( MORE THAN A WEEK PRIOR BEFORE MEETING LEANSEI)
The rush of air hissed in Corshe's ears as the evening wind whirled his hair up, his legs pumping in a steady rhythm as he accelerated and paddled into the bicycle pedals.
He was simulating a state of pure freedom, a blithe, carefree smile painted across his face as he navigated the quiet neighborhood. Bathed in the warm, golden glow of the setting sunset, he looked completely at peace, dressed simply in an oversized hoodie and denim shorts.
He turned the corner onto the adjacent street, his mood light and happy, but the joy vanished in a single fraction of a second. Someone was preceding directly on his path. The bright smile on Corshe's face fractured instantly into pure surprise and fright.
The guy in the middle of the road was completely distracted, busy on his phone call while clumsily balancing a heavy box in front of him. Realizing a head-on collision was inevitable, Corshe reacted on pure instinct; he violently yanked his handlebars, turning his bike sharply to the side in a desperate bid order not to run into him. But the momentum carried him too far. The tires slammed violently through the curb of the road, sending him crashing hard into the brick wall.
Fortunately, the impact wasn't catastrophic. Corshe landed heavily on the pavement, his thick eyeglasses miraculously remaining perfectly intact right in between his eyes. Still, the fall had a significant impact on him, knocking the breath from his lungs as he was thrown completely off his bike.
Wincing, he immediately scrambled up to his feet, entirely ignoring his own body as he rushed to check his bike for any damage.
On the other side of the asphalt, the distracted guy finally realized the chaos he had caused. He abruptly cut off his phone call, dropped the heavy box unceremoniously onto the ground, and hurriedly ran over to see the boy. He stopped when he noticed that Corshe was staring open-mouthed at the bicycle frame instead of inspecting his own raw scratches.
' Oh no... I just bought it literally last month! Huhu, ' Corshe wailed silently in his mind, his heart sinking into his chest. ' I shouldn't have brought it here to my grandparents house at all! ' He was nearly crying, his vision blurring as he traced the ugly, deep scratches marring the top tube and seat tube. To make matters worse, the chain had slipped entirely off the gears, hanging sloppy against the crankarm.
The stranger rubbed the back of his neck, an overwhelming wave of contrite feeling washing over him as he stared down at the damage. Hesitant, he slowly reached out and touched Corshe's shoulder with the tip of his index finger.
Corshe snapped his head around, looking behind him with teary, vulnerable eyes. The sight of those unshed tears caught the guy completely by surprise, making him feel ten times more repentant for what had just happened.
"I-I'm so sorry. Are you hurt—" the guy started to ask, his voice catching as his eyes peered downward. He gasped, finally taking in the state of Corshe's limbs. Scratches across his foot, toe, hand, and elbow were already weeping bright red blood.
"Wh-why are you standing like th-that?!" Corshe's stuttering voice rang out, a soft sniffle escaping his runny nose as he tried to blink back his tears.
The guy suddenly smickered, a small, involuntary smile tugging at his lips when he realized just how incredibly cute Corshe was. Aside from his distinctly cute physique and delicate looks, the boy was remarkably small—his head barely reached the center of the stranger's chest. He radiated the aura of a completely naive person, a total cry-baby.
Corshe awkwardly wiped his nose and eyes with his sleeve, turning back to aggressively pull at the sloppy chain. He tried his best to fix it back onto the crankarm, but it was entirely hopeless; all he knew how to do was ride the bicycle, and absolutely nothing else.
"Alright, look, I am genuinely sorry," the guy said, his eyes filled with sincere remorse as he watched the boy struggle. "I'm kind of incredibly busy today, and I completely failed to see you coming since I was carrying these massive boxes." Corshe diverted his eyes from the stranger's face, staring intently down at the front tire instead.
' Other people back home used to beat me up just because they wanted to, and I never heard a single one of them apologizing, ' Corshe thought, a quiet confusion twisting inside him. ' But how come this total stranger is apologizing so profusely for an unexpected and completely unblameful incident?'
