Jaime resisted the urge to spin around and throw a punch at Ahmed’s cocky jaws. His fingers twitched in anticipation, and he had to clench his fists, reminding himself that he was supposed to be the one who starts the drama, but not the drama itself. Moreover, it would be a losing battle if they get physical. Although Ahmed was a Left-wing, not a Lock or a Hooker like Fishburne and Passmore, he was less intimidating in size. But in term of strength, Ahmed would no doubt have little less, if not equal to the other two. Jaime could be street-fight smart, but even on the streets, little kids would avoid putting themselves at a disadvantage if possible.

“What do you want?” Jaime said. He poured himself a cup of water and raised to cup to his mouth, pointedly ignored Ahmed’s thinly-veiled irritation. Although he didn’t turn around, Jaime watched Ahmed via the distorted reflection on the lean, elegant tap.

Ahmed huffed, which came out like a strangle as though he was embarrassed. The Left-wing Sophomore rolled back his shoulders and tucked his hands in back pockets. “Just. You know where Reed is?” Ahmed asked, then hastily added. “I tried to text him, to call him, but he never reply. He usually replies fast, you know, but—” Ahmed petered out, replacing the rest of his explanation with a shrug.

Well, he never reply to mine, either, hotshot, Jaime sneered. However, his phone chose that very moment to Ding its damned cheerful tone.

Cursing his luck, Jaime gave Ahmed a dry smile over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’ve answered your own question a second ago,”

Ahmed locked gaze with Jaime, and his full lips pressed into a thin critical line and a curt jerk to the side. “Are you, like, one of those stupid protective shithead best friends?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re acting like one.”

“How?”

“Because you clearly know where’s Reed,” Ahmed raised his voice, his arms flung out like a snap wires. “I bet you thought I was a typical stupid jock that isn’t worth his time or something along the line. Look, I just want to say sorry to him, OK? Is that love enough for you?”

Jaime turned around slowly, disbelief contorted his face and widened his eyes. He gulped two cups of water down consecutively, slamming the stupid Best Boss mug on the countertop, wanting to vomit the liquid right back up. He felt sick. Sick. His lower half cramped. Snores piped up here and there. It was almost comical, if Jaime had a sense to humour the situation. “You broke up with him, and somehow I’m to blame.”

Suddenly, Ahmed was shouting, hysteria interlinked with pent-up anger and frustration. Ahmed closed the distance between them, cornering Jaime, death grip darting toward Jaime’s slender forearms. Jaime snarled, elbows jutting out and aiming for Ahmed’s abdomen. However, Ahmed caught on Jaime’s thought and noosed his hands around Jaime’s neck, yanking Jaime down and lifting his knee to meet Jaime’s jaws halfway. White sparks exploded upward to Jaime’s eyeballs, jarring the back of his mind.

Jaime gritted his teeth against the shock, bracing his palms on either sides of Ahmed’s wide hips. Using the traction of his feet against the floor, he tried to push off Ahmed. However, Ahmed bucked his hips, almost sending Jaime backward right against the counter. Ahmed was rambling into Jaime’s ears, words crashed out like a track of train wreck. Jaime could comprehended the last sentences—only barely— because in a split second Ahmed was drawing back, arm winding back for a punch, his voice almost returned to a normal volume. “Because you fucking hate my guts, and Reed listens to you like a fucking dog. So if you tell him to never talk to me again, he will of-fucking-course won’t.”

Jaime ducked his head between his shoulder blades. He remembered a fleeting, slow-motioned glimpses—of the now-soiled wooden floor, the silvery fridge humming three feet away from him, and the filthy yellow light that further tinted the dark spots creeping toward him—before he screwed his eyes shut under the impact of the punch.

The whole world shook loose, and he allowed himself to cry out loud. Blood bloomed from the underside of his tongue, stung him motionless.

Ahmed let go and Jaime immediately fell back against the flat vertical surface of the cupboard. He pressed his hands against the area near his cheekbones, hiding the eager twitches in his fingertips, feeling the muscles pulsed painfully underneath.

Jaime peeked up and bared his teeth. “Should also have mentioned you’re a pathetic coward, huh, Ahmed?”

Ahmed’s nostrils flared, and he swooped in again. This time, Jaime was prepared. He dropped low and tackled Ahmed’s midsection. He curled his shoulder caps inward to lessen the impact on his ribs. His arms snaked around and slithered down, nails digging for the weak points hidden behind the crook of Ahmed’s knees that would make Ahmed buckled. However, as he went down, Ahmed landed another blow under Jaime’s jaws. Blackness blanketed his vision, causing him to loosen his grip. They went down to the floor in a flutter of groans and growls and wrestles, utilized their elbows, skull, teeth, knees and the soles of their feet to all uses. The floor rose up like a tide, sphered them inside their own arena.

