Beside me | ONESHOTs

My seventeen-year-long life has taught me many things—but the one lesson that annoyingly sticks with me is this: the more you want and try to reach something, the more life seems determined to pull you in the opposite direction.

I try so hard every day to stay invisible, just to survive. And what happens? Of course, I can't. It's like some universal rule or whatever: every time I think I've finally faded out of existence, I end up in some noisy, humiliating accident.

"Hey, don't you know how to behave around here, newbie?" one of my classmates chuckled. I was hidden behind the corner of an almost empty corridor, on my way to the abandoned room I discovered back in my first year of high school. But guess what? Every desolate place, hidden from human eyes, turns out to be a den not only for invisible weaklings like me but also for gangster-wannabe idiots.

"Who allowed you to glare like you're about to kill someone?"

For the fairy's sake—can't they just go away? I want to be alone!

Of course, I could be the one to leave. But I was still kind of curious about what had drawn their attention this time. What reason had they conjured up for bullying someone today? And, more specifically, for bullying the transfer student on his very first day of school.

Although, what else could I expect from mushroom-brained idiots who managed to advance to the final grade only because of money and connections?

Don't get me wrong—our school isn't some kind of ordinary high school. It's located in a desolate area far beyond the city and has insanely high standards for admission—whether through scholarships (me), connections, or sheer wealth. In this school's society, hierarchy rules. Intelligence doesn't matter—money does. I, one of the top five students in every exam, am nobody. Just a cockroach crawling on the ground.

I hate it here. But when you graduate from this place, you're guaranteed a bright future as part of the elite. That's my goal. So what if I have to suffer under the school's hierarchy? So what if I'm a nobody in everyone else's eyes? It doesn't matter. Only the graduation certificate matters. And then—bye-bye, you sick-brained rich pigs.

And hey—my mother didn't give me the name "Leif" for nothing. "Leif" means survival and growth. Even though I'm barely the size of a pocket package or something, I've survived up until now with only a few accidents on my record.

"Ha? Won't speak? Are you mute? You little shit, you should know who's boss here." My classmate grabbed the transfer student's hair and yanked his head back, slamming it against the wall and exposing his face.

Wow—he was handsome. Even more than my imaginary boyfriend. But while my imaginary boyfriend was handsome in a sunny, bright way, this guy was on the villainous side of handsomeness. Pale skin, jet-black hair, dark eyes, and a well-defined jawline. Deep and mysterious features. He looked exactly like some kind of villain. But he didn't behave like one.

Or should I say—he was the creepiest villain of all villain types.

He let them bully him, disrespect him, while he just stood still, staring quietly. Not just staring, though—staring with those really, really scary, murder-like eyes.

Even I, hiding far away, felt shivers run down my spine.

One of the group spat on his marble-white face. "What an obedient little wretch. Let's just beat him up—this isn't even funny anymore."

The others nodded. I bet they were just trying to cover up their fear. Deep down, they were probably crapping themselves.

I almost chuckled at the thought.

Well, as a proper citizen with basic moral principles, I should help the transfer student. But I'm a student of this school too. Sorry, buddy—my well-being is more important than yours.

The beating ended faster than I expected. Maybe even those mushroom-brained idiots realized there's no fun in tormenting someone who doesn't fight back. One by one, they peeled away with some half-assed excuses, leaving the transfer slumped against the wall. He didn't even flinch. Just sat there, still as a statue, blood dripping from his lip onto that crisp white shirt like some kind of tragic painting. An otherworldly painting at that—just white, black, and carmine red.

My heart was hammering in my chest. Almost breathless, I hesitated for a moment before starting to walk. My old sneakers squeaked with every step on the marble floor, the sound completely out of place in the lifeless silence of the corridor.

As I shortened the distance between us, I gulped. I should just walk past him. I should. But somehow, I couldn't. My instincts told me that if I didn't check on him, I'd regret it. There was something about him—something unsettling. The way he just took it. No flinching, no screaming, not even glaring. That eerie calm was magnetic in the worst possible way, like staring into a void and wondering what might stare back. As if he had a hidden monster coiled inside him, waiting to emerge.

I stopped in front of him. He was still sitting on the cold floor, his back against the wall. He didn't even glance at me—like I was just the wind passing by.

"Hey," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. Still nothing. "Hey, you alive?"

Nothing. Just that creepy stillness. Oh, my dear fairy and imaginary boyfriend—stand by my side. I was starting to think he was more of a psycho than I'd imagined.

I crouched down a few feet away, keeping a safe distance. I wasn't stupid—I'd seen enough movies to know not to get too close to someone who might snap at any second.

"Look, I'm not here to trouble you. I just... I just wanted to check if you're dead or alive."

Finally, he moved. Slowly—brutally slowly, like he had all the time in the universe. He tilted his head back, letting our eyes meet.

Holy fairy. That look.

His eyes were dark, seemingly bottomless. If you weren't careful, you could drown in them. He didn't just look at me—he pinned me in place, trapping me with his gaze like I was some powerless cockroach.

"You think I'm weak," he said, his voice steady and low. In the quiet, spacious corridor, his words vibrated like a melodious hum laced with deadly, icy honey.

I blinked, completely caught off guard by his accusation. "W-what? No, I'm—"

"Everyone does, and you're no exception," he interrupted me, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. The movement was casual, so smooth, like it was something he did all the time. "They all think I got beaten up because I couldn't fight back."

I wanted to say something—anything—but he kept going.

