Suicide is stupid and nothing to joke about.

That’s what everyone tells Luhan.

Luhan knows they’re wrong.

Suicide. It is not something you commit. You don’t commit suicide because it’s not like you get to choose whether or not to stay in this world, it’s not like you get to choose whether or not you’re going to take another breath, to take another step onto solid concrete. Suicide is never a choice if it’s the only option you have.

Suicide is shameful. It’s irresponsible, it’s stupid, and it’s irrational.

Nobody seems to understand just what kind of pressure Luhan lives with.

On the outside, he’s an ideal student. He’s everyone’s favorite, he receives straight A’s and perfect exam scores, he’s friendly, he’s handsome, and he’s popular. He’s captain of the soccer team, he’s remarkable generous, he’s always volunteering his own time to help others.

Nobody sees what kinds of pressures Luhan fights.

It’s sleepless, endless nights of study to maintain his grades with the insanely difficult classes he takes. It’s lots of self-control and restraint to look perfect at all times, because he never knows when someone is watching, looking for a mistake. It’s a physical strain every single day, with hours of conditioning and practice as he leads his team.

There’s pressure from his teachers, who use him as the model of the ideal student, as the model for other students to strive for. There’s also the pressure from his teachers so expect so ing much out of him, just one student, to deliver. They expect nothing less than perfection, and they expect to see excellence.

There’s pressure from his coach. Luhan’s an extremely talented soccer player. He’s an all-around, and as captain, everyone’s looking to him to lead the team to the regional championships, something the school hadn’t even had a chance at accomplishing until he showed up. There’s pressure from his coach to meet his expectations, to work hard, to train hard. The coach sees him as his own son, and of course, he expects Luhan to drop his education for soccer, to go pro. He’s that good.

There’s pressure from his parents. His parents expect nothing short of perfection because they know Luhan’s capable. They urge him to do whatever whenever if it can decorate his college applications, to make him look more appealing. They expect Luhan to be accepted into the most prestigious college, and then to get a high paying job, and then work his way up the ranks as either a businessman or a doctor. And then they want him to find a beautiful wife, along with a giant income, and then have a perfect family.

Everyone expects perfection.

The one time that Luhan cannot deliver, everything comes crashing down.

Down, down, down, everything falls. It’s a dark spiral of defeat that violently whirls and crashes on its way down, not the pretty spirals of leaves and the fluffy seeds of dandelions that fall gently with the cushion of wind.

When his grades falter, the teachers gasp. They think that it’s just some sort of fluke. Perhaps their exams had been faulty. They give Luhan the benefit of the doubt and bump up his grade.

When his grades plummet, they realize something’s wrong.

His teachers panic, and then they try and ‘console’ Luhan, urging him to get back on track.

“Are you okay?” They ask in the hallway, “Are your studies going well?”

They also hint not so subtly how important it is that Luhan scores well all the time.

“Remember, national exams are coming up!” They try to sound encouraging, but Luhan hears their lies. “Score well and make your school proud, Luhan.” They make it seem like they’re all on one side, but Luhan knows he’s only a tool.

And then, Luhan’s grades fall sharper and steeper than any negative linear graph.

When it’s apparent that his marks are no longer salvageable and there’s no way for him to raise those grades up, he’s directed to the school counselors.

“Luhan, you used to be such a great student, what happened?” The counselors ask rather rudely. So much for ‘counseling’ Luhan thinks. The sessions are just a waste of time, and Luhan gives whatever answers he knows the counselors want to hear.

“Yes, I’m just a little tired, but I’ll get back on track right away,” Luhan says with a forced smile, yet nobody sees just how fake it is, “I understand and see my mistakes, I’ll fix them right away.”

His fake words are enough for the counselors to deem him just fine, perfectly capable, and mentally sane student who needs nothing more but time to sort out his thoughts.

Luhan is not ‘just fine’, he’s not perfectly capable, and his sanity continues to be the question on the forefront of his mind. Time only makes him more scared, as he looks to the future. He doesn’t want to do anything. No, he can’t do anything. The motivation is all gone, because everything is just too hard, and it feels like nobody even cares.

Luhan just wants to know if somebody cares.

