The world around you seems to change when you give up. It gets colder - bleaker. For some reason, the sun doesn't shine as bright and the birds don't chirp as loud, the wind doesn't blow as strong and the people don't seem as happy and carefree.

What doesn't change, though, is the burn of whiskey as it glides down Jaebum's throat. Jaebum winces at the sensation, but supposes that he should be used to it by now. The flames of alcohol tickle him from where they lay deep in his stomach, swishing back and forth every time he shifts. Jaebum thinks he deserves the uncomfortable feeling.

A cool breeze rustles his auburn hair and he shivers involuntarily, fingers clutching around the bottle tighter, and maybe if Jaebum was smarter, he would've thought to have brought a jacket up here. A pack of newly bought cigarettes lays perched on top of his backpack and he debates lighting one up. No one is here to tell him not to, but maybe Jaebum wants someone to be. Maybe he wants someone to care enough about him that they don't want to see him destroy himself from the inside out. But wanting something doesn't mean you'll get it.

Jaebum replaces the bottle of whiskey in his hand for the laminated package. A few seconds pass before he finally opens it, grabbing one of the plain, white-wrapped cigarettes, and letting it lay on his palm. It's funny that something so small could hurt you so much, Jaebum muses.

The hesitation is there, present in the shake of his hands and the quickening of his breath, and for a second, he reconsiders. But the next second, Jaebum's lighting the cigarette and setting it in between his thin, pink lips. His lungs expand as he breathes in the toxic smoke and there's a cough teetering at the back of his throat, almost like a warning bell, telling him to stop. But he doesn't. He takes another puff and after a while, the burn subsides into a slight discomfort and the cough retreats.

It's as if Jaebum can feel the blackening of his insides, the sizzling of the smoke, and he smiles lightly. It's poetic, Jaebum nods to himself, people always tell him how pretty his exterior is, so he thinks it's fitting that his interior is not.

The view from the roof is a nice one; the sky is a pretty light blue color and the clouds a light grey that oddly reminds Jaebum of the smoke he's exhaling. Faintly, Jaebum can hear the sound of the school bell ringing, signaling the start of a new period. If he cared enough about his education, he would've grabbed his backpack and headed to class - hell, he wouldn't even be on the school's roof in the first place - but he doesn't. Not anymore, at least.

When Jaebum was younger, he was a great student and an even better athlete, dreaming of one day becoming a professional soccer player. But those dreams were crushed as fast as they were formed, because that’s the difficulty of life: ideals, dreams, and cherished hopes rise within us, only to meet the horrible truth and be shattered.

Jaebum tosses the cigarette to the ground in front of him, a black boot coming down to crush it. When his boot pulls back from the bud, it's exposed; unthreatening appearance torn apart until only the bad stuff remains. It's silent for a few seconds as Jaebum stares down at the thing, an odd sense of satisfaction at destroying it residing deep in his chest, before he hears a small click. It's quiet, and not of any real significance, but Jaebum's been up here enough times to know that it's the sound of the roof door.

He doesn't turn when he hears the squeak of the door's hinges or even the small gasp of surprise. Jaebum does turn, however, when he hears the voice. It's soft and flows like a melody into Jaebum's ear, light and comforting like the soft pitter patter of rain on the roof of Jaebum's house. The boy that the voice belongs to seems the same.

He has dark brown hair that sits messily styled atop of his head and bangs that hang in front of his wide, deep brown eyes. They seem to sparkle with curiosity and Jaebum's sure that his did, as well. Jaebum's gaze runs across the pale, unblemished skin to the bright pink lips to the defined jawline that gives the boy an older and more refined look opposed to his other boyish features.

The boy's wearing a light washed jean jacket, one that clings to his arms every time he moves, over a loose white shirt. His jeans are fitted; outlining his long, thin limbs and giving them the appearance of roads on a map, seeming to go on forever, and his white adidas are new looking, no scuffs or signs of damage marking them.

Jaebum smiles, he looks like he belongs in one of those old romance dramas that Jaebum's mother watches - watched. As soon as the smile appears, it disappears, leaving the other boy to wonder if it was really even there in the first place.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that there would be anyone up here during school hours." A smile with eye crinkles is flashed Jaebum's direction and he almost has to look away from the sheer brightness and intensity of it all.

When the boy gets no immediate answer, his smile falls a little and the sparkle in his eyes dulls. Coughing, he looks away from Jaebum, gaze falling on the old cigarette bud. A frown completely replaces the smile and Jaebum shuffles his feet when the eyes shift back to him. They're not judgmental - really, more disappointed than anything - but Jaebum thinks that he'd rather the judgment. “Is that your cigarette bud?” The boy inquires, voice no longer a melody but a sharp ringing in Jaebum's ears. With little else to do, Jaebum nods curtly, as if signaling the end of a conversation that has yet to even start. The boy seems to get the hint.

They stand in silence for a few seconds; Jaebum and the boy both keeping a steady gaze on the ground, except for the occasional sneaked glances that Jaebum guesses really aren't all that sneaky, before the boy speaks up, “I'm Jinyoung.”

The name is nice, fitting for a boy wearing such old-fashioned clothes, and Jaebum can't help but repeat it underneath his breath. The syllables seem to roll off of his tongue and he's so preoccupied with the warmness the name gives him that he nearly forgets the boy it belongs to. Jaebum doesn't forget, though. Instead of offering his own name, Jaebum nods again, voice lost somewhere along the time that Jinyoung came up, he supposes.

Jinyoung looks exasperated, annoyed even, at the lack of responses and Jaebum thinks that he would be, too, if they were in opposite positions. But Jinyoung doesn't voice his annoyance. He simply closes the roof door and walks to stand next to Jaebum, eyes cast downward the whole time. Easily, like they were his own, Jinyoung picks up the package of cigarettes and stares at it. He finally grabs one and lays it on his palm much like Jaebum did earlier, except Jinyoung doesn't hesitate.

“Do you have a lighter?”

The determination and strength in his voice is something that Jaebum envies. Without another thought, Jaebum pulls out the lighter and hands it to the slightly shorter boy, not even bothering to look the least bit concerned for his well-being, because he's learned a long time ago when it is and isn't his place to intervene. Jinyoung seems to appreciate not being questioned.

“I've never smoked before.” He states after lighting the cigarette. Jinyoung’s voice wavers, so does the determination in his eyes, and suddenly Jaebum's reminded that this person is a boy, young and vulnerable and naïve, and there's no one here to stop him from destroying his body, either.

Except Jaebum.

“Then why are you going to start now?”

Jinyoung's previously apprehensive face morphs into one of surprise. At finally getting a response or what was said in the response, Jaebum doesn't know. Doesn't care to, either.

Jinyoung's face easily slides back into one of passiveness as he replies. “Because I'm not going to let you destroy your body alone.” And in one swift motion, Jinyoung lifts the cigarette to his mouth and inhales.