::::::::::The Outcast::::::::::

Just like how one promises himself that there was nothing wrong, the forced smile in front of a mirror and that everything was fine. That was how Wayne tried to convince himself that he was thinking too much. And maybe he'd even imagined the way their eyes had followed him through the crowd.

But it wasn't an imagination at all, and he soon realized that his mind wasn't playing games with him when he spotted the first boy.

He headed straight for him with deliberate confident steps, and a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Wayne knew better as he turned immediately, but the second boy was already coming up from behind him.

He tried the right ally. The one that seemed like his only possible way out, but he was also met with the third boy blocking that path too. With a wicked grin stretched across his face, he walked way slower than the others with hands ducked into his coat pockets like he'd invented time.

Wayne froze as his foot got stuck against the cold ground. He'd been cornered and he knew the reason behind it all too well.

His throat tightened, his stomach twisting so bad he wanted to throw up. It felt new every time, and he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, because whatever the boys were about to do would be worse than being buried alive.

The first boy drawled. “Well, well. Where are we skittering off to now, huh?”

The boy had a look on his face that had been etched into Wayne's head. He always had that look–like every damn thing was a game to him.

Though he was younger than the other boys, he was stronger. It was felt around him in the air as his strong pheromone hit like a threat. It was like the kind of power that came from early awakening to Wayne.

“He asked you a question, freak!” The second boy said, stepping in and shoving Wayne hard in the chest.

Laughter followed as Wayne hit the frozen ground without any effort. It was all too cheap and predictable. His face turned pale, his palm stung but his pride stung even worse.

He looked up slowly, not minding the throb in his wrists and the burns in his knees. He couldn't control it even though he wanted to, and his voice came out flatter than he'd intended.

“It's none of your business where I'm going,” Wayne said, heart pounding but he didn't let it show. Not fully anyway.

Yes, Wayne was weak. But he has always tried not to be a pushover. He always stood his ground, even when his strength lay more in his words than his fists. And though his sharp tongue often earned him a broken lip or a bloodied nose, he still refused to let anyone trample on his pride. No matter how much stronger they were, Wayne never backed down with his tongue in between his teeth.

The third boy muttered, cocking his head. “You've got a sharp tongue for someone with no bite. Do you always talk back like that? No wonder everybody hates everything about you.”

Wayne forced himself onto his feet and off the ground, brushing snow from his pants with shaky hands. He didn't want trouble, and has never wanted trouble in fact. He just wanted to get away.

“Look,” he started carefully, barely locking eyes with any of them. “I don't want to fight anyone. Just let me go.”

The third boy laughed in his face, while the others snickered.

"Let you go?” The boy echoed. “Do you really think you'll walk away freely just because you asked nicely?”

Wayne studied between their faces, and he found that he should have known their names under better circumstances. But he'd rather not, because knowing the names of those who make your life a living hell makes the pain too personal.

“I don't want any of your trouble,” Wayne said again, more of pleading than confirming this time. “Just let me go home.”

But he knew it was way too late for that. He instinctively took one step back, and the first boy lunged at him. A fistful of his hair was enough to yank his head backwards, forcing his face towards him up close.

“Don’t you know I’m your superior?” he asked, and Wayne knew. He knew that being a year or more older didn't matter in his case. At least not to him or to anyone. Because age and seniority meant nothing with him involved. Not when you were an omega. And worse, a weak and pathetic omega.

Weakness erased rank in his world amongst the strong, and even pups younger than him could talk down at him–shout in his face and remind him of his place.

“Answer me again with a stupid question,” the first boy hissed between his teeth. “And I'll make you forget how to make use of your mouth.”

And with that, pain cracked through Wayne's skull before he could blink or think. The first boy's fist had smashed hard into his jaw, and It came too fast and mercilessly.

Wayne jerked his head sideways, and the cold hit even harder as he hit the ground once again. His brain pulsed as fire licked through his jaw. His teeth rang like they'd been screwed loose, and everything around him spun.

He tried swallowing a groan but couldn't stop a sound from escaping his lips, low and guttural.

It was humiliating. And to God. Wayne hated that part of himself.

He hated how he had no tolerance for pain even after years of being hit, mocked, and shoved. He still couldn't take any of it in silence. His cheek screamed, his ribs flaring. And he hadn't even made it to stand up yet when another punch knocked the breath from his lungs.

“You're so pathetic and weak, you know that? The second boy said, spitting near his foot. “You should be an outcast or something!”

Then he was struck again, this one landing squarely hard on his mouth.

Wayne tasted blood instantly. Warm, coppery–and he spat it out to the side, and red pooled in the snow. And even with the pain, Wayne smiled. Just a little, but enough. “Too bad this outcast is still breathing the same air with you guys.”

Wayne knew he shouldn't have said that, but his mouth didn't really know when to shut up. And he knew exactly what he was going to get next as he braced himself for it.

“Oh? You want to play the hero now?” The third boy snarled. “Then we'd show you what's done to outcasts then.”

Wayne braced himself as they swarmed him like bees. Three bodies colliding with one as their fists came with fire and fury. He couldn't fight back or hold back a cry even. His hands covered his face, but it only did little as every inch of him burned.

He only curled tighter on the ground until one of them paused.

He hovered above him as Wayne blinked past the blur of pain.

It was the strongest boy. He bent over Wayne's level, grabbing him by his collar and narrowed his eyes. "Where's your saviour now?” He sneered. “He always shows up, does he not? Always comes running to save his little handicapped dog. Go on. Call for him now!”

He shoved Wayne back down and stood, and the three of them resumed in again.

Wayne begged for him. His saviour. The one who ever made them stop, and the one who ever looked at him like he was more than any of what he was getting.

And as if jinxed, and summoned by the tension itself–a deep, menacing voice cut through the air from the distance. "Get your filthy hands off him!”

It was cold enough to still every heartbeat in its path as Wayne remembered.

The tone wasn't loud, but it was commanding enough to make the blood in his veins freeze.

And the boys felt it too.