Soft moans and complains flitting around, but Jaime’s ears were buzzing and muffled out the voices. It wasn’t until foreign hands looped around his torso and yanked him backward that he realized that the commotion was a mixture of yells for them to stop and snips of cheers.

Jaime wheezed. He tried to open his eyes and relieved that both were intact and functioned properly, although the area around his eyeballs were swelling. He sent another challenging, mocking sneer at Ahmed, who almost broke out of the death hold. Fishburne staggered out of his bedroom in rumpled shirt with a yellow stain and a ratty boxer.

“What happened?” He boomed in an extremely loud voice that cause everyone to flinch. He turned sharply at Jaime, expectantly.

Jaime’s nose throbbed. He staggered to his feet and shook off his holder. A copper tang seeped through the cracks of his lips, searing his senses awake. At that moment, there wasn’t many thought running in his mind. Just a hundred Fucks dwindling round and round. Jaime winced at the sharp ring at the side of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately warding off the off-balance sense. A shudder went through him involuntarily.

He wasn’t supposed to be involved in a fight. With him looking rugged, he would just look like another wasted kid—unable to provide any credibility or trust in his soberness.

It seemed like Jaime had let his panic slipped before he was able to school his expression into a nonchalant smile, because Fishburne’s face hardened and tutted Jaime out before he could come up with any scampy of an excuse.

Fishburne gestured for Ahmed to be released. Ahmed locked his head low, averting his gaze, but his chin set in a stubborn jut out. The kid said nothing at the unspoken disappointment, only glaring at Jaime’s exasperation, baring his teeth when Fishburne turned his back.

Jaime expected Fishburne to spew a speech on some pacifist shit at the face of the fight, however Fishburne merely turned to dismissed others to go back to sleep, telling them he had some pills that helped with intoxication. Then, he strode over and clasped his massive hand around Ahmed’s shoulder.

Although Ahmed did not visibly startle, a muscle near his mouth ticked. As though he thought death had touched him. Jaime tried to suppress a smirk. His anxiety at the turn of events subdued partially as he reconsidered his position—yes, he certainly looked like a delinquent, but compared to Ahmed he was still more trustworthy.

“Come on, both of you guys need a breather.” Fishburne said, ushering Ahmed and Jaime toward the door.

Jaime almost yelped in relief to the blissful chill air outside the Attic. The narrow passage was cramped with three big bodies trying to stand parallel, but it was less suffocating compared to inside the Attic, in Jaime’s opinion. Ahmed crossed his arms—the scathing glare from Fishburne clearly made him squirmed, but, he didn’t back down—a clear sign that he wouldn’t Shake hands and make up.

“So, what had happened? And tell me the truth, Kenneth.” Fishburne looked at Jaime, the lines on the face stiff and unamused.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair and contemplated his option. Since Fishburne had already formed his own conclusion, Jaime would just go along.

Afterall, Jaime was just an antisocial left-handed man who tried staying out of drama. He would always be in a passive role, never deliberately harm anyone.

So, shaking his head and lifting a shoulder in a half-hearted deny, Jaime said, “It was simply a misunderstanding—”

“—that could have been resolve through words,” Fishburne stared at Ahmed as he drawled.

“Ahmed lost his cool for a sec. We all do, you can’t hold Ahmed up for that.”

Fishburne scoffed, but carried on nonetheless. “What’s the misunderstanding?”

Ahmed said too quickly. “It’s nothing.”

“He was just asking where’s More,”

“How exactly More in relation to this?”

Jaime beat Ahmed to the answer. “Well, Ahmed wanted to talk to More, but I don’t know where’s More so—” Ahmed started to protest, Fishburne barred his arm, silencing Ahmed.

“So he just started swinging at you,” Fishburne finished. And Jaime obligately nodded, twisting his smirk into an agonized, guilty frown. Fishburne scowled and Ahmed bulged out his neck and biceps, evenly matched Fishburne’s gaze. “Man, that is not how you express your love.”

Ahmed hissed. “You don’t have the right to tell me anything,”

“You’ve to understand there’s a fine line between possessive and love,” Fishburne growled back. He squared his stance, pulling his shoulder back to appear looming over Ahmed by a few inches. However, before Fishburne elaborated, a scream pierced through Dorm’s chattering silence, followed by rough scuffle of flesh and nails and shoes slapping against hardwood.

Ahmed paled, his muscles slackened like someone had cut his strings. “Reed.”

Even up until the emergency horn blared through the Dorm and Jaime, Fishburne and Ahmed somehow found themselves untangling drunk and mad Passmore from sobbing, bleeding More, Jaime wasn’t quite sure which of them three hit the Emergency button.