"It's fine. It's really not a big deal," Corshe mumbled softly. He gripped the saddle and tried to pull the heavy bike away from the stone curb to leave. But the guy's hand snapped down, firmly clamping over the handlebar of Corshe's bike to stop him from walking away.
Corshe blinked, raising his eyes. In that exact moment, the dying rays of the sunset spotlighted the guy's face, casting a dramatic, cinematic glow over his features. Corshe froze, completely dazed by the sheer attractiveness of the man standing before him.
He had his hair was tied low at the nape. Not neat. Not styled. Just gathered up because it kept falling into his eyes. Dark brown ash strands slipped out around his ears and jaw, choppy layers that framed his face like he'd cut them himself at 2AM. The ponytail was loose, a little frayed at the end. It swung slightly every time he moved, like it was too tired to hold itself still. The hair framed a broad, firm, and matured face. His eyes were a striking light brown color, complemented by a sharply pointed nose, distinct jawline, and pinkish, remarkably kissable lips.
"Come with me," the man said, his tone turning entirely serious, effectively shattering Corshe's daze and pulling him straight back to reality. "I absolutely can't just let you walk away when you have open scratches all over you from the fall."
Before Corshe could protest, another man emerged from the nearby shop, holding a similar cardboard box in his arms. He stopped dead in his tracks, sensing the heavy, tense atmosphere in the air. "Man, I have already settled everything inside the—"
"Right on time," the dark-brown haired man interrupted smoothly, not letting him finish. "Wait for me right here. We'll just go to the nearby store for a moment. Make sure you fix this bike completely before I get back." The guy was left entirely dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open as the dark-haired man turned around and pulled Corshe away from the front of the shop.
"But man—!" the guy called out, though the words vanished into the air as the man casually hurled his car keys backward over his shoulder for the assistant to catch.
Stupefied by the sheer speed of everything happening, Corshe let himself be led down the sidewalk. Before he could even process his surroundings, he realized they were standing in front of a brightly lit drug store right next to a convenience store. The dark-brown haired guy told him to wait, stepping inside the pharmacy for a few minutes before emerging into the evening air with a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers.
They sat down at the table outside the convenience store, and Corshe was just staring at him.
He gestured toward an outdoor set, and they both sat down at a small table right outside the convenience store. Corshe sat entirely frozen, his eyes wide as he simply stared at him.
"You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I'm eventually going to melt like an ice cube," the man teased, a playful glint appearing in his light brown eyes.
Corshe flinched, immediately diverting his gaze toward the pavement as a sudden, intense heat rushed straight into his face. "I wa-wasn't staring at y-you at all," Corshe stammered out defensively. He quickly looked down at the raw scratch tearing across his elbow and hand. The moment his mind focused on the injury, a sharp, biting sting finally flared up against his skin. He hadn't even realized how badly he was actually hurt until this very second.
While holding a small bottle of Betadine in his palm, Tael pulled his plastic chair a few inches closer to Corshe. "May I?" Tael asked softly. Corshe sat momentarily stunned, staring at the man's open palm before gradually placing his trembling hand into Tael's firm grip. The contrast between them was striking. "My name is Tael. Tael Licon," the older guy introduced himself, his voice smooth as he uncapped the antiseptic.
"I'm Corshe... Year Corshe," the boy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I assume you're not from around this neighborhood?" Tael asked, tilting Corshe's hand to inspect the raw scrape on his palm.
"Yes, I am not—ow!" Corshe sharply groaned, his shoulders flinching as a biting sting ripped through his skin. Tael had gently dabbed the medicated solution onto the raw flesh. Corshe squeezed his eyes shut for a second before continuing. "I don't live around here. I just visit my grandparents every month."
Without a word, Tael stood up from his chair. He casually dropped down to one knee on the concrete pavement, tilting his head to carefully treat the oozing wound on Corshe's exposed toe. The sight of this sophisticated, broad-shouldered man kneeling in front of him made a sudden, fierce blush rush straight to Corshe's cheeks.
