To suddenly become the enemy of all those who used to be the nicest, Bom knew it all. She knew all of the stories, how friends turned out to be the biggest enemies most people had. She knew that friends came and went, but she also knew that many people left handprints in others hearts that would never be washed away.

“You wanna hang out?” Bom said one night over the phone, pressing it to her ear with her shoulder as she quizzed a friend.

“Oh, no, sorry,” A moment of silence, some muffled giggles easily heard as though a hand had covered the end of the phone that people spoke into. “We’re going out. Without you. Because, you know, we have better things to do than hang out with a loser like you.”

And then the line went dead, but not before Bom heard a burst of excited laughter on the other line, laughter that had failed to be hidden. Unless it was meant to be heard. Bom dropped her phone, not even caring as the screen shattered once it hit the hardwood floor of her kitchen, the bowl she was previously holding clattering to the counter. A loser like you. The words kept repeating in her head, making tears well up in her eyes despite her futile attempts to blink them away.

Bom went to school the next day, her head down, but she still felt all of the eyes in the hallway burning holes into her body, every glance a mocking one. She looked up, catching eyes with a few other students as she clumsily made her way through the crowded hall, instantly shying away from the people she looked at. Once at her locker, she turned and pressed herself against the secure metal object, but then she began to smell a horrible stench, as if something had been rotting in her locker overnight. With cautious movements, she unlocked her locket, opening it slowly, only to be greeting with exactly what she had smelled.

Garbage tumbled from her locker onto her school uniform, landing in her hair and on her shoes, sticking to her clothes as it all exploded from the small confinement it had been in. There was at first a shocked silence, the students all around stopping and staring, gathering around the horrible stench, and then there was a loud burst of excitement, as if the sound barrier had been broken in that moment. Bom stared, unbelievingly, into her locker, slowly bringing a hand up to tug a rotting banana peel from her shoulder.

Just then, the exact friend that Bom had been talking to the night before came over, a smug and triumphant smirk plastered to her face. “Park Bom, Queen of the Trash!” And then she joined in on the laughter, picking up a rotten apple core and holding it in front of Bom’s face, which was already becoming pink with embarrassment. “Long live the queen,” She whispered, then promptly tugged the front of Bom’s shirt forward, dropping the apple core into her shirt.

Bom never ran so hard and fast in her life, turning on her heel and pushing her way out of the crowd that formed around her locker as sobs erupted from her lips. She ran and ran, running off the school grounds, past her own house, and into the city where she took refuge in a small alleyway. There, she crouched just in the entrance of the alley and began crying openly, the sobs wracking her body and shaking her shoulders, each one growing louder than the one before. People passed the alleyway, casting curious glances at the crying girl that reeked of rotten trash, but no one stopped to comfort her. That is, not until the tear collector came.

He felt the sadness before he heard her cries, the small sniffles that came from the dark alley. But nonetheless, he entered and saw the girl hugging her knees on the ground. At first, he was curious as to why such a horrid smell came from a clean alleyway, but then he realized it was the girl. Scrunching his nose lightly, he squatted next to the girl, lightly planting his hand on her back, and with his touch she flinched and stared up with wide, wet, frightened eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m here to help. My name’s Hyunwoo. What happened to you?” He asked softly, shifting before sitting on the ground, pulling the dirty girl down next to him and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“My name’s Park Bom,” She whispered, her sniffles shaking her shoulder even more as she leaned against Hyunwoo’s chest, listening to his heart beat, strangely comforted by this stranger. And then she told him her story, how she had been left by those she thought she could trust, people who she gave her everything to. Hyunwoo listened, nodding slowly, and then after a moment or two he pried Bom off of him and offered a small smile.

“Bom, dear, what you have to notice is that those people clearly aren’t your friends. People like that don’t deserve to be friend with people like you, anyway. You’re nice. You’re sweet. You’re pretty,” Hyunwoo paused, tilting Bom’s chin up and kissing her forehead lightly. “Don’t cry. Don’t shed tears over worthless people like them, it just gives them the upper hand.”

Bom nodded, and then Hyunwoo wiped her tears away. They stood together, Bom wiping off her skirt, her head hung. He offered to bring her home, which she plain out refused, and after a moment of hesitation he offered to take her to his house. She agreed, and they went to his house, where she took a shower and he washed her clothes, giving them back to her.

Once Hyunwoo was alone in his living room, he let out a soft sigh. He stood up, but then paused, his brow furrowing. He heard a noise coming from upstairs, and he was baffled for a moment; the girl was still in the shower. Then his eyes widened. The boy. Hyunwoo flew up the stairs, throwing the door open to the guest room, his eyes wide at the scene he found.

All of his bottles of wine, each one empty, were scattered all around the room, one solitary glass resting in a hand that hung off the bed. Hyunwoo followed his gaze up the arm, a brunette head poking out of the covers in front of him. Biting his lip, Hyunwoo went closer and drew back the covers, revealing an entirely cousin of his, drunk and passed out, in the bed.

Byun Baekhyun was only seventeen years old, and already he was a drunkard.

⎛ end ⎠