If his soccer coach cares at all, he shows it in the form of harsh words and physical training. He yells at Luhan for performing poorly at practice, and it’s crazy because just a few days ago he was at his physical peak. He screams right at Luhan’s face for being such a poor captain, unable to lead the team, unable to fix all the rifts of conflict and fights in the team. And then, Luhan, who’s already impossibly mentally tired and fragile, is subjected to ruthless physical condition subjected by his coach, and what’s worse is the accusatory glances of his team mates, who have all but abandoned him. They sneer as he shuffles by tiredly in the locker rooms, and they leave Luhan in the dust as they compete for the coach’s favor.

Worst of all is his parents.

They refuse to even speak to him, to even try and figure things out. Although they would never (because it’s a stain on the family honor) disown Luhan, they threaten to do so. They pretend their only son doesn’t exist until he gets his together.

Luhan falls down, down, down. It’s an endless and agonizingly long and lonely path falling down, and he’s falling so far down that he sees no escape. There’s no way to pull himself out anymore.

Luhan’s once bright and bubbly character has faded. He’s no longer social, or as expressive, or as full of life.

Now, Luhan’s quiet. He avoids confrontation. He’s tired, sluggish.

He’s faded into the background and shadows from his spot that once stood under the spotlight of everybody he knew. There was not one person who did not know his name, or know who he was.

Now, people don’t even remember him. He’s been forgotten because his worth diminished away.

“Luhan? Who’s that?”

At first, he cried. He cried like there would be no tomorrow, there would be no sunrise, there would be no more warmth in his life. He’d put on a strong face at school despite how tired he was, despite how there was no urge to do anything anymore. He’d put on a strong face in front of his parents, who so blatantly ignored him.

He’d keep his strong front until the door to his room was shut and locked, until the lights were flicked off, until he was wrapped up in his blankets, in a cocoon shrouded by darkness.

It was then that he would cry. He’d let it all out, but without a single noise. The countless numbers of tears that spilled from his eyes would roll down his long eyelashes and fall onto his cheeks, where they would drop from his chin and into his lap.

Down, down, down they would fall.

He cries and cries until it’s physically impossible to cry any more. He cries and cries until crying becomes too tiring, and he settles into a life of painful monotony that grows worse and worse until it’s unbearable to breathe even longer.

It’s one day that Luhan knows he can’t take another breath. He doesn’t want to take anymore breaths, because the simple action of in and out drains him too much. He doesn’t want to open his eyes from his nightmares, only to wake to a living nightmare.

He can’t do it anymore.

Before he knows it, he’s at the top of a bridge, and instead of walking straight in the direction of home, he abruptly veers left.

Nobody pays him any attention as he looks rather longingly over the railing, looking down from his high spot down at the cement.

Nothing’s ever seen more welcoming than the hard surface.

When he swings his legs over the railing with ease, he receives some glances. They look curious, they look inquisitive, and they look worried, they look nervous, they look scared.

“Hey,” He hears someone call, and they sound panicked.

Luhan thinks it’s because the ledge is so narrow and he’s already let go of the railing. He’s balanced precariously on the small area, and his toes hang off the edge.

There’s a slight breeze that makes him shiver. The wind blows through his hair and it catches the white button up shirt of his school uniform.

Someone screams in the background, “Someone! Call 911!”

It’s muffled in Luhan’s ears. Everything is dull, and everything seems to be in slow motion. He takes deep breaths, taking in the air that fills his lungs. When he thinks that maybe he won’t be taking any more breaths tomorrow, it scares him a little because the thought doesn’t sound all that bad.

Time must pass by sooner than he thinks because the once distant sound of alarms and sirens are now close, and they’re just below the bridge. It’s stopping traffic, and there’s lots of honking. The traffic on the bridge has stopped too, and the area’s been completely evacuated.

Luhan smiles bitterly. Even now, as he looms between safety and death, he’s causing trouble. He’s being a nuisance. He sees faces in cars who are probably eager to head home to a nice, warm home with a loving family. Even now, he’s being selfish.

Luhan can almost see the disapproving glares of his parents. He can hear the tsks that they would be tutting at him, the worst sound that he can imagine.

Luhan wonders if the people who have formed crowds below and at the sides of the bridge even know who he is, if they remember the prodigy he once was. He wonders if there’s anybody there who knows him, who cares. And then he remembers why he even crawled past the guard rail, because there wasn’t anybody who did care.

There’s nobody there for him, and it’s the evidence that caused him to stand where he is now, wavering between life and death, between existence and blackness, between a life of pain and the end of suffering.

