Seo Haru wished for nothing.

She didn’t wish for the boys on the track team to stop stealing and vandalizing her notebooks. She didn’t wish for the girls in her class to stop whispering about the burn scar on her collarbone. She didn’t even wish for a way out of her life, for a good university placement or a new apartment with friends or even to die.

As she fiddled with the obsidian bracelet on her wrist, Seo Haru simply wished for nothingness. A quiet moment away from the cacophonous screaming of classmates and parents and teachers who stopped caring about her a long time ago. A book, a window, and some coffee. That was all Seo Haru wanted.

Needless to say, the student council president sitting next to her caught her off guard.

“Haru-ssi,” the student council president called. “We haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

Haru looked up. She barely knew anyone on the student council, least of all the President. Most of them were girls, save the Vice President, who had girls and occasionally boys regularly professing their love for him. The President, Secretary, and Treasurer had their fair share of admirers as well, letters being stuffed into their lockers by any number of students of any gender. Haru had watched all this go down more than once - perks of being invisible when her scar was covered.

However, the President was one of the few Haru had observed who was quite simply not interested in the attention. Haru mused that the President could probably date anyone she wanted - her hair was always perfectly combed, her makeup was always elegant and not overdone, and her uniform was always perfectly pressed. She had brown irises that were dark along the rim but copper around the pupil, and they bore into Haru’s soul like knives, slicing Haru open to see what made the junior tick. But for some reason, she only gave short, polite responses when others clamored for her input.

“I’m sorry, seonbaenim,” Haru said, averting her eyes.

“Oh, please, call me Yeonghui.” The President - Yeonghui, evidently - smiled warmly in the periphery, though Haru was mindful of heat. “As student council president, I make it my mission to know all the students. And you’re a high rank, but I never see you doing any extracurriculars.”

Haru didn’t look up, instead covering her bracelet with her hand and grabbing one of the beads for comfort. “I…I work part-time, Lee Yeonghui-ssi.”

“Oh, awesome! Whereabouts? I should stop by.”

Haru bit the inside of her cheek. She worked in a library on weekdays and then at a tteokbokki shop on weekends, in the kitchen. The librarians were kind to her and allowed her to do her homework when things got slow. The shop owner was a kind older man who let her work in the back while the other part-timers stayed in the front. But none of this was something she was comfortable with sharing with a girl she barely knew, even if she was a senior technically. They were the slices of nothingness that kept her from needing to rely on others.

Especially when the one person she wanted to rely on couldn’t be relied on, for no fault of their own.

Yeonghui seemed to take the hint after a few minutes. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I’d rather not, thank you.” Haru was more forceful with her words than she expected. But everything about this situation, quite frankly, made her uncomfortable.

“Well, I actually wanted to ask you if you had anything to do this weekend. The council and I are going shopping, and we heard about what Donghyeon did to your books. We wanted to take you to the bookstore and get that situation sorted.”

This was…even weirder. Haru arched her brow, meeting Yeonghui’s copper eyes with her orbs of brown sugar. “Respectfully, Lee Yeonghui-ssi. You don’t know me.”

Yeonghui feigned being hurt in a way so transparently duplicitous it was almost reassuring. “But I would like to.”

“Even if you would, I value my privacy, seonbaenim.” Haru stood up from her spot on the bench. Her invisible nature meant the spectacle was only visible to her and Yeonghui, and this was likely for the best. “If I wished to get to know you, I would reach out. I do not, so I have not. Now, if you will excuse me, seonbaenim, I have classwork to get done.”

Yeonghui didn’t seem particularly perturbed by this exchange, even as Haru dusted off her wrinkled uniform and walked away. If anything, she seemed…content with this situation. Haru only spared a glance for the senior when she was at the threshold of the school building.

The copper spheres reflected light back to her like mirrors.

The teacher had stepped out for only a second when the torment began once again.

Choi Donghyeon was the leader of the onslaught. His father was the owner of a large record company, and his mother was a chaebol in every sense of the word, so there were no such things as consequences for him. Add on being the track star, and he was more than founded in his assertion that he could do whatever he wanted to Haru, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Haru let the athlete and his friends demean her, talk down to her, pour milk over her head, and poke at her shoulder to see if they would succeed at poking her burn scar. Haru didn’t know how to tell them that the pain had become a part of her life so long ago that their pokes didn’t hurt any more than the last time she got hit over the head with a bottle on her kitchen floor.

As Haru closed her eyes, she tried to imagine what her sister would say. Haneul always knew what to say.

“They can never take your strength,” she heard Haneul say in her ears. “They can never take your dignity.”

That’s when Donghyeon pulled at Haru’s hair and said, “How does it feel to be abandoned by everyone who ever loved you?”

That was the only time Haru felt like crying, but her sister’s words were louder.

“They can never take your dignity.”

So they wouldn’t.