His mother always asks him why he likes to lock himself in the bathroom for hours. He answers differently every time.

“Well, I find the toilet seat very comfortable.”

“The wifi reception in the bathroom is better than the reception in my room.”

“There’s cold water in the bathroom, Mom. It’s sweltering right now.”

“There’s hot water in the bathroom, Mom. It’s freezing right now.”

And on some days, when he’s feeling particularly shameless, he says, “I’m a hormonal teenager, Mom. What do you think I was doing in there?”

And after she scolds him for locking himself in the bathroom, Kyungsoo just laughs and shrugs.

“Yes, Mom, I won’t do it again.”

And his mother smiles back at him, yet she never notices how the smile does not reach his eyes.

Because once the sliver of metal has been turned into place, the prying eyes and judgmental glares are shut outside the door, crystal droplets start falling down his cheeks. Heart-shaped lips are pressed against fabric to silence the sobs. He lands on the floor with a muted thump and a familiar flavour dances on his tongue – the salty, rusty taste of blood that seeps out as his teeth punctures the soft flesh of his mouth. Insecurities flood his mind and an empty ache that runs through his body has him curled up on the cool marble floor, limbs feeling heavier than lead. He lets himself sink, submerging deeper and deeper into the ocean of thought and feeling, until his eyes sting from dryness, and his eyelashes come off in thick clumps as he rubs his eyes.

The liquid dread still circulates through his veins as he watches the drops of stray water swirl down the sink.

He doesn’t like who he is. He doesn’t even know who he is anymore.

Kyungsoo still greets his friends at school, but lately, even a simple “hello” seems to weigh on his tongue like a stone. To be honest, could they even be considered friends? Everything is just grinning teeth and insincere enthusiasm, cold laughs that echo through the halls and an arm slung around a shoulder. Nothing more, nothing less.

Maybe it’s just him and the way he perceives the world. Maybe instead of the monochrome colors that he sees, other people (normal people) see blooming hues of gold, pink and smokey tints of blue, green. He’s a smear of gray in an otherwise vibrant world; he’s the accidental slip of hand on an artist’s canvas.

He has no place in the rush of busy life, people and laughter, but he cannot depart without leaving the tiniest mark. He’s the mistake that cannot be erased, and he cannot be more selfish than he already is.

But Kyungsoo lets himself be self-indulgent. He’s not selfish enough to abandon his family and his life; but he’s selfish all the same. Trembling hands reach for the tap and water gushes, a thundering roar that drowns out everything else. Saline tears land on the floor as he drags himself to the white porcelain bowl, shoving his fingers down his parched throat. The nausea that churns at the bottom of his stomach holds guilt, fear, regret; and everything spills out of his lips. It isn’t long before his stomach is empty of its contents.

His throat screams with sweet, burning pain and even though his brain still reverberates inside his skull, the corners of his lips tug upwards. The marble tiles sear against his feverish skin as he watches all his flaws spiral into oblivion with numb satisfaction. And even though Kyungsoo knows it's so wrong, the urge overrides all rational thought and he leans and falls against the icy porcelain bowl another time.

* * * *

Kyungsoo is pretending to be deeply involved in a conversation about One Piece and Sword Art Online when he realizes something is different. The girls are all giggling and twirling their hair, gossiping like there’s no tomorrow, when they usually just flock together to watch some Korean drama on their phones. Before he can ask any of his other classmates what the fuss is about, the hurried footsteps of their teacher echo in the hallway. It’s a flurry of crumpled papers and hushed whispers as the students speed to their seats.

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Mr, Park.”

“We have a new classmate that will be joining our class from today onwards. Introduce yourself to your new classmates, Jongin.”

The boy standing awkwardly next to Mr. Park reveals teeth that sparkle like freshly fallen snow, and immediately all the girls swoon. “Hi, I’m Kim Jongin. My favorite subject is science and my hobby is dancing. I… hope I’ll be able to make friends with all of you?”

He glances at the ground sheepishly and the girls swoon a second time. Kim Jongin is already popular with the ladies. The other guys in the classroom grumble and mutter under their breaths, looking daggers and swords at the tanned boy. Kyungsoo tilts his head and scans the lean male from head to toe, before inserting earbuds into his ears. His foot taps the ground as the beat begins; why would he concern himself with the complaints and gossip about the new boy, when he is just as normal as everybody else?