Trying to distract himself from the embarrassing proximity, Corshe cleared his throat. "Do you... do you always get hurt? You know, dealing with things like this?" Tael's hand stopped mid-motion. He froze for a lingering moment before resuming his work, his expression turning visibly crestfallen.
"No. But I know someone who is incredibly foolish. He constantly lets himself get beaten up by others. He won't even try to fight back, as long as he believes there's a valid reason for it." Corshe's breath caught, and he slowly looked down at the pavement. A heavy, familiar ache settled into his chest. He understood the dark reality of being beaten up all too well. The only difference between him and Tael's mysterious acquaintance was that Corshe got pummeled regardless of whether there was a valid reason or not. To the world, his mere existence seemed to be reason enough.
"Can you remove your hoodie?" Tael asked, breaking the sudden silence as he stood up and reclaimed his seat.
Corshe glanced down at his arm. The thick fabric of his oversized hoodie was already stained with a blooming patch of dark red blood coming from his scraped elbow. He nodded, carefully pulling the heavy hoodie over his head, leaving him in just a simple white t-shirt.
Tael immediately went back to work, gently cleaning the raw skin of his elbow. Corshe watched him in absolute silence, a profound sense of disbelief washing over him. Aside from Kean, he had never met anyone else in his entire life who would willingly treat his wounds with such profound, unhurried care.
' But if you look at him closely, he really does look completely harmless and incredibly mature, '
Corshe thought, his eyes tracking the sharp, handsome line of Tael's jaw. "Alright, it's completely done," Tael announced, packing the gauze, tape, and medicine back into the small plastic bag with efficient movements.
"Thank you," Corshe said, his voice small but filled with genuine gratitude.
"Make sure to be much more careful next time."
"Uhm... yes. Thank you again."
"Wait right here for a minute," Tael instructed, rising to his feet and stepping inside the brightly lit convenience store.
Left alone at the table, Corshe looked down at his lap, the lingering heat in his cheeks refusing to fade away. He had never felt this specific sensation before in his life—this overwhelming, gentle care from a complete stranger. It felt entirely foreign, yet dangerously comforting.
He flinched slightly when a cold, sweating plastic bottle was suddenly pressed against his cheek. "This is for you," Tael smiled, pulling his hand back.
Corshe gratefully took the sweet, chilled juice, murmuring another quiet thank you.
For a few peaceful minutes, the two of them sat side by side, quietly sipping their drinks while watching the surrounding neighborhood slow down. The quiet, fragile atmosphere between them was suddenly broken by the sharp, echoing ringtone of Tael's phone. Tael reached into his pant's pocket, pulled out the device, and answered the call immediately.
"Yes... it's happening today," Tael spoke into the receiver, his tone turning crisp and professional. "Alright. Bye."
He hung up the call, turning his gaze back to Corshe. The boy was staring up at the expansive sky, which had turned a dark, burning shade of dark blue sky under the bright moonlight.
"Should I drive you home?" Tael asked, gesturing back down the street toward the shop. "That is, if my assistant can't fix your bicycle in time."
Corshe sheepishly scratched his temple, looking entirely conflicted. "Only if you're truly that kind." Tael stood up, casually sliding both of his hands into his gray pant's pockets. Watching him rise, Corshe realized that aside from his undeniably dashing face, the man possessed an incredibly attractive, high-end fashion style.
"I actually have an important matter to attend to very soon," Tael said, looking down at him with a gentle expression. "Which is exactly why I should drive you home right now before I lose track of time. If it's totally fine with you."
Corshe nodded obediently, standing up and falling into step a pace behind him. As they walked down the sidewalk, Corshe found himself staring at the man's bare back. It was remarkably broad—so broad that Corshe felt his own small body could easily fit entirely behind it. Tael possessed an astounding height, matched only by an unexpected, overwhelming kindness.