“YOUNG MAN,” Comes the voice of a police officer through a loud speaker, “PLEASE STEP OVER THE GUARD RAIL AND BACK ONTO SAFETY. EVACUATE THE LEDGE.”

Luhan gulps. He shakes his head. He doesn’t think he has the courage to go back anymore.

He finally realizes just how much of a commotion he’s caused. He must have been standing for quite some time now. He was just too deep within his own mind to realize just how much time had passed.

“YOUNG MAN, WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” The voice is still soft as ever, and Luhan winces. Is the tenderness in the voice real?

He looks down, trying to see the face of the speaker, but it’s hard because he’s awfully high up and everyone else so far down, so far away.

“Luhan!” He hesitantly calls back, because he figures he might as well comply before, well, before he goes.

The officers play the guilt card.

“PLEASE, STEP AWAY FROM THE EDGE. DON’T YOU SEE WHAT A COMMOTION YOU’RE CAUSING? IT WOULD BE EASIER IF YOU STEPPED AWAY.”

Luhan feels the twinge right at his heart. There are pedestrians who simply want to go home stopped because of him. There are cars upon cars lined up all the way to the horizon, all backed up because he wants to jump, to jump off the bridge and end it all.

“WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT IT WITH ANYBODY, TO LET IT OUT. PLEASE, STEP BACK ONTO THE BRIDGE.”

Luhan, in his depressed and hopeless state of mind, misinterprets the words. He misinterprets the kind words because his mind twists them around and alters them. The string of words, the sentence, it gets knotted and curled in his rapidly firing brain, and instead of feeling sorry about his actions and wanting to step back onto the solid concrete, Luhan feels more frustrated.

He’s angry at himself.

Look at all the problems he’s caused. Look at all the agony he’s causing others. His parents wouldn’t take him back after this. His school wouldn’t take him back after this. There is no future for him if he steps back from this.

It only makes him want to jump more.

He shakes his head, and he wants to scream.

He wants to scream that nobody understands, that nobody loves him, that nobody cares. He wants to scream that he’s so sorry for all the problems he’s caused, he wants to scream and shout until his lungs burn and his voice is cracked that he didn’t mean for any of this, and that he’s so, so sorry, and most of all, that he had wanted to go without so much commotion.

The tears in his eyes well without him even realizing, and he brazenly wipes them away, rough hands wiping aggressively at his own eyes.

But, instead of screaming, Luhan’s voice suddenly fails him. His voice is nothing more than just above a whisper, and the sounds that leave his lips just get washed away in the light breeze pushing against his back. It’s almost like encouragement, like at least some sort of force is encouraging him for once in what he wants to do.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Luhan pushes off.

Chen’s on his daily walk home when he notices the commotion.

He sees the blinding sirens first. The flashing is obnoxiously blinding, and the loud wails make his eardrums hurt.

The bridge he usually takes on his walks home from school is blockaded off by police cars, and there’s a huge crowd, bigger than he’s ever seen, on either side of the bridge.

He also sees that the road beneath the bridge is also blockaded, and his eyebrows furrow in concern and confusion. What could possibly be happening?

He hears lots of hushed voices and panicked whispers as he pushes to the front.

“What could that boy be thinking?!” One woman says, concern laced in her made up features.

Chen pushes until he’s just behind the police, who are extending their hands to keep people from advancing any further. They don’t want anybody getting too close in case they startle the poor boy into jumping.

Chen’s breath hitches when he sees the sight.

He’s just a schoolboy, standing there alone. The image strikes home hard, right in his chest, and Chen winces.

People around him keep murmuring how the figure is out of his mind, how the student who’s swaying indecisively has lost his sanity.

Chen knows they’re all so wrong.

Chen knows he has to do something.

He hears the police on the ground trying to console the boy, asking him for his name.

Luhan, Chen hears. His name is Luhan. The voice is so familiar, but he can’t seem to match the name to his face. He knows he’s heard the name somewhere before…but he just can’t seem to place it.

He sees Luhan sway dangerously as the police continue to offer soft, encouraging words to step down, but Chen knows the words are pointless.

Chen panics. At this rate, things will not end well. The adrenaline is pumping in his veins, and he knows what he has to do.

The words come out all in one breathless rush, like he’s run a marathon.

“I need to get in there now, please let me through.”

The officer is about to protest, saying how he’s instructed not to let anybody through, but the gaze in Chen’s eyes is so determined and so sure that he falters in his retort.