He gradually melts into the syrupy substance of music when suddenly the melody stops. Kyungsoo blinks in surprise and annoyance. Mr. Park’s face is looming over his desk, suffocating him with his wide, ear-to-ear smile. “Do Kyungsoo, since you seem to be so bored, why don’t you show Jongin around today?”

All the muscles in his face twitch and he feels obligated to smash his face onto his desk, but Kyungsoo nods and forces a smile. “Sure, Mr. Park.”

He feels the heat of the glares that the females send in his direction as a blue-green school bag lands on the desk next to his.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

The sharp, piercing silence that slips between the cracks of dialogue leaves both of them looking in opposite directions and fiddling with their fingers.

“So why did you transfer to this school, Jongin-ssi?”

“My dad had a better job offer here, so the whole family moved.”

“Yeah… So what do you think?”

“Hm- Of what?”

“You know, this place in general.”

“Well, it’s certainly busier than where I come from. I like it here, there’s everything, but…I still miss home.”

“Oh. At least it can only get better, right?”

“Yeah…So, Kyungsoo-ssi, you know my hobby and favorite subject. What’s yours?”

“Well, my favorite subject is history, and my hobby is singing. I kinda love both of them.”

Jongin chuckles, “I’m not really a fan of history, but I do like listening to people sing. Do you sing for the choir or anything?”

And in bits and pieces of conversation, Kyungsoo concludes that Jongin is sweet, and fun,and believes that nothing is bad, that the glass is always half full. Kyungsoo doesn’t know if what he feels is jealousy, admiration or pity.

* * * *

Kyungsoo spends the most part of the day showing Jongin around. He hears the whispered words and feels the glares digging into his back, but he doesn’t feel like caring. Baekhyun and Sehun have disappeared and Kyungsoo has no clue of their whereabouts, so he busies himself with introducing everything to Jongin.

“That’s Miss Choi. She’s a good teacher, she actually knows how to teach and loves her students. If you have her science class, then you’re really lucky.

“That’s Mr. Lee. He’s fun, I guess, but he doesn’t really teach. Which means you have to do all the work and the studying by yourself. He teaches Math.

“That’s the gymnasium, where the physical education lessons are held.”

Jongin doesn’t say a word as Kyungsoo shows him around. He studies everything, the teachers, the facilities with a rare awe. It’s only after lunchtime is over and they’re back to the classroom that Jongin speaks.

“Your school is awesome.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I have math next. So… This way, right?” Jongin points down the left corridor. Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows.

“No,” Kyungsoo points in the other direction. “This way. I’ll walk you there.”

“You will? Thanks!” Jongin flashes him a grin. Kyungsoo finds himself smiling back.

* * * *

“Kyungsoo, can I see you after class?”

“Yes, Miss Kim.” He places the test paper face down on the desk, swallowing the lump in his throat. He doesn’t need to look to see the number of crimson crosses etched onto paper. Amid the delighted chatter of his classmates, his frown stands out prominently.

Kyungsoo purses his lips and bites the inside of his cheek. It still burns from the evening before, and his tongue savors the metallic taste. Something light hits the back of his head and a paper ball falls from behind him and lands on the floor. “Hey, Do Kyungsoo, how did you do on the test?”

Sehun, who sits two seats behind, tilts his head and waits for an answer.

“Not good, not good at all.” Kyungsoo forces the corners of his lips to go up. “How did you do?”

“Ugh, it . I got an A-.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Yeah, that totally , Sehun. By whose standards?” He throws the paper ball back at Sehun, who catches it.

That night, Kyungsoo finds himself kneeling beside the cold porcelain bowl, on dull marble as he watches his disappointment and guilt whirl down the drain, once, twice, thrice, out of mind.

* * * *

The blue-green school bag stays anchored firmly at the desk next to Kyungsoo’s seat. Kyungsoo is surprised – Jongin could sit anywhere he wants to, with the fangirls or the nerds or the jocks – but he doesn’t. He sits next to Kyungsoo, near Sehun and Baekhyun, constantly engaging in (pointless) conversation about Pepero or Mario Kart.