Lost deep in these swirling thoughts, Corshe didn't realize that Tael had suddenly stopped walking. Because of his distraction, he marched right forward, bumping his forehead squarely into the center of Tael's solid back.
"Ow—" Corshe squeaked, rubbing his nose.
Tael turned his head around, a deeply amused look in his light brown eyes. "Why exactly are you walking all the way behind me?"
A wave of intense embarrassment crashed over Corshe. He looked down at his shoes, his voice turning incredibly faint.
' Because I got completely used to walking behind people...'
"Walk right beside me," Tael commanded gently, extending his arm slightly.
Corshe's heart skipped a beat. He immediately scrambled forward, bridging the gap to stand flush with the older guy. Together, shoulder to shoulder, they walked under the quiet glim street toward the waiting car.
.
The sky had deepened into a cool, quiet evening by the time they walked back to the front of the shop. Remil, the employee from earlier, looked utterly disheveled and profoundly confused. He had been staring at the bent bicycle chain with a completely blank expression, clearly agonizing over a mechanism he didn't even know how to begin fixing.
The moment Remil spotted Tael and Corshe walking up, his face instantly lit up with immense relief.
"Man! I absolutely cannot fix this thing," Remil announced, throwing his hands up in a dramatic surrender.
"It's fine. Just collapse it and put the bicycle in the trunk instead," Tael replied smoothly, bypassing him to claim the driver's seat of the sleek, silver car.
"W-what?! I literally almost exploded my entire brain trying to figure out how to piece this back together!" Remil exclaimed, his voice raising in an exaggerated wail. The theatrical complaint shattered the remaining tension, and Corshe couldn't help but let out a genuine, bubbling laugh alongside the two of them.
"Just shut up and do exactly what I said," Tael commanded, his tone dropping into a cool, playful authority. He rolled down the driver's side window, resting his arm against the frame while loosely holding a lit cigarette between his fingers. "Hey, kid. Get inside."
Corshe nodded obediently and walked toward the rear door, stepping into the immaculate, leather-scented interior of the premium car. Luckily, Corshe's bicycle was a high-end foldable model, making it incredibly easy for a grumbling Remil to collapse the frame and secure it safely within the trunk.
With a loud slam of the trunk lid, Remil climbed into the front passenger seat. Tael started the engine, the powerful motor purring to life as he shifted into drive and pulled smoothly onto the main road.
"Where exactly do you live?" Tael asked, his eyes tracking the rearview mirror.
"Near the landmark plaza, on 1789 Street," Corshe murmured softly.
Tael gave a single, understanding nod, navigating the vehicle with practiced, effortless grace. For the first few blocks, a quiet, heavy pace settled over the interior of the car. No one seemed to have the immediate courage to break the silence. Sensing the awkwardness, Remil let out a sharp, theatrical cough and turned around in his seat with a forced laugh.
"So, how old are you anyway?" Remil asked, looking back at Corshe in the backseat.
"I'm nineteen. Soon to be twenty later this year," Corshe replied, his gaze drifting between the passing streetlights outside the window and Tael's reflection in the rearview mirror.
"Well, look at that! This old man right here in the driver's seat is twenty-three, and I'm twenty-two," Remil supplied cheerfully.
Corshe blinked, entirely stunned by the revelation. He had never expected Tael to be only twenty-three years old. While his broad physical physique and commanding aura carried a deeply mature weight, his sharp features were remarkably youthful up close.
Corshe stared at the back of Tael's head, a curious thought entering his mind.
' He's actively smoking, but he doesn't smell like bitter tobacco at all. Not in his breath, his hands, or his clothes. Is a clean scent like that even possible for a smoker? '
Shifting slightly on the plush leather seat, Corshe rested his hand against the cushion, his fingers brushing against something soft. He looked down and realized a vibrant, meticulously arranged bouquet of fresh tulips was resting beside him, accompanied by a neatly wrapped, premium lunch box. A wonderfully rich, savory aroma was radiating from the containers, blending beautifully with the sweet fragrance of the flowers.
