hanging there, are you?"
Just inches away from Piggy's dangling feet, his backpack teetered on the edge, caught by a single strap against a protruding brick. His legs shook violently as he tried to shift his weight, to find some kind of foothold. But the bricks were too narrow. His grip was slipping, his fingers slick with sweat.
Luca's smirk deepened. "It was given to you by your mother, right? Before she passed?"
Behind him, Dee let out a low snicker.
: this is definitely psychological torture and I'm here for it
: lolol he looks goofy on that ledge
: he's so cruel, is he going to leave his bag there for real?
: that's a face only a mother could love
Piggy's breath hitched, his entire body trembling. He wasn't listening anymore—he was too focused on the burning strain in his fingers, the way his arms ached from trying to hold himself up. He could feel it, the way the world around him was closing in, the way the wind pushed against him, teasing the fall. The ledge beneath his toes felt smaller, further away. He was going to die. Right here. On this rooftop.
[sumtingwong has donated $100]
[Recreate the Lion King scene!]
Luca grinned wider, stepping closer. He reached out, fingers tangling into Piggy's dark hair, yanking his head up. Piggy whimpered, as he struggled, his body thrashing weakly against Luca's grip.
"You hear what the people are asking for," Luca murmured, his breath hot against Piggy's face.
Piggy sobbed, shaking his head frantically. "Please—stop! Why? What have I done? I'm sorry, whatever it is, I'm sorry!" His voice cracked, desperation pouring out of him in ragged gasps.
Luca's grip tightened, his nails digging into Piggy's scalp. His gaze was cold, unfeeling. "If you're sorry, then die."
Letting go of his hair, Luca turned smoothly to the camera, barely sparing Piggy another glance. "Chat," he drawled, voice laced with amusement, "if we can hit $500 in the next five minutes, I'll show you a real-life Scar and Mufasa scene."
The second he finished speaking, the notifications exploded—pings ringing out in rapid succession as donation after donation flooded in. The sound rattled through Piggy's skull, drowning out his own ragged breaths. His chest heaved, his heart hammering so violently it felt like it might burst. The reality of it sunk in like a stone in his stomach.
He was going to die. Just like this. Through school bullying.
Luca looked at his chat in mock shock, eyes wide with exaggerated surprise. "Wow, you guys are really mean. You want to see him thrown off that bad?" He laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "Piggy can really die!"
[asher4c has donated $300]
[mrpop4k has donated $400]
[rodio_rew has donated $50]
[edwarddd has donated $500]
[itsdavid has donated $400]
[ozhachchi has donated $200]
[pmo_syau has donated $15]
: broken bones can heal
: he'll be fine, THROW HIM OFF
: throw piggy off!
Luca grinned, his teeth flashing under the midday sun. "Well… the people have spoken."
He turned to Piggy, who clung desperately to the ledge, knuckles white against the crumbling concrete. His hands trembled violently, fingers slick with sweat. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, his vision blurred by the relentless stream of tears running down his pale, freckled face. The wind howled around him, whipping his dark hair into his eyes as he stared into the abyss below. His body felt weightless.
Luca bent down slowly, placing both hands over Piggy's, his touch eerily gentle. The camera zoomed in, catching every agonizing detail. Piggy flinched, his breathing ragged as he met Luca's gaze—cruel, delighted, alive with sadistic glee. Then Luca leaned in, his lips almost brushing Piggy's ear. His voice was a whisper, soft and mocking.
"Long live the king."
And then, with a sudden, violent yank, he pried Piggy's fingers from the ledge.
Piggy's scream tore through the air as he plummeted. The wind rushed past him, stealing his breath, the world spinning in a dizzying blur. His stomach lurched, sheer terror gripping him as he fell, faster, faster—
The chat exploded.
: LMAOOOOO
: NO WAY
: HE'S GONE
: BEST CONTENT
: IM DYINGGGG
Luca's laughter rang out, pure and uninhibited, as he turned the camera back on himself. He and Dee took off running, bolting down the stairwell. The drone followed Piggy's descent, capturing every agonizing moment of his fall until—
A harsh, jarring impact.
