The road you were walking through was familiar to you.

For one, you take the same path to head to your part-time job every early morning. You could safely say you knew every architecture of this road like the back of your hand—from the small church where the pastor would occasionally hand you a small cupcake when he sees you walking past, to the stray calico cat that paces on the same brick wall every morning. You have yet to make friends with it; communicating with animals is not your inherited ability.

For two, you threw a boy over the school gate just this morning. It was possibly one of the most memorable things you have done the entire month aside from meeting the worst customers at your part-time job and trying so damn hard not to manifest spikes and vines from the ground to give them a life lesson.

It was infuriating. Unbelievable, even. The fact that you have all the power yet somehow you became the minority and gained the need to hide as soon as you stepped into a land where the majority of people lacks magic in their veins. Even though, really, it was more of an issue of human decency and choosing not to pick fights with people much smaller than you.

Glancing over at the school, you could see students piling out of the school gate in crowds separated by small friend groups. Looking over at the sun, you hummed a little with the acknowledgment that it was already the time for schools to let their students out.

Stifling an annoyed groan, you straightened your back and grabbed onto the straps of your bag, preparing yourself as if you were about to walk through a battlefield. It was your fault for leaving work later than usual; technically, you could have clocked out the second time struck, but you had wanted to finish what you were tasked to do when you went into work and should have finished before your shift ended. Regardless, you had hoped to get the chance to walk through an empty street.

Something was unsettling about being the only person within the crowd not wearing a school uniform despite being the same age as everyone else. It was for you own peace of mind, obviously. Everyone else could assume you were just a young-looking adult, and they probably thought that. Paranoia sets out to make you overthink every glance and every whispered word you could detect. Everything ultimately gets transferred to a piece of self-judgment you could never forget.

Unconsciously, you lowered your head and decided to speed walk your way through this herd of teenagers. Half-way through the crowd, you could hear a familiar voice calling out.

Although unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to you, you chose to spare the owner a glance anyway and immediately met eyes with the boy you helped in the morning. Jisung caught your gaze, recognized your face, and raised his arm for a wave. Your legs stopped moving as you waited for him to run towards you, an action that was out of the ordinary for you.

Jisung came to an abrupt stop in front of you, then he bent down to catch his breath. Throughout the entirety of him rushing over to your side, the natural smile never once left his cheeky face. The way he seemed to be glad to see you made you lower your guard slightly.

"Hello!" he greeted you enthusiastically as soon as he stood up straight, his luscious hair bouncing with the movements of his body.

You gave him a weak nod in return. "Hi. How is your hand?"

Jisung widened his eyes, not knowing that you saw the injury when you had left so early in the morning. He moved to touch the white bandage around his palm and twisted his wrist a little as if to soothe out the pressure of its tightness. Then he looked back up at you, his eyes crinkling into an assuring smile. "It is fine. Were you worried?"

You tilted your head at him, eyebrows raising for a moment before you shrugged. You were not. You barely thought about him despite your meet-cute being the most interesting thing that happened this month. However, now that he has presented himself to you, it was basic decency to ask. "I did throw you over the gate. The least I can do is worry a little about what I caused."

The corner of Jisung's lips curled downwards in approval as he nodded. On that note, he did have the urge to ask you how you managed to easily hoist him over the ledge of the gate like that when he could barely manage to pull himself up. He has been obsessing over it during lunch that he even got his friends to make up hypothetical conclusions for him. None of which he liked, though.

His chance to ask you about it vanished when you gave him a curt nod of farewell.

"Well then, goodbye," you said.

"Wait! I haven't thanked you yet!" he exclaimed immediately, reaching out half-way to you before you suddenly turned around. He cleared his throat and quickly removed his extended arm, hiding it behind his back where his fingers were extended straight in nervousness that he had almost touched you unannounced.

Sensing that you were giving him the opportunity to properly thank you for helping him sneak into the school and essentially breaking the rules, Jisung placed his hands back to his front and he lightly bent his waist to a bow. He cleared his throat and spoke in a more serious tone, "Um... thank you for helping me get to school today."

You grimaced at the formality. You didn't need the gratitude, it does you no good. But, due to your lack of desire to engage in a further conversation, you nodded in response. "It's nothing. Just don't be late next time."

"I wish I can, but it is hard trying to get up after pulling an all-nighter and only sleeping for two hours," Jisung complained with a stomp of his foot, an adorable pout forming on his face.

You blinked at the way he just initiated a conversation right on the spot. He could have just laughed and said "okay" but no, he commented something that would compel to you say something in return. You weren't even sure if he had intended for his comment to lead to anything. It was just an opportunity placed right in front of you to chat more with him, an opportunity you really did not wish to take.

"Just don't go to school then. No one is stopping you," you said, going against your will and being just about the worst conversation killer ever.

"Uh, my parents are stopping me," Jisung gasped in faint irritation at the thought and he shook his head. "Besides, education is needed for me to live a comfortable life, if comfortable is defined by barely scraping by."

You hummed then, your lips curling down in acknowledgment. A painful flash sparked in your eyes as the mention of family, one which Jisung was unable to notice due to the short amount of time it stayed. Your emotion was quickly bumped back to your normal state, and you frowned at the way he seemed to talk down on occupations. He was right, but you being in the position he said he implied he would hate to be in felt like an insult to your life style.

A part-time job works wonders! If you have magic that makes you extremely adaptive, that was.

"Okay." You shrugged with an exaggerated pull of your facial feature.

"What about you?" Jisung asked then, ignoring your obvious unwillingness to talk. "Why aren't you in school?"

"My parent's aren't stopping me," you replied. "They're not here."

"Oh, so you came from somewhere else?" He assumed, tilting his head with a small clap. "Are you traveling?"

"No, they're dead," you revealed. Dropped a bomb, even. "My parents are dead."

Jisung felt his mind blackout, yet his eyes remained focus on your features. Your words were easy, understandable, and they were immediately processed in his brain—your parents were dead, which made you an orphan, which would explain why you were not dressed in uniform. But what about your other family members? Surely someone stepped up to be your guardian! What about social workers? Foster care?

The tragedy he could easily comprehend. Or, at least, the surface level of it he could understand. Anything further than that remained a question. What he was not able to grasp quickly was how to respond to your statement. His immense amount of empathy was ready to jump out of his throat at any given moment but he wasn't sure if encouragement wouldn't be served as a mockery to you. How long has it been? What could he say? What is there to say that could actually change reality?

Nothing much. Comfort is a scam, and people, with their little emotional hearts, fall for it every time.

In the midst of his thought process, you took his silence as an opportunity for you to quickly flee the conversation.

You had not thought to expose that aspect of your life, albeit it didn't matter since he was a total stranger and there was a ninety-nine percent chance you would never see him again. There was a knot in your chest, unexplainable and weird. What was it about this boy that made you spill a secret that has been tightly sealed behind your lips for years?

His stoic reaction to your past added to the helplessness you were feeling, which in turn amplified your urge to get the hell out of the crowd and be at a place where you could breathe on your own. You might have to get farther away than needed as students were making their way home, or you could wait in the shadows as you usually do.

"Anyway," you muttered quietly under your breath, not caring if he could hear you or not. "Take care."

You spun on your heels and quickly left the scene.