"You're wrong. It's easier to let them think they're the ones in control—"

I couldn't take it anymore. Maybe I was risking my life thanks to my impatience, but when I sacrificed my free time to check on some stranger, I didn't want to listen to their bullshit. I reached out and slapped my hand over his mouth, my eyes flashing with anger.

"Just shut up. Did I ask you? I don't care why you didn't fight back—that's your business. I just couldn't stand by and watch someone die or end up doing something stupid like offing themselves. Understand?"

I realized how childish I was acting and quickly pulled my hand back. "Uh, sorry," I mumbled.

"I didn't ask you to care. I don't need your care," he said calmly, completely unbothered by my outburst. His eyes were still unnervingly intense, but maybe a little less unfriendly now.

For a moment, silence stretched between us as we stared at each other.

After a while, he stood up, brushing dust from his uniform with unsettling grace. It was elegant, as if he hadn't been a punching bag just minutes ago. The bloody stain on his white shirt gleamed like a ruby under the light streaming through the huge Gothic windows, making his eyes sparkle. For a moment, it felt like life had finally chased away the emptiness in those black holes.

He was taller than I thought. But maybe that was because I was still crouching on the floor (not because I'm short, thank you very much). His shadow stretched over me, making me feel trapped again.

"Thanks for your concern," he said, his voice seemingly genuine, though the slight curl of his lips screamed mockery. "But I don't need your pity."

Unexpectedly, he extended a hand to help me up.

"Fine, I won't bother. Just die alone," I huffed, brushing his hand away and getting up on my own, obviously pouting like a small kid.

His mocking chuckle echoed faintly as his lips curled into what looked like a tiny, sincere smile. There was something else in his expression, though. Curiosity? Interest? I couldn't tell.

I shifted awkwardly under his gaze. I'd never met someone who could win against me with just a single, intense glare. But now I had. And he was standing right in front of me.

"I never said I didn't want it, though," he murmured quietly, still staring at me. "I just said I don't need it."

"Wow, aren't you just great?" I snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Hush, go away, you oh-so-almighty vampire. I don't need to hear that kind of crap from someone who belittles someone else's acts of kindness and then acts like they don't mind at all."

Yeah, I was mad. Scratch that—I was fuming. Who does he think he is, with that stupid calmness and those smug little smirks? Does he really think he's better than me, standing there with that arrogant attitude? Acting like nothing matters? Like I don't matter?

He let out a soft hum, the kind that sounded like he was thoroughly enjoying himself at my expense. "What a brave lad you are, shorty," he drawled, his eyes locking onto mine with unnerving precision. They scanned me—every inch of my face—as if trying to engrave my features into his brain, as if I were some puzzle he intended to solve later. Or hunt down.

My breath hitched, but I crossed my arms to cover it up. "Who are you calling shor—" I stopped myself mid-sentence, biting down on the words. No. I wasn't going to let him get under my skin. "You know what?" I huffed, puffing out my chest like I actually had any power here. "I just want a quiet life. So pretend I never spoke to you, and I won't ever bother you again. Fine with you?"

He tilted his head slightly, squinting at me with a calculative expression that made my skin prickle. His lips curled into a smirk—just slight enough to be maddening, just cruel enough to make me want to slap it off his stupidly perfect face. "If that's what you want, and it makes you feel more secure," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "then fine."

But then he paused, letting the moment stretch out, before adding, "Only… I don't intend to listen to you."

That smirk widened. A pleased, infuriating, egoistic smile that practically screamed, I've already won. It made my hands curl into fists at my sides. I wanted to hit him, but at the same time, something about it left me… frozen. My legs, traitorous things, turned into jelly. Not the kind of jelly you'd happily slurp down at a birthday party—the weak, wobbly kind that leaves you helpless.

Yep, now I was a jellyfish. Soft, squishy, utterly useless—but still capable of zapping someone if they got too close.

My brain struggled to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling in me—anger, confusion, embarrassment—but then he moved. No, not just moved. He stepped closer, his presence like a sudden storm. My breath caught again as his scent hit me—a bewitching mix of cold air and sandalwood, so sharp and intoxicating it made my head spin.

Before I could react, I felt it—a soft, feather-light touch on my cheek. Silky, fleeting, and so faint it almost didn't feel real.

He'd kissed me.

Not a bold, dramatic kiss—just the brush of his lips against my cheek. So quick, so casual, yet so deliberate that it sent a jolt down my spine. Shivers rippled across my skin, and my heart skipped several beats, trying and failing to catch up with what had just happened.

And I wasn't glad.

I was horrified.

No—terrified.

I felt like some pitiful, beautiful cockroach that had just stumbled into a pool of sulfuric acid, too dumb to realize it was already disintegrating.

"Bye, my little princess," he whispered, his voice low and impossibly smooth, sweet enough to send chills straight to my core. And then, just like that, he walked away. As if he hadn't just turned my entire world upside down.

It wasn't until he disappeared from view, his footsteps fading into silence, that it hit me.

He kissed me.

He KISSED me.

I stumbled back, my face burning, my thoughts spinning in an endless loop of what just happened. And then, all at once, I snapped.

I screamed.

"YOU JERK!" I yelled into the now-empty corridor, my voice echoing off the walls. "YOU ABSOLUTE—" I couldn't even finish the insult. Words failed me.

Instead, I stood there, my fists clenched, my face flushed, and my entire body shaking with a confusing cocktail of rage and humiliation.

I couldn't stop replaying it in my head. The smirk. The kiss. The way he whispered those stupid, mocking words like he owned the air around us.

The worst part?

I had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I didn't even know his damn name!

And I hated it. Not that I don't know his name.

I hated him.

...Right?