The drawer was pulled slowly. A cold shiny metal greeted his skin as he laid his hand to it. Getting goosebumps, he could feel his blood rushed to his head. He was fretting, but conscience overcame it all.

He used to spin the cylinder without a sense of any feelings, but this time it was different.

The chambers were unloaded, but not this time.

One bullet was inside.

He inhaled the air deep while his eyes were closed, with the pressed muzzle to his temple. He was ready. He didn't have to be afraid anymore. All he had to do was to pull the trigger— and he did.

Blood spilled from the head, feeling the dire pain when the bullet penetrated through the skull and brain— that was what he expected. But it was an empty chamber. He was aggrieved that he even failed to kill himself.

Crumpled worksheets were all over the floor near his desk. Jaehyo has no doubt that they were all his. Some of the papers had dirt on them. He picked them all up. And it made the culprits really enjoy the show.

In a short side-glance, he saw someone standing outside the class looking at him without any expression on his face. His glare sent a chill of apprehension down Jaehyo's spine. Jaehyo gulped and looked again, but he was already gone.

Reminiscing the past made him even more determined. He filled another chamber, adding one more bullet. Jaehyo spun the cold cylinder again and pressed his temple with the gun. It was his second attempt, he should succeed.

And the trigger was pulled.

But he was still there, gripping the gun.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Fists and kicks to the body.

Thumped body to the lockers and walls.

Getting bruises and cuts.

The lying body on the floor.

Jaehyo. It had always been Jaehyo.

Jaehyo fought them, or rather, he was beaten.

Limping from the school until he was home, he had a little hope to be cared by his mother, to be advised by his father. Though he knew he didn't have a slight chance, not even close to be noticed.

He pulled up his sleeves to make the burgundy bruises noticable to his parents and walked in.

"Jiho, how's your practice?" Their father patted Jiho, Jaehyo's brother, and smiled.

"He must have been doing good." Their mother grinned proudly and Jiho's hair. "You must have been tired."

Jaehyo drooped his head, he could feel the warmth if it was him that his father smiled to, if it was him that his mother being proud of. Sometimes he wished his brother didn't exist, but when he came to think about it, his parents might not be happy for having an useless son. At least if he was the one that had never been born, his parents will still be happy and proud to have his brother.

Jaehyo scurried to the room he shared with his brother and slouched on the floor, putting all his attention on his bruises to forget the fact that he will never be noticed anywhere, everywhere he goes.

---

"What's with those bruises?" Jiho shot Jaehyo with a stabbing glare as he entered the room when Jaehyo was changing.

"N-nothing... It's nothing." Jaehyo put on his shirt, fast.

Jiho stormed toward Jaehyo, pulling up short, causing Jaehyo to flinch when Jiho's fingers pressed on some of the bruises. "You were beaten weren't you?" Jaehyo set his lips in a grim line, not answering to Jiho. "Why didn't you fight back and stand up to them? My friends laugh at me because you are such a wimp!" Muscles in Jiho's face tightened. He manhandled Jaehyo into a corner. "You are weak and useless!" Jiho growled.

Head bowed, Jaehyo managed a deadpan expression despite he felt the opposite. He escaped to the bathroom once Jiho left the room and slammed the door shut.

A sharp cutter caught at his skin, he cut his left wrist several times. Not satisfied, he then cut his right wrist even though his left hand was shaking when he held the cutter. He didn't enjoy the moment, but it was enough to distract him by watching the crimson liquid flow into the half-filled bathtub.

Jaehyo looked at both his wrists. It never did hurt, not when he was sober from his dream, until now. He could feel the sharp metal slit his skin as if he was doing it. His hands trembled uncontrollably. Feeling like something had been smacking his insides; giving him a burning sensation, choked vein of tranquility and strangled air for the lungs. Still trembling, he, without dithering, slid a bullet into the chamber. He had no reason to be afraid; he didn't care. He took another bullet and inserted it in. And when he reached for another, he hesitated.

Jaehyo and the rest of his family were eating at the dining room for dinner.

"I won gold for this year's tournament" Jiho proudly announced.

"Congratulations! I knew it!" Their mother pecked Jiho in his cheeks.

"I always know you would do well and make us proud." This time, it was their father's turn to praise Jiho. Jaehyo chewed on his food and countdown from three silently. Three, two, one.

"Why can't you be like your brother? Athletic, good in studies. Why are you so different?" As Jaehyo predicted, they turned to him with a different kind of look and spat sharp and excruciating words. "You're not well built and your studies are drained. You can't do anything, can you?"

To Jaehyo, the food started to lose its taste and flavour. He cleaned his dishes and escaped to the bathroom. His turmoil of a life never seemed to end. He retched by force and gargled at the sink. He rinsed and rubbed a hand over his face as he stared at himself in the mirror; pale, slumped shoulders— in other words, weak. He screwed up his face and tears fell from his eyes. Feeling pathetic and hopeless, he took the cutter he used before and opened up the old scars, creating new wounds and watching the fluid flow.

Hesitating, he forked his hair with his fingers. Did he really want to die?