The floor was cold and moist, a disgusting and quite nauseating mosaic of grime, piss, and residual shit, speak less of the cigarette ashes and vomit stains.
Daniel didn't even want to identify some of the things that pressed into the flesh of his palms and knees.
The sharp, acrid scent of industrial cleaner and urine burned his nostrils. Above him, Logan Lee's laughter was a blunt instrument, pounding against his eardrums.
"Come on, Pikachu! Say it louder! Pika-pika!"
Hot shame flooded Daniel's veins, heavier than his own body, which really says something.
He was now human Pikachu. A pathetic, electric-less rodent on a filthy bathroom High School bathroom floor.
His vision blurred, focusing his attention on a crack in the tile. Just a little longer, he chanted inside his head in a desperate, unanswered prayer. They'll get bored.Please get bored. Become nothing. Feel nothing. Become... Pikachu!
Then, an out of place sound cut through the laughter.
It was a wet crunch, visceral and final, like a watermelon dropped from a rooftop. Daniel flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.
What the hell? That was definitely a punch! Who are they fighting now?!?
Suddenly, a warm, fine mist thick and metallic, splattered his cheek. A heavy thud vibrated through the floor, followed by a girl's shriek, abruptly choked off.
What? What's happening? Is it worse? Should I yell for help?
His body was in a state of pure fear, trembling without pausing even once. He braced for more pain and torment.
But little did Daniel know, that this moment would mark the start of something neither he, nor anyone could have oredicted I a million years.
Instead of being hit, warmth settled on his shoulders. Something heavy and soft.
The coarse, damp fabric of his school uniform was suddenly covered.
A jacket. The gesture was so wierd to his traumatized thought process, so utterly different from the last 3 years of his life, that his mind simply... short-circuited.
The jacket was… placed. Not thrown. Placed.
W-what's going on? Should I peek?
Hesitantly, he cracked open one eye and was stunned.
The world he used to see as black, gray, and white had been repainted with colors so vivid his eyes nearly hurt.
The filthy bathroom was still there as were the stained sinks, and the vulgar graffiti.
Except, now, Logan's hulking and seemingly indomitable body is sprawled on the same bathroom floor that he had made Daniel crawl on moments before. Logan's nose is bent in a painful looking shape, and is leaking blood. His left eye is swollen shut completely and is already turning into a mix of yellow, blue, purple and red coloration. His jaw has a bruise in the distinct shape of a fist, and is also swollen.
What the hell-?
"Don't worry, they're not dead." A playful and childish voice says from behind Daniel.
Daniel whips around, heart pounding. But what he sees leaves him more stunned than Logan's sprawled body. There falling through the high, dirty window was a shaft of afternoon sun, and standing in its heart was a figure.
Daniel's breath hitched.
An angel.
That was his first, incoherent thought. The light haloed messy, snow-white hair that fell just above unnaturally bright ruby eyes.
The features were a masterpiece, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, a harmony of lines that seemed to defy simple human genetics.
He wore a simple white wife-beater, but on him, it looked like a sculptor's drapery, clinging to a physique so densely perfect it seemed unreal.
Every abdominal muscle was etched clearly, leading down to a pronounced V that spoke of raw, compact power. A simple golden cross chain rested against his chest, catching the light.
And he was smiling. A wide, effortless grin that showcased perfect teeth, a smile that held no mockery, no cruelty, just a bright, open warmth that was as disorienting as the punch had been.
"Hey, Hyung!"
The voice was cheerful, clear. A hand extended towards Daniel, not in challenge, but in offer. The fingers were long, clean.
Hyung? He's calling me Hyung?
Daniel's brain fumbled with the word. This… this deity was addressing him with respect?
"You're not weak," the figure said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "You're pretty strong, you know? Not everyone realizes how strong you have to be to not break from that kind of treatment. You're pretty cool!"
The words washed over Daniel, meaningless and profound.
Strong? Him?
He was a quivering pile on a bathroom floor. Cool? He was the opposite of cool. He was the definition of uncool. Was this some new, sophisticated form of mockery?
Then the figure tilted his head, his brilliant red eyes sparkling with a childlike curiosity that was utterly at odds with the scene of carnage around them. "Oh, by the way! Do you know any good Ramyeon spots around here? I've never been to Seoul!"
Daniel could only stare. Ramyeon. He was asking about ramyeon while standing over the KO'd bodies of J-High's most notorious bullies.
The girl who had been screaming was now silent, her mouth agape, her eyes glazed as she stared transfixed at the newcomer's impossibly beautiful face, seemingly blind to her fallen comrades.
Before Daniel could even attempt to form a syllable, the hand that was offered suddenly moved. It grasped Daniel's forearm with a gentle, unbreakable firmness. With a casual, almost negligent motion, the figure hoisted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing more than a backpack.
Daniel's feet left the filth, and he was standing, swaying, the large jacket now fully draped around his slumped shoulders.
What… what the hell kind of strength is that?
Is he even human?!?
He finally managed to fully look around. Logan was out cold, a trickle of blood from his nose.
The other two were in similar states... that is, crumpled like discarded laundry.
The figure, his savior, beamed at him, seemingly unbothered, despite the setting and circumstances.
Then he spoke again, and the final clue clicked into place, making Daniel's worldview tilt on its axis.
"By the way, Hyung. My name is Lance! Lance Lee! What's yours?"
The voice, the eager introduction, the respectful but friendly 'Hyung'. These clues all pointed to one impossible truth.
The majesty before him, the effortless force of nature, the angel in a soiled bathroom… was younger than him.
What the hell. What the hell. WHAT THE FUCK! How is this even possible am I dreaming?!?
Lance Lee. The name echoed in the shell-shocked cavern that is currently Daniel Park's mind.
He looked into those ruby eyes, saw the genuine, open friendliness there, saw the blood speckled on the perfect knuckles, and felt the lingering warmth of the jacket guarding him from the bathroom's chill.
And for the first time, on this day, Daniel Park found his voice, though it was little more than a stunned whisper.
"D-Daniel. I'm Daniel Park."
And with that sentence the world changed forever, though none but one would ever know...