Piggy hit something. His body bounced, the force knocking the wind from his lungs before he rolled off, hitting the dirt hard. He lay there, his limbs sprawled, jagged rocks and sticks scraping against his skin. His chest shuddered with desperate, uneven breaths as pain rippled through his body. His fingers clawed weakly at the dirt, trying to ground himself, trying to remind himself that he was still alive.
The roar of the crowd surrounded him. Students had gathered in droves, their phones held high, some filming, some laughing, some watching in silent horror. Yet no one moved to help. No one reached out a hand.
No one cared.
: YES PLEASE SHOW MORE TOMORROW!
: WOULD'VE BEEN BETTER IF HE DIED
: IS HE STILL CRYING? WHAT A WUSS
: YOU GUYS THINK HE GETS ANY PLAY?
: HIS FACE IS SO IRRITATING
: CAN YOU PUNCH HIM PLEASE?
Luca exhaled, putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed his chat. "Maybe if I get some donations, I'll give Piggy a little surprise"
[neverrain has donated $100]
[a punch please!]
Luca smirked, crouching down beside Piggy, whose body still trembled from shock. He grabbed a fistful of Piggy's shirt, yanking him up roughly. The boy barely resisted, his head lolling slightly as Luca pulled him in close. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable, his lips trembling, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
Luca's fist connected with Piggy's jaw, a sickening crack echoing as his glasses flew off, skidding across the pavement.
[abdulwantsmore has donated $300]
[Kick him! And another punch!]
Luca didn't hesitate. Another punch, this time to the ribs. Piggy coughed, a choked wheeze escaping his lips as pain bloomed in his chest. Luca stood, a dark grin stretching across his face before he sent a brutal kick straight into Piggy's stomach. The boy crumpled, curling in on himself, his hands clutching at his abdomen as he struggled for air.
Through his blurred vision, Piggy saw feet—dozens of them, all around him. He blinked, his eyes darting between the figures, searching, pleading, hoping someone—anyone—would intervene. And then, beyond the sea of legs, he spotted him.
A teacher.
An older man, balding, thick glasses perched on his nose. Their eyes met. For a brief, fleeting moment, Piggy thought—maybe, just maybe—
The teacher turned away.
He walked back into the school building without a word. Without a glance.
And then the stomping began.
Piggy curled tighter, shielding his head as feet crashed against his ribs, his arms, his back. The laughter echoed around him, the chat pings ringing in his ears, the pain sharpening with every blow.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
No one was coming.
No one was going to save him.
He was alone.
-
The sky darkened, the sun sinking below the horizon, bleeding streaks of red and orange across the sky. Marco stood in front of his locker, his bruised fingers trembling as he turned the lock, twisting the code into place. Pain throbbed up his arm with each movement, sharp and unrelenting, but he had learned to work through it—pain was as constant as breathing now.
The metal door creaked open, revealing his worn-out school bag shoved in the corner, half-unzipped. Next to it, neatly stacked, were packets of bandages, antiseptic wipes, and rolls of medical tape. He stared at them for a moment, his jaw tightening. They always appeared without warning, always tucked away in the same spot. He had no idea who left them, and maybe he didn't want to know.
Silent help was better than none.
Marco exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his ribs, feeling the deep-set bruises forming beneath his shirt. He'd have to be careful at work later. Moving crates at the convenience store with aching ribs was hell, but skipping a shift wasn't an option—not when he barely scraped enough together to afford rent on the cramped apartment he lived in alone. His father had left him drowning in debt, and his mother…
He shook the thought away before it could settle.
Marco hadn't always been "Piggy." He used to just be Marco—a quiet kid who kept to himself, who had friends once, who wasn't afraid to speak. But everything changed when Luca transferred. The school had erupted the day he arrived, whispers running through the halls about his parents' wealth, their businesses, and their status. He was effortlessly popular, his charisma pulling people in like gravity.
Marco still didn't know why Luca had picked him, why he had latched onto him like a predator fixating on the weakest prey. He had no defining moment that made him a target. No fight. No misunderstanding. No reason.