“Please,” Chen begs, and he resorts to lying because that’s how important it is that he gets over there. “I’m his boyfriend. I can get him down. Please.”

The officer contemplates, and it’s just for a brief moment because the tension is in the air before he sighs and nods, lowering his arm to let Chen through.

“Tell the officers on the ground to keep him distracted. Keep him up there until I get over.”

The officer he’s speaking to nods and grunts before speaking into his radio transceiver, nodding his head over in Luhan’s direction, urging Chen to go.

Chen takes off running.

Luhan doesn’t know what to expect, really. It’s not as if he’s ever jumped off a bridge before.

The sarcasm of his own thoughts makes him want to laugh bitterly.

His eyes are closed, because he doesn’t think he can bear with seeing all the horrified faces as he falls, plunging through the air. But, having his eyes closed is just as bad because that way he can imagine all the looks of disappointment of those in his life, his teachers, his coach, the school counselors, his parents.

Closing his eyes just makes the image that much more vivid.

Luhan decides that maybe he’d rather see the horrified faces of strangers rather than the disappointment of all those in his life who he’s let down. He also wonders why it doesn’t feel like he’s falling yet, so he opens his eyes.

He gasps.

He sees the concrete below, and everyone’s faces are in a state of surprise and shock. Many are caught in a silent gasp.

Luhan’s own eyes widen because he realizes that there are strong arms wrapped firmly around his waist, and they’re pulling him back so he’s no longer leaning off the bridge.

“,” Luhan hears someone grunt from behind, and the arms are strong enough to anchor him safely against the guard rail, though if he struggled and flailed, it wouldn’t be hard to let go. Even with the grip around his waist, Luhan knows it wouldn’t be hard to follow through. All he needs to do, he thinks, playing the scenario in his head in between the chaos that is his consciousness.

All he would need to do is maybe elbow the person holding him down, maybe kick him, and feel very sorry for that, and then push off with all his might. That’s all it would take.

And he does. He flails in the hold, he screams, and the tears that have welled in his eyes spill over his cheeks.

“No! Let me go,” He cries, and it sounds much like the whines of a young child who’s had their toy stolen. “Please,” Luhan croaks, and the emotions are just too overwhelming as he realized that he was about to jump, he was about to do it, he could have ended it all. Everything, the pain, the suffering, the pressure, and the expectation; all of it would have been gone.

But no. Someone had to stop him.

Luhan briefly thinks that the world must really hate him if he’s not even allowed to dictate when he wants to go or not. He doesn’t even care if there’s a heaven or a hell. Luhan just wants out of this world he’s trapped in now.

Nothing’s going right. Everything’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.

He thinks that he’s just a waste of space, a waste of air, a waste of resources. He also thinks that he’s just a disappointment for everybody. He’s done nothing right.

The arms around his waist only wrap on tighter, and Luhan feels the grip begin to loosen the more he struggles, the more he flails, the more he shakes.

Luhan knows he could break free. He could push away the arms and jump as hard as he can. He could do it. He can do it.

But he doesn’t. Luhan doesn’t struggle anymore, he doesn’t fight anymore, and he doesn’t jump.

Something about the feeling of strong arms around his torso makes him think twice. He wipes his tears with the back of his palm rather roughly. Something about the insistence of the arms that are anchored around his waist securely makes him stop.

The concrete looks just as appealing as it had moments before, but he’s way too puzzled to think about jumping, and he’s too confused because why is there someone here? Why is there someone holding him down? Hadn’t nobody cared? Isn’t that why the police were trying to coax him down instead of sending someone to get him?

Luhan hears panting, and the figure behind him is muttering to himself under his breath.

“Jesus ing christ, too ing close,”

Luhan looks to the side where there’s a crowd on the side of the bridge, and the spectators look on with expressions of genuine surprise. There’s a heavy air of tension as the viewers watch, their breath held.

Luhan’s too busy looking at everyone to realize that the figure holding him is still behind him, and Luhan’s simply bewildered. He sees lots of people, just watching.

He feels so sorry, because he’s still just causing trouble, and he thinks that everything would be so much easier if he were just gone. Luhan hadn’t meant to make such a public spectacle.

“Hey, Luhan. Turn around for me, would you?”

The voice is so soft and kind that Luhan’s kind of in a daze. All he’s really received were harsh words and scoldings.

Being spoken to with such sympathy, like another human being, it’s foreign. It’s nice.

