It happens in the moment, her bubble of mesmerized burst; Kristi glanced around, then looked down. Her suitcase was gone, "Right… What the—-" rolling off on its own, wheels wobbling down the side corridor. She groans, running after it, turning a corner and—.
Who was that..?
Some freak getting beat up? Yeah, that's the least of her concerns: yet she couldn't peel her gaze away. A part of her would like to turn around, to retreat, to run and never look back.
There, crumpled on the floor, his blazer
torn at the shoulder, face turned away, as one eye swelling shut. Kristi sighed in a slight relief at seeing that it wasn't anything out of the ordinary -though the suitcase did go on its own as if it was leading her to this very scene-. An instant wave of reality hits, the boy coughs quietly with blood on the corners of his mouth, trying to prop himself up, but slumps back down. Hovering over him stood.. woah; an ugly guy.
His fist were still clenched; nails welled into his palm, his face—empty. No rage, just hollow silence, like he'd already disappeared into himself. A slow, cruel calm. One you only wear after the storm's passed... or right before the next one hits.
Kristi chokes back words at first, just staring. The ugly turns his head—slowly, almost absently—and locked eyes with her, just enough to see his nametag.. 'Jinnyeoung'
"The hell are you doing?" Her voice sharp, but not loud, just enough to make it real.
He doesn't respond. He didn't have to. with the air between them answering for him.
The boy tried to sit up again, arm shaking under the weight. "Go.. leave.. now..," he mumbles, lips cut, voice dry. "Don't—lady, don't."
Jinnyeong's knuckles twitch.
"Are you relieved now? Satisfied with your actions?" she asked him, voice low now, eyes hollowed. "Beating on someone who's already down? Really? Guess you're too much of a coward to at the very least go after a guy who has the same strength as you."
Still no answer.
He turns away first, not out of shame—but boredom, as if nothing in this room was worth his energy anymore.
Not the boy, not her— not even the bruises he left behind. With a final glance—dead, unreadable—he walked past her.
Kristi stood to the boy's side, crouching low. "Are you okay?"
He winced. "If I was, do you think I'd still be sitting here?"
"Shouldnt you be in the hall or something—"
"Yeah. Took a detour." His smile, weak, unwelcoming, "Ran into the welcoming committee."
She offers her sleeve regardless, him ignoring it at first, then takes it anyway, pulling himself up.
"I have legs. I can walk on my own," he muttered.
"First of all you have an injured leg and you're limping."
"Fine. I can limp on my own," he corrects himself, and that made her crack a smile.
They walk slowly back toward the ceremony.
________