It had started one morning, live on Luca's stream. A pencil case had come flying across the room, smacking Marco's desk, spilling pens and erasers onto the floor. A small, stupid thing. Marco had looked up—stunned, confused—but hadn't said anything. Hadn't done anything. And maybe that was the moment everything had spiralled. Maybe that was the moment his silence damned him.
Because life had been bad before. But it had never been this.
Marco walked home, his entire body aching, each step heavier than the last as he made his way through the city streets. The farther he went, the more the lights dimmed, the polished storefronts and tidy sidewalks fading into cracked pavement and flickering streetlamps. This was the part of the city people avoided—the part where buildings sagged under years of neglect, where sirens never stopped wailing in the distance.
But this was all he could afford.
His studio apartment was barely more than a box with four walls. The ceiling leaked when it rained, and mould crept into the corners like a sickness that no amount of scrubbing could fix. The air was damp, the radiator barely worked, and winter was a nightmare. But more than anything, this was the only place where Marco could finally fall apart—where he could curl up on the cold, hard floor and let himself cry until his throat burned.
He hated his life.
Hated the bruises that lined his ribs. Hated the way people laughed at his suffering. Hated that every day was just another battle to survive.
He had thought about ending it more times than he could count. It would be so easy to just let go. All the pain, all the humiliating situations. But every time the thought crept in, he heard his mother's voice.
"Promise me, Marco. No matter how hard it gets, you'll keep going. You'll finish school. You'll build a life that I would be proud of."
And so he did.
Through every insult, every blow, every humiliating stream where his pain became entertainment, Marco endured. Not for himself, but for her.
Even now, sitting on the freezing floor, his vision blurred by tears, his hands trembling from exhaustion, he forced himself to move. He grabbed the bandages from his bag, tending to his wounds with mechanical precision, wrapping his fingers, and wiping away dried blood.
Then, just as quickly, he collapsed again.
He hadn't eaten all day, but the thought of forcing down another cup of instant noodles—the same thing he had eaten five nights in a row—made his stomach turn. Empty containers were already stacked around the trash, reminders of his only source of sustenance.
He groaned, rolling onto his side, hoping—just praying—that this school year would end quickly.
Maybe then, the suffering would, too.
Sleep took him before he could think about it any longer.
-
[thatsmira has donated $50]
[why isn't Piggy oinking?]
Luka sat perched on his desk, towering above Marco, his foot lazily tapping against the floor. He glanced at his chat, a cruel smirk creeping onto his face before looking down at the boy on his hands and knees.
"You heard them," Luka's voice darkened, low and commanding. "Oink."
Marco hesitated for half a second—just long enough to remind himself that fighting back wasn't an option—before lowering his head in submission. Humiliation barely stung anymore. It was routine.
All around him, his classmates ignored what was happening, their eyes trained on their phones, their voices carrying casual conversations, some even laughing at unrelated jokes. No one acknowledged the boy trembling on the floor, the same way they had ignored him yesterday, the day before, and every day since Luka decided he was his favourite toy.
Marco parted his lips, voice barely above a whisper as he forced out the degrading sound Luka demanded. A pathetic, breathy imitation of a pig's oink.
A few people snickered. Most didn't react at all.
He wanted to scream. Wanted to shake them and ask why they acted like this was normal. Why they pretended they didn't see his hands shaking or the bruises peeking out from underneth his sleeves!? Why they let this happen right in front of them!?
But he knew why.
Because Luka was a king in this classroom.
Because stepping in meant becoming the next target.
And Marco was alone.
The bell rang, but it didn't mean freedom. Even as their homeroom teacher walked in, everyone shifted to their seats—except for Marco. He was sat kneeling beside Luka's desk, hands cupped together, waiting.
For every new donation that appeared in Luka's chat, another object was thrown at him. A crumpled piece of paper for the cheap ones. A pen if the amount was higher. A rubber. A flick to the forehead. A pencil case.
And then, the worst of them all.
[$300 donation received.]
Luka grinned. Marco barely had time to brace before the sharp, agonizing pain shot through him. Luka's foot ground into his lap, making him curl in on himself, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and it wouldn't be the last.