And at the same time, Luhan thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s so caught up in the mess of emotions in his heart and the tangle of thoughts in his head that he’s frozen. He can’t move. He’s stiff in the warm arms that continue to hold him, and the tears fall again.

“Hey, come on,” The voice rings, and it’s as if the sounds of sirens and chattering onlookers dulls into a silence. It feels like he’s in a bubble, a completely safe bubble, and it’s just him and this kind stranger. In his bubble, he’s no longer on the edge. In the bubble, he’s safe. In the bubble, there’s nobody to judge him, nobody to shoot him down, and there’s no expectation, there’s no pressure.

In his bubble, Luhan feels like he might just be able to do what he wants.

“You can do it, come on. Just take little steps.”

The voice is all too encouraging and without even thinking, Luhan finds himself obeying.

“Yes, there you go, just like that.”

Luhan carefully shuffles his feet, and he turns himself so that now he’s facing the safe side of the bridge, and the stranger still has his arms wrapped carefully around his waist.

Luhan thinks the hold is like his safety net. It’s there to catch him in case something goes wrong.

And then the guilt hits Luhan right there in the chest, and it hits hard.

The tears fall fast and quick, and his frame shakes.

“I-I’m so sorry, so sorry, s-so sorry,” Luhan gasps between sobs that wrack his chest, and it leaves him hiccupping and stuttering, unable to breathe quite right, or stand up all that straight.

It feels like he’s about to have a panic attack, and his chin is directed downwards. He can’t bring himself to make eye contact to his ‘savior’ he didn’t even ask for.

Luhan’s hands are limp at his sides, and the arms around his waist briefly leave. In that split second, Luhan really does panic for real because he thinks he must have been such an idiot to think that anyone cared.

His safety net is gone, the warmth is not around his torso. Luhan internally laughs bitterly. Of course nobody cared, he thinks, of course it ends like this. It ends like this with his emotions being played. Could he have been any more gullible?

It crosses Luhan’s mind that he should really make up his mind already. He thinks that if he’s going to jump, now is the time. At least this way, he wouldn’t be able to see anyone’s face as he falls. All he would see, as he would fall with his back first, is the sky. It’s getting late, and the sky is the most beautiful mixture of blue, red, purple, and orange.

The sunset, it’s beautiful.

He thinks that if he pushes back right now, and he spreads his arms, it’ll be like he’s flying. He’s flying for an endless eternity, and at least this way, when he goes, it’ll be looking at something so genuine and pure as the sky.

“Hey, I want you to look at me.”

Luhan’s breath catches when there’s gentle fingers underneath his chin, tipping his gaze up.

Luhan’s breath hitches again because his savior is beautiful. Even when the stranger’s features are creased with worry, he sees how attractive the other is, blessed with such long eyelashes, lips that naturally curl upwards.

This boy is beautiful, in Luhan’s eyes. Luhan’s completely drowning in his savior’s eyes for a moment, a mix of deep brown and black that makes him want to stare and look forever. The sun is just behind the stranger’s head, and the golden-white light that gleams from behind looks like a halo. Luhan thinks this boy is an angel.

Chen feels his own breath hitch, because he knows Luhan. He remembers why his name sounded so familiar. He knows Luhan from school, the prodigy, he remembers. He remembers he used to see Luhan all the time, always surrounded by friends, always praised by teachers, always the coach’s favorite.

And looking at the expression on Luhan’s delicate features, Chen understands. This boy has been living with an unbearable burden on his shoulders. Chen feels a little sorry that he hadn’t realized earlier, because he could have done something.

Chen doesn’t remember when Luhan seemed to disappear off the face of the earth. He just remembers gradually seeing the doe eyed boy less and less, and he really thought nothing of it.

They exchange eye contact, pure and innocent glances, for a period of time, and both of them are captivated in their own thoughts.

And then Luhan feels it again. The guilt, the pang on his left chest. It feels like daggers plunging into his soul and conscience because he doesn’t deserve this person’s care. He doesn’t deserve the worry that’s being experienced over him.

Someone like this stranger, a beauty like him, should not be saving him. Luhan thinks he’s not worth someone who is obviously so holy and so perfect.

“I’m Chen,” The stranger murmurs, and Luhan catches the way his lips tilt upwards at either corner of his mouth. It looks genuine, and Luhan’s stunned.

There are two warm hands on his face, one on either side of his cheek, and it feels like they’re there just to keep their gazes together. Luhan thinks he couldn’t have looked away even if he’d tried.

