The night air is cold as it blows against his skin, ruffling his hair and pinching goosebumps onto his arms. Dongwoo shivers from the chill but yet his skin feels ablaze with fury as the alcohol seeps into his system and clouds the rational part of his brain.
It was a mistake; he shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. But Dongwoo being the nosy person he was, had stood outside of the counselor's office, not even bothering to walk away when he had heard voices chatting away just behind the door.
Sunggyu’s soft voice seemed like speakers to his ears at the time; the words night, man, rape ringing dully in his ears. A breath of air caught in his throat as mixed emotions swelled in his stomach before bubbling to the surface. Shock, pity, anger… any negative emotion took its course on him until he was left with nothing but the dull ache of regret in his chest.
He hadn’t been there, hell, he hadn’t even known this had happened. The thought was sickening to him, to think of someone touching Sunggyu like that other than Woohyun brought rage to his chest and the fact that it was forced didn’t settle well with him.
The swirl of emotions were too much for the boy to handle at the very moment so he took it to where he felt like it could be resolved, and that was no other than the bar.
Of course Dongwoo had gotten drunk out of his wits, and that’s how he ended up here, walking the street with a new found fury burning through him to the core.
Anger rose at the man who had done that to Sunggyu, anger at himself for not being there, anger at Sunggyu for not telling him. Was he not enough? Could he not be trusted? Was he not able to provide the comfort Sunggyu needed? Fuck that.
Dongwoo’s seething in anger as his steps carry him further into the dark streets, steps unsteady as he moves and eyes hard, searching through the night air. He feels a dull ringing in his pocket and it takes him a second to realize it’s his phone.
“S-Sunggyu?” The phone is pulled to his ear, the call answered and the name registering in his mind when he hears the familiar voice.
“Dongwoo-ah? Where are you?”
“Why do you care?” The words come out harsher than meant and he feels a twinge of regret when hears the hurt in the other’s voice when he repeats the question, gentler this time. Dongwoo speaks his location unwillingly, drawn in by guilt, when his eye catch onto a group in the distance. They’ve surrounded a girl, clearly intoxicated for he can hear their slurred words from his spot a few lengths away from them on the street.
The drunken male presses end call before he can think and is moving over to the group, steps harsher against the ground as his hands form into fists at his sides.
“It was one of you fuckers, wasn’t it!” He doesn’t raise his voice often and the volume surprises himself for a moment, but he thinks no more of i, his hand already clasped around the collar of one of the men, venom dripping in the words before he raises a fist to the other’s face. The impact stings the skin of his knuckles when it meets the hard jaw of the man, a sharp crack jolting it’s way up his wrist and he bites his lip to keep the hiss of pain from escaping.
The girl is already running away by this point, finding the time to escape thanks to Dongwoo’s distraction as the rest of the group join in to help their friend. Dongwoo’s vision blurs into a color of red, clouding his mind with nothing but anger when his fist meets another fucker’s face. “I bet it was you, wasn’t it? I bet you had fun, didn’t you? You sick fuck... “
It takes a while, not to mention a few injuries to his own body, to get all the men beaten to the point of surrender, to tired to continue the fight anymore. Dongwoo bends down so he’s eyes level with one of the men, his hand reaching into his own back pocket to pull out a small pocket knife.
“Now,” He starts, a sick glint in his eye as he leans forward to press the blade to the fallen man’s cheekbone. “I wonder how many of you I have to kill until one of you bastards decides to fess up, hm? One, two, three... “ He ticks off each with a scrape to the other’s face, carving the numbers prettily into the skin. His wrist curls, prepared to cut deeper when a voice behind him halts every movement.
