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"... What makes you think you're so powerful, Kim Taehyung?"
The scent of chalk dust and the evening breeze. Desks clean and prim, the windows opened for the wind to come in. The classroom was empty, silent.
Taehyung sits at his desk. His school uniform disheveled. "... I wouldn't say powerful," he says, his eyes burning holes into his desk, "I prefer, strong."
"Strong?" The voice echoes through the room with a laugh, "You are not strong, you never will be. You know what you are?"
"Filth? Trash?" Taehyung remarks, "I heard them constantly to the point they've began to be boring to listen to."
"You can hurt me all you want," he adds, "but it won't make me cry home to daddy. You're not intimidating, you're immature."
"You really are something," The other boy chuckles, "What will it take till you finally break, huh?"
"It will take a whole lot of work till you even get a tear out of me," Taehyung tilts his head, "All boys don't need to be masculine to be strong."
The boy grabs his collar, tugging him upwards off his desk. Taehyung's stomach slams against the desk, but his hands prop himself up. He doesn't flinch, or even show a ounce of pain on his face.
"You're a mess," The boy hisses, "Realize it."
"Can't you see? Why won't you just leave? Everybody looks at you like the hookers on the street. Your locker is covered in insults. Your teachers refuse to even talk to you like a human being, yet you still stay?"
"No one can hurt me-"
"Bullshit!"
"How long will it take till you step off your little stool of righteousness, and realize you're a filthy mess."
Taehyung's collar tears in his grip. "... It's not like i refuse to," he replies, "... I just won't let that corrupt me."
"One day you will break," The boy throws Taehyung back, and Taehyung stumbles. His elbows hit against the desk behind him. "By that point, not even your father will look at you the right way."
"Do you think I never prepared for that?" Taehyung sighs, getting up. "Yes my life is shit, but fuckers like you won't make me end it."
"I don't care about whatever the fuck anyone says," Taehyung holds his bruising hip, "It's my life not yours, so fuck off."
Desk clash, chairs slam against the marble floors. A phone flies out of Taehyung's pocket and crashes down, cracking the screen. The scent of chalk dust and the evening breeze no longer fill Taehyung's senses. Blood, the metallic tasting liquid fills his senses.
Blood drips from his nose as his body is thrown down on the floor with a harsh push of hands. He props himself up by his elbows, blood spotting on his white collared shirt.
The boy grabs his backpack from the side of the room and throws it over his shoulder. His knuckles are slightly painted with the blood of Taehyung. "No one wants you here," he says, "Shameful."
"You can keep being ignorant, but nothing will change. Those pictures, they're not going anywhere. You're disgusting."