Luhan thinks he must look like a mess, because the tears are still flowing down his cheeks, and despite the daze he was caught in from his savior’s beauty, he was still panting and stammering, unable to control his breathing.

“Wh-what are you—why are you h-here?” Luhan stutters. He’s gasping dangerously severely.

There’s plenty of oxygen, and yet no matter how hard or quickly he breathes, he just doesn’t seem to be getting enough. There’s not enough air in his lungs, and it feels like he’s suffocating.

“I d-don’t deserve—please just l-let me go, n-nobody will w-want me” Luhan mumbles rather quickly. He’s really not finishing many of his sentences in his frantic attempts to tell Chen that he’s not worth it. That even if he were to not jump, that he has no other future.

“Hey, hey, shh,” Chen soothes, and Luhan feels himself shut up. He’s still a mess of hiccups and tears, gasping despite his attempts to calm his breathing.

Chen’s thumbs are brushing away his tears, and Luhan can only stand there in shock. Nobody’s ever done this for him. The action is overwhelmingly personal and it only makes Luhan want to cry more.

When Luhan’s finally reduced to just slight hiccups every now and then and drying eyes, Chen continues. His thumbs are still rubbing soft, gentle circles.

“Luhan.  You don’t have to do this. You know, you really don’t.”

Luhan huffs a little between his hiccups and gasps because it’s so frustrating.

“No,” He says rather sourly, and his fists clench at his sides. “You don’t get it,” All of a sudden, the gentle hands on his cheeks feel offensive, and he shakes a little in an attempt to get them off, but Chen doesn’t budge.

“What don’t I get?” Chen asks softly, and all Luhan sees in the boy’s eyes and expression is care. It’s as if Chen genuinely wants to listen, like he genuinely wants to know what it is that ails Luhan so.

“You don’t get anything,” Luhan gasps, and he’s growing exasperated.

Chen’s fingers work some sort of magic, and for some reason, Luhan manages to stay calm. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment before opening, and the look in Chen’s own chocolate brown orbs tells him that maybe he should just trust him and tell him everything.

Luhan does.

His voice drops down to a timid whisper, his voice barely audible, and Chen strains his ears to hear even though their bodies and faces are already impossibly close.

“Nobody gets it. Everybody just wants me to be perfect, and I try, I really do, but it’s just so hard. Everyone at school wants me to be on top all the time, and then so does my coach, but they don’t understand how hard it is to be perfect all the time. It’s so…tiring. And then, my parents don’t even care. All they want to see is wealth and more perfection, and I’m j-just…I’m just n-not…”

Luhan gasps. There are sobs threatening to break his resolve, to break his voice, and to keep him from finishing his story.

“Hey, you can do this, Luhan. I know you can. You can finish,” Chen urges, and somehow, their faces have grown impossibly close.

Chen’s breath tickles a little on Luhan’s lips.  His words are soft, and his breath is warm, and it draws the words from Luhan’s own voice.

“Th-they don’t understand…t-that I can’t d-do it. I c-can’t be…p-perfect,” Luhan admits quietly, and it hurts to say out loud. Perfection is what he’s strived for since as long as he can remember, and he knows that he strives for it because that’s the mindset that’s been pushed onto him since a young age.

He remembers the scoldings he received as a child, slaps on the hand, and harsh words meant to built up his own pride and resolve, though all the words did was break him down, creating cracks and fractures in his foundation.

He remembers being forced to study, being forced to play and practice on the piano, being forced into attending extra soccer practice, all in an attempt to reach perfection.

It hurts to admit most because what he’s been told he has to achieve is impossible. He can’t do it.

“And I j-just didn’t w-want to do any o-of it anymore,” Luhan stutters, “I j-just wanted to go. I k-know it s-sounds like taking th-the easy way o-out, the w-weak path, b-but I just didn’t want to…I-I didn’t want to go to s-sleep at night k-knowing I would w-wake up to a life o-of more expectations that I j-just can’t meet.”

When Luhan’s done telling his story, pouring out his heart and soul, he’s panting because it was both physically and emotionally taxing.

There’s a silence that spans afterwards, and Luhan finds it almost unbearable. In his bubble, it’s completely quiet, but outside his bubble there’s a dull roar of the murmurs of the crowd, the earsplitting sirens of police cars and ambulances, and the clicks and flashes of dozens of cameras snapping photographs for the news.

