The next morning, the sound of a car horn pulled me to the window. It was Sean.
"Sean! What are you doing here?" I asked, jogging out to the curb.
"I had an errand nearby," he grinned, leaning out the window. "Your place was on the way, so I figured I'd give you a lift to uni. Let's go!"
"Lucky me," I laughed, hopping into the passenger seat.
Just as we were pulling away, the roar of a motorcycle engine filled the street. Fran pulled out of the driveway, his helmet on, his bike letting out a loud, aggressive rumble as he sped past us without a glance.
"Who was that?" Sean asked, following the bike with his eyes.
"Ah... my housemate."
"Eh? You have a housemate? I've hung out at your place and never saw anyone."
"Haha, you never asked," I faked a laugh, feeling a pang of guilt. "Now you know."
"Is it just the two of you? Are you close?".
"No," I lied, the word tasting bitter. "We're just neighbors. Our parents know each other, that's all."
I couldn't tell him the truth. Fran would hate it if people knew how deep our history went.
Later that afternoon, while I was decorating the faculty information board, Michael came running toward me, breathless and pale.
"Rain! Sean-he... he's in trouble!"
"What? Did something happen?"
"He's fighting! On the soccer field! You have to go!".
I didn't wait for another word. I sprinted toward the field, my heart hammering. When I arrived, the scene was chaos. I saw Sean on the ground and rushed to his side.
"Sean!" I cried, helping him sit up. His lip was split and bleeding, and a dark bruise was already forming near his eye.
I reached out to touch his face, checking the injury, when a cold, fake laugh cut through the air.
"Haha. Look at the two assholes worrying about each other."
That voice. I turned around and my heart stopped. It was Fran. He looked just as bad-bruises on his jaw and blood on his knuckles.
Without thinking, my instinct took over. I moved toward him, reaching out to see if he was okay.
"Fran, you're hurt-"
He didn't let me finish. He brutally brushed my hand away. Before I could react, one of his friends stepped in front of him and shoved me hard.
"What do you think you're doing, huh?" the guy sneered.
I hit the grass hard. Chris, Sean's teammate, saw me fall and lost his temper. "What did you just do to my friend?" he roared, lunging forward and punching Fran's friend.
Suddenly, the whole field erupted. Friends from both sides joined in. Sean and Fran threw themselves back into the fray. I was caught in the middle, desperately trying to pull people apart, when a fist caught me squarely in the face.
The world spun. I was knocked to the ground, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Before I could clear my head, the guy who had shoved me was on top of me, grabbing my collar and pulling his fist back for another hit.
"RAIN!"
The scream was guttural. It was Fran.
I looked up just in time to see Fran launch himself at his own friend. He grabbed the guy's collar, ripped him off me, and delivered a punch so powerful it shocked the entire field into silence.
Fran didn't care about the fight anymore. He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands shaking as he gripped my arms. "Rain? Look at me."
His eyes were filled with a raw, terrifying worry. I couldn't believe it-the cold mask was gone. But when he saw the bruise on my face, his worry turned back into pure, unadulterated rage. He looked at his friend, ready to kill.
I quickly grabbed his wrist. I shook my head, giving him a look that begged him to stop. It's alright. Don't.
The rest of the guys-Sean and Chris included-were frozen, looking confused.
"What the f*ck, Fran?" his friend spat, clutching his jaw. "What was that for?"
"You touched the wrong guy," Fran growled, his voice low and dangerous. "He has nothing to do with this."
"But he's with that guy!"
"Shut up! Remember this-no one is allowed to touch him. Ever."
Before I could process what was happening, Fran stood up and gripped my hand, pulling me toward the parking lot.
"Wait! Fran! I-" I looked back at Sean, who was staring at us with wide, hurt eyes.
Fran didn't give me a chance to choose. In one swift move, he hoisted me up and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Hey! Fran! What are you doing? Put me down!" I shouted, kicking my legs, but he didn't say a word. He just kept walking, his grip like iron.