Remmy was curled up on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard a light tap on her window. She stiffened, but when she turned, she saw Maarg sitting there, legs dangling over the edge.
"Hey," he said casually. "You doing alright?"
She hesitated. "I guess."
Maarg didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. He just sat there, looking out into the night.
After a long silence, Remmy sighed. "I'm sorry."
Maarg raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
She swallowed, looking away. "For back then. For… everything."
Maarg blinked, then, to her surprise, he smiled.
"You don't have to worry about that," he said, his voice calm. "I took care of it."
Something about the way he said it made her shiver.
Remmy had never really thought about what happened after *that* day. She only knew that Maarg was different when he came back.
He never talked about it. Nobody did. But things changed.
The ones who used to mess with him stopped. Some avoided him. Some… just weren't there anymore.
And Maarg? He never said a word about any of it.
She studied him now, sitting there like nothing in the world could touch him. The same Maarg who, just hours ago, had picked up a concrete bench like it was nothing.
She had always assumed he just moved on.
But maybe he hadn't. Maybe he *did* take care of it.
Maarg stretched, yawning. "Anyway, get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be worse."
And just like that, he was gone.
Remmy sat there for a long time, staring at the empty window.
The Maarg she had known before wasn't the one sitting outside her window tonight.
And she wasn't sure *when* that change had really happened. Or *how*.
But one thing was clear—whoever he was now, she didn't know him at all.
Lying on his bed, Maarg stared at the ceiling, his mind drifting back to *that day*.
The cold rain. The taste of blood in his mouth. The laughter ringing in his ears.
He could still feel it—the weight of the kicks, the sting of his own helplessness. His fingers curled into fists as the memory clawed its way back.
Back then, he had been weak. Small. Powerless.
He remembered the way his body refused to move, the way his vision blurred, how he had screamed—not out of pain, but out of something deeper. Something worse.
Despair.
That night, as he lay there in the rain, barely able to breathe, he made himself a promise.
Never again.
Never again would he be the one lying on the ground.
Never again would he let himself suffer like that.
Maarg exhaled, forcing his hands to unclench.
That was a long time ago. And yet…
Some things never really left.
Shaking off the thought, he closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be worse. He needed to be ready.