“S-so,” Luhan forces himself to say, unable to stand the silence, “Y-you shouldn’t be here. S-someone like y-you shouldn’t be h-helping me. I’m h-hopeless. I’m done. I’m a-a failed case. I w-was a hopeless case r-right from the beginning.”

Suddenly, Chen’s gaze is piercing, and Luhan finds himself holding his breath, unable to break the gaze.

“No.” Chen’s voice is so firm and steady that Luhan wants to hold onto it, to latch onto it desperately like it’s an anchor. It nearly makes him change his mind. Nearly.

“Wh-what do you mean? I’m u-usele—“

“No.” Chen says again, and Luhan shuts his mouth. “Let me tell you a story.”

Luhan nods, and he’s like putty in Chen’s presence. Suddenly, Chen is pulling their bodies closer, and Luhan feels the other’s arms wrap around his torso.

His safety net is back.

Chen has Luhan tight in an intimate hug, and he can feel the latter’s entire body shaking. He rests his own chin on Luhan’s shoulder, and he feels Luhan do the same.

“It’s a story of a boy, just a little younger than you.”

Luhan is all ears, and he can feel Chen’s heartbeat thudding against his own. He thinks that maybe the contractions of their hearts are in sync, the beating and rhythm thudding against the chests at the same time.

“He wanted desperately to sing. He wanted it so badly that he would do anything. He would grovel at the feet of his school’s music instructors for lessons; he would kneel outside recording companies for hours for a chance at a recording demo. One time, he even waited for two days straight, without food or water.”

Chen feels little tears prick at his eyes as he recalls the story, but he blinks them away. His hands rub little circles on Luhan’s back. Luhan’s arms still hang limp at his sides.

“He would do anything. But, his parents were against it. They were always against it. They couldn’t see their son entering such a risky industry. They wanted him to be stable and steady, they wanted him to be free of stress when he grew up. But their son couldn’t see their care past the angry fights and shouting. He couldn’t see how his parents had genuine motives.”

“He refused to speak to his parents. He ignored them, despite their desperation to get their son back. The last time they spoke was a fight. The boy remembers shouting at his parents, shouting that he hated them, with angry tears running down his flaming cheeks just as he slammed the door to his bedroom, turning the lock behind him.”

Luhan bites his lower lip. It’s trembling. His hands are no longer in fists. The hang at his sides, and he doesn’t really know what to do with them.

Chen’s warm hands on his back makes him feel enveloped in care, and unconsciously, Luhan lifts his arms, his own hands coming up to curl around Chen’s lower back.

The story pangs at Luhan’s heart. It sounds like a tragedy, it really does. It’s a sad story, but he fails to see how any of this connects to him.

But, Chen’s voice is just too soothing, too warm, too comforting, and Luhan listens on because he thinks that he might just want to keep listening forever, even if Chen was speaking of nothing in particular.

On a slightly grim note, Luhan also thinks that if still decides to jump, having Chen’s voice echoing in his ear, and the attractive male’s features etched into his memory, that’s how he would want to go.

“One night, the boy was at home, alone. He didn’t know where his parents were, and he didn’t care. He was still furious, he was still bitter, he was still unforgiving. While he was sitting in his room, tuning the guitar his parents had bought for him so many years ago, he gets a phone call. What he hears flips his whole world around.”

Chen pauses, swallowing thickly. His attempts at blinking away his tears have failed, and they begin to pool, making his eyes all glassy

“Wh-what happened?” Luhan asks softly. His hiccups have subsided, but his breath is still ragged and his voice is a little raw.

Chen smiles bitterly on Luhan’s shoulder.

“It’s a call from the police. They tell him his parents have died tragically in a car accident. They were struck from the side by a truck. The driver was highly intoxicated, and yet the only casualties were suffered by his innocent parents.”

“The boy couldn’t believe his ears. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. The boy cried by himself in his room all night. He wanted to throw up. It wasn’t fair.”

Chen’s hands briefly stop rubbing the comforting circles, and Luhan feels a little sob jolt through Chen’s body.

“A-and you know what the worst part was?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and Luhan can tell that it’s taking Chen’s all to spit it out. He feels Chen trembling softly, and all of a sudden, instead of Chen rubbing circles to comfort Luhan, it’s Luhan rubbing circles to comfort Chen.

“It’s that the boy’s parents were out, trying to secure their son a deal to record a demo. They were out, spending their own precious time, to help their son in his pursuit for his dream.”

