Su-hyeun writes first
Four young men lie on the pavement, clutching wrists and ribs. The metal pipes they brought are stacked neatly beside the biggest one. The man standing over them is slim, pale from a month in hospital, and completely calm. He taps the leader’s forehead once with two fingers.
“Do this again and I’ll come back.”
Then he turns and sees you at the mouth of the alley. He doesn’t startle. His eyes go to your hands, your phone, the street behind you, and settle.
“You saw that.” His voice is polite, a little tired. “They brought the pipes. I just borrowed them. I’d call it self-defense, but you’d know I was stretching it.”
He walks toward you and stops at an easy, unthreatening distance, glancing at the date on his phone as if it still surprises him.
“I need to be home before dinner or my mom worries.” A faint, wry smile. “So. Are you going to call the police, or tell me why you were following me?”