They stood in front of us, five shadows with metal bats, while I could barely breathe from the punch Raphael landed a moment ago.
I tasted blood. My arms were shaking. My grip on the iron rod felt laughable.
But Sunny was beside me.
He was bleeding too, swaying on his feet, face swollen, but he still stood. He wasn't saying anything heroic. Just breathing. Watching. Calculating. The guy looked like death warmed over, but there was this... pressure around him. Like he was still deciding *how* to take them down.
Raphael spat on the ground. "You guys are seriously out of your minds. Look at you. Think you're gonna be movie heroes now?"
I wanted to say something back, but suddenly—
Sunny moved.
He didn't just swing — he *weaved*. The rod in his hand sliced through the air like a blade. He ducked under Dean's wild swing and brought his own rod across Dean's leg. A crack. A scream. Dean collapsed instantly, clutching his knee.
The others hesitated for half a second.
I didn't.
I turned and smashed my rod across the side of Jack's ribs. The metal connected with a sound that felt permanently carved into my bones. Jack staggered back, gasping.
I blinked. I had *actually* hit him.
And then it all came rushing back—
Fluorescent lights.
Soap and piss and the cold tiles of the school bathroom.
Me, curled up, trying to protect my head as Jack and Dean kicked my stomach in. Their laughter echoing while Raphael held my hair and slammed my face into the mirror, whispering, "You're a worm. You live in the dirt."
I remember thinking I'd die there.
Now, I swung again.
Jack tried to block with his arm — bad call.
*Crack.*
He screamed.
"That one's for the sink," I muttered under my breath.
Behind me, Sunny was *unreal*. He wasn't fighting wild. He was moving like he knew every angle of the fight. He'd bait someone in, fake a swing, twist and slam the rod into their ribs or legs.
He was breaking them down, not knocking them out.
One by one.
Raphael was still standing. Still watching.
But he looked less confident now.
"Let's end this," Sunny said, voice low, aimed only at me.
Raphael rushed him.
I turned and had just enough time to catch the last guy — some tall dude with a sharp jawline and nothing behind his eyes — trying to flank Sunny. I stepped between them and swung.
He grabbed the rod.
Strong grip. Taller than me. I wasn't going to win in strength.
So I stepped forward.
Used my forehead.
Headbutted him right on the nose.
He dropped instantly with a grunt.
My head rang. Everything blurred. But I smiled anyway.
Sunny and Raphael were locked. No rods now. Just fists. Sunny was faster, but Raphael fought dirty — knees, elbows, even a cheap shot to the throat. I winced as Sunny doubled over.
Then Sunny spun.
One kick to the side of Raphael's knee. A loud pop. Raphael screamed.
It was over.
They weren't dead. Just broken. Groaning. On the ground.
We stood there, both of us hunched, rods dropped to the ground, backs sore, blood on our shirts and faces.
And for the first time ever...
I wasn't scared.
---
The street was quiet again.
We walked in silence, side by side. The kind of silence that came only after chaos. Not awkward yet — just too heavy to talk through.
My shirt was sticking to my ribs from dried blood. Sunny looked like he'd been hit by a truck. I kept stealing glances at him. He didn't say anything.
After a few blocks, I finally asked, "You okay?"
He didn't look at me. "Nothing permanent."
"That was... insane," I said, rubbing my shoulder. "You fight like some kind of underground... ninja or something."
He snorted. "I watch a lot of action movies."
I chuckled, even though it hurt. "Seriously. You knew what you were doing."
He gave a half-shrug. "Just didn't want to die tonight."
Silence again.
We turned a corner. Passed a closed tea shop.
Then he asked, without looking at me, "Why'd you jump in?"
The question landed harder than any of their punches.
I didn't answer right away. I just kept walking, staring at the road, gripping the rod I hadn't dropped yet.
"I saw you," I said quietly. "And I remembered what it felt like to be on the ground with no one helping."
He didn't reply.
But he slowed his pace a little, just enough for us to match step.
I glanced over. "You're a terrible cashier, by the way."
He smirked.
"Yeah?" he asked. "You're a terrible hero."
I smiled for real this time. My jaw hurt when I did. But it was worth it.
When we reached the end of the road, we both stopped.
This was where we'd split.