The classroom carried on as usual.
Even their homeroom teacher, Mr. Jerome, standing right there at the front of the class, pretended not to see. His grim expression never wavered, his sharp gaze sweeping across the students but never once landing on Marco or Luka.
"Class, we have a new student," he droned, barely interested. "Welcome him, and be quiet for his introduction."
As if any of them had ever been quiet.
"Remember, if you want respect, you must—"
"Share it," the class recited in unison.
A boy stood at the front, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His dreads flopped lazily over his forehead, his unimpressed expression making it clear that he couldn't care less about being there.
Marco barely glanced up before Luka hurled another balled-up piece of paper at him. It hit his shoulder, making him flinch, but he stayed where he was. He wasn't sure why he even bothered to look. Why he was even curious. This new guy wouldn't change anything. No one ever did.
"Do you have anything you'd like to say, Theo?" Mr. Jerome asked.
Theo didn't answer. Instead, he stepped away from the front of the class, walking down the aisle between desks.
Mr. Jerome smiled a bit too brightly, "Of course just go and pick wherever you want to sit."
The room fell into an uneasy silence as he stopped in front of Marco.
Luka finally looked up, his grin stretching wider, his interest piqued. Everyone watched with anticipation, There were other stray seats so why go straight to the seat next to Luka.
They watched and waited to see what the new guy would do. They wondered if he would be the first person to say something against Luka.
Theo tilted his head toward Luka, his expression unreadable.
Then, in a tone so casual it sent a chill through the room, he muttered—
"Oi. Get your dog out of my way."
: Who's that?
: What's going on?
: This is getting boring.
: Is someone talking about Piggy?
: The disrespect in his voice tho—I wouldn't let that slide.
Marco's breath hitched. His hands trembled against the floor as he stared up at Theo.
Nobody spoke to Luka like that.
Not the teachers. Not his so-called friends. Marco was certain not even his own mother dared to challenge him.
For the first time in what felt like forever, silence blanketed the room. It was thick, suffocating as if the entire class was holding its breath.
Marco moved to stand up, panic curling in his chest. If Marco didn't move Theo was in big trouble—because standing against Luka was suicide—but before he could take a step, Luka's hand clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him still.
Luka slowly turned his head, making a show of glancing left and right, feigning confusion. Then, with a mocking tilt of his head, he spoke.
"Who do you think you're talking to?"
Theo's expression remained unreadable. He didn't flinch, didn't react, didn't even seem interested in Luka's posturing.
"Move him," Theo said simply, his tone dripping with boredom. Like just the mere act of speaking was a drag. "And there's no problem."
: Whoa, is someone challenging Luka?
: Why is L acting scared?
: I thought L was the most powerful in school
: Punch him! Punch his ass!
: I wouldn't let him talk to me like that…
Luka's lip curled into a sneer. "I don't think you understand—"
It happened too fast.
In one second, Luka was standing tall, confident as ever. The next, he was airborne.
The impact was deafening. His body crashed against the lockers at the back of the class, the metal rattling from the force.
Gasps rang out. A few students shot to their feet. Mr. Jerome, who up until now had done nothing, finally sprang into action, rushing toward Luka.
Marco blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. His gaze snapped to Theo.
He… he had done that?
He had kicked Luka like he weighed nothing.
Marco's stomach twisted. He should've been afraid, but instead, something foreign stirred inside him. Awe.
He had spent so long watching Luka get away with everything—hurting him, humiliating him, treating him like a toy—and yet, here was someone who had knocked him down without even breaking a sweat.
Theo looked down at Marco and he moved quickly, scrambling to his seat, his legs weak beneath him. Of course, his seat had to be right next to Theo. He slumped down, burying his face in his arms, trying to steady his heartbeat.
Meanwhile, Luka groaned, dazed from the impact. Dee was at his side in an instant, throwing furious glares at the back of Theo's head.
: What's going on?
: Is Luka down?
: Did the black guy hit him?!
: Man, show the angles right!