"Oh, that?" Remil chimed in, catching Corshe's curious gaze in the mirror. "That whole setup is for someone our boss absolutely adores. Someone he considers incredibly important." Before Remil could utter another syllable, Tael's right hand snapped across the console. With blinding speed and without taking his eyes off the dark road for a single fraction of a second, he smacked Remil squarely across the back of the head.
"Ow! Sir! What on earth was that for?!" Remil whined, aggressively rubbing his bruised crown.
"Do you genuinely possess a burning need to answer every unasked question in the universe? He wasn't even asking you anything, you idiot," Tael said, his voice flat, lethal, and entirely fixed on the traffic ahead.
Corshe watched the bickering duo, a soft, involuntary smile tugging at his lips.
"She must be incredibly lovely," Corshe stated, his voice filled with absolute, innocent sincerity. The moment the words left his mouth, a sudden, suffocating silence slammed down over the car. Both Remil and Tael went entirely stone-quiet, the playful energy vanishing instantly into the dark.
Corshe's smile faltered, a knot of pure panic tightening in his throat. ' Oh no... did I say something completely wrong? '
.
Corshe gripped his handlebars tightly after Remil helped him unload his bicycle from the car's trunk. He pushed the bike toward the driver's side window, offering a warm, grateful expression.
"Thank you for today," Corshe said, a genuine smile breaking across his face. Tael looked at him for a brief moment, nodding quietly. He reached his broad hand out of the open window, placing his palm right on top of Corshe's head and playfully messing with his hair like he was dealing with a little kid.
"Take care of yourself, flimsy," Tael said, his handsome features shifting into a devastatingly attractive smile.
Corshe's heart skipped a beat. He immediately looked away to hide the sudden warmth in his cheeks, awkwardly waving his hand. "Thank you. You... you take care too." Tael gave him one last, lingering glance before shifting the car into gear.
"Byeee!" Remil called out cheerfully, leaning his head all the way down across the center console just to catch a glimpse of Corshe's face outside the window.
"Take care," Corshe echoed, waving back at him.
Tael stepped on the gas, and the powerful engine accelerated the silver car smoothly down the dark street, its red taillights quickly vanishing into the evening. Left in the quiet, Corshe wheeled his bike through the front iron gate and leaned it securely against the concrete wall. He took a deep breath, pulling his heavy hoodie back over his head to hide his fresh scratches and bandages before stepping inside the house.
As soon as he entered the warm living room, he approached his grandmother, gently taking her weathered hand and pressing the back of it to his forehead in a traditional sign of deep respect. He turned to his grandfather and did the exact same.
"Did you eat dinner already, anak?" his grandmother asked gently, her eyes scanning his tired face.
[ Anak : is in Filo terms which child, son, or daughter (offspring). It applies equally to a boy or a girl. ]
"Yes, Ma," Corshe offered a polite, reassuring reply.
"You should still eat a little more dinner. If you're too tired, go straight to your room and rest well. You have to leave incredibly early tomorrow morning," she instructed softly.
Corshe nodded obediently, promising to rest. He walked down the short hallway to his bedroom, shut the door, and shed the thick hoodie. Exhausted, he collapsed straight onto his mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling.
' Would I ever actually meet him again? ' Corshe asked himself silently. He slowly closed his eyes, the memory of Tael's gentle care wrapping around his thoughts.
A profound sense of happiness washed over him. It felt incredible to meet someone completely new who treated him with such unprompted dignity—a beautiful contrast to the living nightmare he faced every single day at school. If it weren't for Kean's constant protection and fierce presence, Corshe knew he would have been utterly degraded, isolated, and bullied into oblivion by the other students long ago.
But ever since the late news of Kean's horrific accident reached him, the fragile safety net had snapped. A terrifying sense of déjà vu was already creeping back into his chest—the familiar, suffocating dread he used to feel every single day before Kean ever entered his life.
As sleep finally pulled him under, a final, trembling question echoed in the quiet room.
" Without him there... would I ever even survive this? "