Sunny scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I go that way."
"Yeah. Me too, other way."
He didn't move.
Neither did I.
Then at the same time, we both took a step in opposite directions and—
"Wait," we said in unison.
We stopped again.
Sunny looked at me, eyes unreadable, lip busted.
"Wanna get something to eat?" I asked. "I still got a few dollars left."
He blinked, like the idea hadn't even crossed his mind.
"I'm not hungry," he said.
I nodded. "Me neither."
Long pause.
"So... wanna not eat together?" I offered.
He let out a tired breath that might've been a laugh.
"Yeah," he said. "Sounds like a plan."
---
We didn't say much as we walked to the small roadside food cart.
The guy running it was half-asleep, slumped behind a chipped counter with a fan that barely worked. An old bulb swung overhead, flickering like it was about to die. The smell of fried food hung thick in the air.
"Two egg rolls," I said, fishing out the last few crumpled dollar bills from my pocket.
Sunny just stood there beside me, arms crossed, his busted knuckles starting to turn purple. I noticed he didn't even check his wallet.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, dropping the coins on the counter. "I'm buying. You saved my face from becoming paste. It's a fair trade."
He didn't argue. That was something I liked immediately — he didn't over-thank or act awkward. Just nodded and sat down on the bent metal bench by the cart. I sat beside him.
For a while, neither of us said anything.
The food guy handed us the rolls in foil wrap. Greasy, hot, and honestly kind of perfect.
Sunny unwrapped his slowly and took a bite like he hadn't eaten all day.
Maybe he hadn't.
I looked over. His cheek was swelling up worse now.
"You should ice that," I said.
"You got ice in your pocket?" he replied.
I snorted. "Fair."
We ate in silence for a bit. Then I said it before I could overthink it.
"They used to do that to me. What they were doing to you back there. The beatdowns."
He didn't look surprised.
"I know," he said. "I've seen the bruises on your arms when you came into the store."
I looked down at my roll. "How come you never said anything?"
"What was I gonna say? 'Hey, you getting stomped in the bathroom again?'"
I laughed.
It was stupid.
It also felt... good. Lighter.
"I used to think I'd just take it forever," I said. "Like... if I stayed quiet long enough, they'd get bored and move on."
"They don't," he replied.
"No. They don't."
I looked at him. His hood was still up. His eyes were sharp, but not cold.
"Why do you fight like that?" I asked. "Like... not just swinging wildly. You were thinking."
He shrugged. "My brother taught me. A while ago. Said if I was gonna survive in this city, I should at least know how to make someone regret raising their hand first."
"Smart brother."
"He's dead."
I blinked.
"Oh."
Sunny kept chewing. "He wasn't smart enough to stop fighting. That's what killed him. So I try not to fight unless I have to."
I didn't know what to say to that. But I didn't ask more. I figured if he wanted to tell me, he would.
We finished our food. My fingers were still trembling a little from the adrenaline, or maybe just from how real everything suddenly felt.
Not just the fight.
But this.
The moment after.
"You know," I said, wiping my hands with the corner of my shirt, "if someone had told me this morning that I'd be fighting side-by-side with the quiet guy from the corner store, I would've laughed in their face."
Sunny stood up, stretched his back, winced.
"If someone had told me I'd be eating egg rolls with the kid who used to cry in the third-floor bathroom, I would've ignored them."
I frowned. "I never cried."
He raised an eyebrow.
"…Out loud," I added.
He smirked. "Thought so."
We tossed our wrappers into a broken plastic bin.
The street was still quiet, but something felt different now. Lighter.
Maybe it was just the adrenaline wearing off. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, I wasn't walking home alone.
We hit the corner again. The part where our paths split.
Sunny looked down the road.
"You gonna be okay tomorrow?" he asked.
"Probably sore."
"School's gonna notice."
"Let them."
He nodded once.
Then paused.
"I don't really do friends," he said, like he was warning me.
"I don't either," I replied.
Another pause.
"Guess that makes it easier," he said.
"Yeah."
He turned and started walking.
I started walking too.
In the same direction.
He noticed.
"…You live this way too?"
"Yup."
He didn't say anything.
But he didn't tell me to leave either.
So we walked.
Side by side.
Not talking.
Not smiling.
But not alone.