80: Kim Taehyung's Past

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Taehyung rolls his eyes as he shoves his books into bag and slung them over his shoulder. He hurries out of the building down the nearest exit, eager to avoid the hubbub that followed after school. Boys gathering all around to talk about their grades, their parents, their successes and their futures. No girls went to his school and at times he wished there were a few around. All the people here seemed to be of one mindset, one goal and he just didn't fit in. It was the reason why-

He's suddenly knocked down the ground by a large shove. He feels the ground slap against his side, the mud brush against his face and sand grains pierce into his skin. He immediately looks up in reactive fear, knowing already what to expect.

Bullies.

He pulls himself to his feet, ignoring eye contact as he gathers his books. "Yah, Kim Taehyung," one calls after him. "Why don't you say something? Are you mute or what?" He bites his lip, as he lowers his head and walks past deciding against whatever he'd wanted to say. It would just make things worse. If he got into a fight, he could get expelled and that...that would be worst thing ever.

"Are you ignoring me?" A second later, a firm hand grasps around his collar winging him back right under the nose of none other than the worst possible human being in the world. He tries not to shudder under his menacing eyes, keeping his cool. He couldn't cause a fuss no matter what. He lowers his eyes to appear humble.

"You gonna cry?" the voice snickers. "Huh, why do you even bother going to this school? Look at you...what good is a pathetic loser like you going to do in astronomy? Can't even get one thing right."

"Let go off me," Taehyung requests softly, keeping his eyes glued to the neck in front of him, not daring to offend through body language. He takes a step back watching the clutch on him loosen with amusement. A snicker follows.

"What was that?" he's wrenched away, eyes boring into his appearance. His toes curl with the pressure, as he begins to hate himself for not having walked faster. He could have escaped and been down the road by now. He could be in solidarity, he could have been safe and avoided diminishing his reputation further. If only he'd hung his hat lower. But here he was instead, forced to listen to the insults.

"Do you even understanding what he's saying?"

"Pfft he looks like a woman,"

"Gay."

"Probably got plastic surgery."

"He's so fake."

"Is that make-up?"

Finally, satisfaction excessed he's shoved back roughly again with a strong push. He feels a strong kick bang his knee forcing him to his feet. His skin scrapes on the sand and he grits his teeth from the ripped pain.

"Get lost."

Something wet lands on his cheek. He flinches from the sudden contact, surprise slowly turning to disgust as he realizes what it is. Spit. Human spit. His finger tremble, itching to get it off hsi face. He looks up, watching them depart, clapping their hands away like he carried some sort of disease. Their laughter sang in the air long after they'd disappeared.

He stumbles to his feet, wiping off the slimy thing from his face. Then he brushes himself down again, inhaling and exhaling deeply to flush out his fear. It's okay. He's okay. It was just a routine, it was just momentary. Life was like this. He'd soon be on the train home and none of this would matter anymore. He'd figure out a way to explain the bruise. He holds his bag up once again on his shoulders, trying to stand up tall once again. Don't think about it, he advised himself. His singularity did not need to bring him down.

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