Luka forced himself up, swaying slightly. He turned to Dee, voice sharp and low. "Shut down the stream, you idiot."
Dee fumbled with for the phone, immediately ending the broadcast.
Mr. Jerome knelt beside Luka, eyes flickering with something that almost looked like concern. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
Luka shoved him off, staggering back to his feet. His gaze locked onto Theo, filled with pure rage. "You bastard!"
He lunged, his fist swinging—
Theo didn't even blink.
He dodged with ease, Luka's punch hitting nothing but air. Before Luka could react, Theo grabbed his outstretched arm, yanked him downward, and drove his fist into Luka's face.
A sickening crack echoed through the room.
Luka's head snapped back, blood immediately gushing from his nose as he stumbled. The class gasped.
Marco's breath caught. His heart pounded, his fingers digging into his desk. How…?
Theo made it look so easy.
Luka had tormented Marco for years, and yet here Theo was, unshaken, showing Luka exactly what it felt like to be powerless.
For the first time, Marco didn't just wish for escape.
He wished he could be strong.
Mr. Jerome's voice finally broke through the tension. "Enough!" He pointed at Theo, his face red with panic. "Theo! Out of my class—wait in the teacher's office!"
Luka collapsed onto the floor, blood dribbling down his lips. Dee rushed to his side, eyes wild.
"Oh no, no, no," Mr. Jerome muttered under his breath. "I cannot get in trouble for this."
He spun toward Dee. "Take him to the nurse's office. Immediately."
Dee let out a sharp exhale before crouching down, and hoisting Luka onto his back. Luka groaned in pain but didn't resist.
As Dee carried him out, Mr. Jerome turned to Theo's now-empty seat. He let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples.
"Why do I always get the crazy kids…"
-
Marco stood outside the teacher's office, fingers twisting together anxiously as he waited.
From what he knew, Luka was inside, along with Dee.
School had ended ages ago, and yet, here he was, waiting. Not because he had to—but because of Theo.
No one raised their voice at Luka, let alone hit him. That was an unspoken rule. His parents were powerful, wealthy donors who had been supporting the school for years. Teachers treated him like royalty because they were expected to.
So what would happen to Theo now?
Marco's stomach twisted at the thought. He couldn't let Theo go without speaking to him.
The rhythmic clicking of heels against the tile interrupted his spiralling thoughts.
It was hurried, rushed, almost frantic.
When he turned, he saw her.
Evelyn.
She was running, her breath coming in sharp gasps, tears streaking her perfectly made-up face. Smudged mascara trailed down her cheeks, her usual refined grace shattered in an instant.
"Is Luka okay?" she asked, her voice uneven, breaking.
Marco blinked. He glanced around, unsure if she was even talking to him, before hesitantly pointing to himself.
Evelyn nodded, wiping at her damp cheeks.
He swallowed, shifting awkwardly under her gaze. He had never really spoken to Evelyn before. Not properly. She was always smiling—soft, small, reserved only for Luka and the stream chat. She existed in a world far away from his own.
"I-I don't know," Marco stammered, rubbing his arm. "N-not really… he was bleeding a lot."
Evelyn let out a choked sob before crumpling onto her knees, her legs too weak to hold her up.
"Why?" she cried, her voice raw. "Who would do this to him? Luka is a fighter—he's strong."
Marco awkwardly scratched the back of his head, shifting from foot to foot. "…Uh, it was the new guy. Theo. He kinda… beat him up."
Evelyn sobbed harder, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.
Marco had never seen her like this.
She had always been put together. Her presence was effortless, her demeanour unshaken. Seeing her like this—so raw, so vulnerable—felt… strange.
Wrong, even.
Why did it make his chest feel so tight?
"Why are you here?" Evelyn sniffled, glancing up at him through teary lashes. "Did Luka tell you to wait?"
Marco stiffened. He knew exactly what she meant.
In her eyes, there was no reason for him to be standing outside the office unless he was waiting for orders—like the obedient little pig Luka wanted him to be.
"N-n-no, actually," Marco muttered, shaking his head. "I'm… waiting for Theo."