Kyungsoo doesn’t understand why. Jongin has better, more beneficial options, but he chooses to stay where he is. And isn’t it all about making the most of everything? Isn’t it about taking the window of opportunity which would lead you to the most desirable goal? But Kyungsoo reminds himself that he is an irrelevant piece of crap; so who is he to say anything about Jongin, the golden boy?

So there Jongin stays, a constant piece of sunshine that burns into Kyungsoo’s cold exterior. It’s irritating and annoying, but Kyungsoo keeps on smiling and grinning and laughing, just like he always does.

“Hey Kyungsoo, wanna go watch a movie this Saturday night? You, me, Baekhyun and Sehun?” Jongin asks, his eyes seeming to dance with anticipation and excitement. Kyungsoo can’t help but admire his child-like naivety, something he had been robbed of.

“Sure, I’m free,” Kyungsoo smiles back, his cheeks hurting from over-exertion.

It’s okay, he thinks. Everything’s always okay anyways.

* * * *

Kyungsoo has made many mistakes in the past fifteen years, and he will continue to do so. But as of right now, he does not want to face the consequences of his latest mistake. So he stays sprawled on blue-yellow tiles of the school toilet, relishing the sour flavour of bile, eyes fixed upon the rotating fan. Beads of sweat soak into his shirt and leave dark patches on grey fabric.

The door to the cubicle is ajar, but he doesn’t care if anyone sees him anymore. Someone already had anyways. There’s a chance that the news is travelling like wildfire across the school grounds.

Kyungsoo lets the seconds tick by until he hears the bell shriek, shattering his train of nonsensical thoughts and sending him back to the cold toilet floor of reality.

The horror and shock on Jongin’s features is etched into his mind and sends his stomach churning like a washing machine once again, but he suppresses the urge to throw up and hefts himself up, washing his face and walking out of the washroom with seemingly easy indifference. A bitter flavour stings at the back of his mouth and the sense of foreboding increases sharply as he passes several groups of chattering students.

He can already see the judging eyes and pitiful gazes that he will receive as he walks to his classes the next morning.

* * * *

Nothing happens. Everything is running smoothly, like the well-oiled engine society is. Except maybe the fact that Jongin is blatantly ignoring his existence, but since when has Kyungsoo cared?

Throughout the science lesson, Jongin’s gaze is directed at the teacher, focusing intensely on the experiment being conducted on the teacher’s bench. The corners of his lips are down turned, his eyebrows are drawn together, and he refuses to even look in Kyungsoo’s general direction. Kyungsoo is just glad that he doesn’t have to force a smile, or deal with any judgement that is sure to come if the news gets out.

For the rest of the day, he loses himself in the sound of ball pens against paper and the soft murmur of gossip that masks the swirling turmoil within.

* * * *

The next morning, the blue-green school bag is slammed angrily onto the desk and a cold hand latches onto his wrist. The next thing Kyungsoo knows, is that he is being dragged down the hallway towards the staircase as other students stare curiously, whispers seeping through conversations.

They stumble up the flights of stairs awkwardly: Kyungsoo nearly trips on his sneakers twice, but Jongin continues to yank him up the stairs.

The grip around his wrist loosens as they reach the roof, and blood rushes back into his right hand, halting the pins and needles. Jongin slides into a sitting position with his back against the wall, his eyes closed and his shoulders shaking.

After a moment of internal conflict, Kyungsoo sits down next to him, nervousness running rampant in his veins. The acid in his stomach is threatening to make an appearance, and Kyungsoo just wants to give in to the urge and feel the comforting burn in his throat, make all the dread and despair go away.

No words are exchanged, and the air is heavy with the mingling of laboured breathing. They sit there in still silence, side by side, waiting for their breathing to slow and their hearts to no longer feel like they’re about to erupt from their chests.

Wordlessly, Jongin raises his right arm and tugs the sleeve of his jacket down. Neat, straight, white lines are drawn across tan skin repeatedly, down the length of his arm until they reach his elbow. Kyungsoo stares at the (seemingly fresh) scars, and realizes that maybe, Jongin isn’t as happy and carefree as he seems to be.

Before he knows it, Kyungsoo’s fingers are lightly tracing the lines across Jongin’s wrist and down his arm, and Jongin intertwines their fingers, palm pressed against palm.

They both share a weak smile, a silent understanding and a dark secret.

And it's wrong, all wrong, but they're there together, and Kyungsoo thinks, maybe someday, they'll be okay.