Evelyn didn't reply. She was too busy crying.
Marco hesitated.
He shouldn't care. She never cared when Luka humiliated him in front of everyone. She wasn't a bully like Luka, but she had laughed. She had stood there, just like everyone else, watching as he was torn apart.
She had let it happen.
So why was he reaching into his pocket?
Why did he care enough to do this?
His fingers curled around the small packet of tissues he always carried. He pulled one out and crouched beside her, hesitating before gently tapping her shoulder.
She turned to him, her eyes red and puffy, her long curled lashes wet with tears.
Her lips were plump, glossy, slightly parted as she sniffled.
Marco's breath caught.
For the first time, he really saw her.
And it hit him like a punch to the gut.
She's beautiful.
Luka's girlfriend.
His bully's girlfriend.
His hands trembled as he quickly averted his gaze, shoving the tissue packet into her hands before he could make an even bigger fool of himself.
Evelyn barely seemed to notice his inner turmoil. She dabbed at her tears, sighing shakily before glancing at him again.
Her voice was softer now.
"Thanks, Marco."
Marco stilled.
It was the first time anyone had called him that—his name.
Not Piggy. Not some cruel nickname meant to strip him of his dignity.
Just… Marco.
It felt unfamiliar.
But nice.
-
The door to the teacher's office slammed open, shattering whatever weird, sentimental mood Marco had been drowning in.
Theo walked out first, looking completely unfazed despite the yelling still going on inside.
Marco, ever the peeping Tom, took a quick peek through the barely open door.
Luka was scowling, voice sharp and agitated. "He doesn't need to apologise, I don't want you guys to do that—I'll make him apolo—"
That was all Marco heard before Evelyn rushed past him, practically throwing herself onto Luka, arms wrapping around him like a lifeline.
Marco didn't know why that made him want to look away.
And so he did.
Instead, his eyes locked onto Theo, who was already walking down the hallway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, bag slung lazily over his shoulder.
He looked completely normal—which was insane because he had just knocked out the school's golden boy in broad daylight with witnesses.
Before he could stop himself, Marco took off running after him.
"Theo! Theo, wait up!"
Theo didn't even pause at first. Marco practically had to jog to catch up, wheezing slightly as he did.
When Theo finally turned, his expression was already drenched in apathy.
Marco skidded to a stop, breathless. "Hey! I—I'm Marco! Uh, I don't know if you know me like that, I don't know you like that, I mean I do now—" He groaned, face already heating up. "Sorry if this is weird but—"
Theo sighed so hard it looked like it physically pained him. "Get to the point."
Marco nodded rapidly, fingers anxiously scratching at his cheek. "Right, right! Okay! So, I think… I fell… for yo—"
Theo's neutral face instantly twisted into one of confused annoyance.
"Whoa, let me stop you right there," he interrupted, raising a hand. "I'm attracted to girls."
Marco turned bright red.
"WHAT? No! No—oh my—, no!" He groaned, physically cringing as he smacked his forehead. "I meant I fell in love with your fighting!"
Theo's face didn't change.
Marco straightened up, eyes burning with determination.
"Please!" He dramatically clasped his hands together. "Be my teacher, sensei!"
Theo stared at him, his nonchalant gaze turning into one of a grimace.
Marco stared back, eyes wide and hopeful.
Theo blinked. "First off, do not call me sensei like I'm some Japanese guy with a long mystical beard, and secondly no."
Marco gasped, placing a hand over his chest like he'd just been stabbed. "What? Why?!"
"Because I don't care about what you have going on," Theo deadpanned, already turning back around. "Go away."
Marco, of course, followed him. "Come on! Just one lesson! Teach me how to punch like that! Or—or how to dodge! Or—"
"No."
"Just a little thing! A technique! Like, how to have a proper stance—"
"No."
"I can pay you!"
Theo side-eyed him. looking down at Marco's beat-up sneakers. "With what money?"
Marco froze. Damn. He had nothing.
"I—I can pay you with… my gratitude?"
"...No."
Marco groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he kept up beside him.
This was going to take some work. But he'd do it, he'd learn how to fight.