Chen laughs bitterly, and his voice gives for a split second. It’s like a brief crack in his armor, and the light that pours out through the jagged seam is pure, and it’s raw, and it’s genuine emotion.

“The last thing the boy said to his parents was that he hated them.”

And that’s when Chen breaks a little further. A sob wracks through his body, and now he’s leaning on Luhan, wet tears soaking into Luhan’s white school shirt.

His long, delicate fingers are curled, fisted into Luhan’s shirt, and his hold is so tight that there’s bound to be wrinkles left.

“And y-you know who that boy was?” Chen croaks quietly. His breath is warm against Luhan’s neck, and it tickles, but this is one sound that Luhan never wants to hear from Chen ever again.

He’s never heard someone so broken, he’s never heard someone so weak, he’s never heard someone so shattered.

“Y-you,” Luhan breathes, and Chen lets out another broken sob.

Chen nods a little into Luhan’s shoulder, and this sets off a reaction in Luhan.

It starts in the pit of his stomach. It starts in the very bottom, and it makes Luhan feel a little sick. Not sick as in sea-sick, and not sick as in with the flu. It makes him feel sick because this tragedy is something nobody deserves ever.

At some point, Chen’s tears fade, and he’s strong once again. But, Luhan’s sobbing again, hiccups coursing through his body, and the tear stains he’s made on Chen’s shoulder grow in size.

“I remember feeling just like how you described. I felt so, so, stupid. I felt so guilty.”

Chen pulls away a little, lifting his head out from Luhan’s shoulder, but Luhan isn’t ready to pull away yet. Luhan’s perfectly comfortable, with his face buried into the crook of Chen’s neck. His tears are making everything wet, and his hiccups and sobs are unattractive, but he can’t let Chen go.

The only thing that’s keeping him sane is Chen, and he breathes deeply, inhaling into Chen’s collarbones. Chen is the only thing keeping Luhan grounded.

Chen rests his chin on Luhan’s shoulder again, and he’s okay with the fact that Luhan isn’t ready to let go. He keeps patting Luhan’s back for a few moments as Luhan struggles to gain control of his breathing again.

“You know, the difference between you and I,” Chen begins, and his hands are no longer rubbing circles. No, they skittering over the expanse of Luhan’s back, between his broad shoulder blades, dancing a unique dance with his fingers. “Is that you were never at fault and I was always to blame.”

“B-but—“ Luhan wants to interject, but Chen cuts him off.

“No, it’s the truth. It really is.”

Chen’s fingers are now moving without Chen’s conscious thinking, and they’re drawing little images, little shapes, little hearts.

“But, we’re also the same.”

Luhan’s eyes briefly widen before he blinks away tears. He’s surprised, and he lifts his face out of the safe cocoon of Chen’s neck.

Chen takes this opportunity to pull away, and he takes a good, long look at Luhan. His fingers cup the left side of Luhan’s jaw, and he begins to lift his other hand, exposing the skin at his wrist.

“You know, we both took the same path. We both wanted out. We wanted to be gone. We wanted to be anywhere but here, on earth. That’s how bad it was. It was so hard just breathing again, waking up every morning, just to remember what a ty life we have to live.”

Chen bares the underside of his wrist for Luhan to see, and Luhan gasps.

There’s lines of scar tissue. Some are smooth, cut precisely and quickly by something sharp and made for cutting. Some lines are jagged. They look painful, like they were cut in a hurry by something sharp, but not quite sharp enough to make the incision smoothly.

“This was my first one,“ Chen whispers, pointing at a particularly faded line, and it’s buried beneath lots of other lines. “I was just experimenting; wanting to know what it would be like if I actually left. I was too scared.”

“This one,” Chen whispers, pointing to a particularly long scar, “This one I got when I made a resolve to end it all. I used a kitchen knife, because I didn’t want it to hurt too much. I would have died, with this one. This one could have been it. It wasn’t because my neighbor found me half dead in the bathtub, soaked in my own blood.”

Luhan hiccups as he tries to swallow down the cries that want to desperately to escape his lips, to tear out of his throat.

“This one,” Chen whispers, and his voice is so quiet that Luhan thinks it could flow away in the wind. He’s pointing at a jagged one. “It hurt like hell,” Chen murmurs, and he laughs a dry laugh before he becomes serious again. His voice is soft, but the implications his words carry are sharp and heavy. “In this one, I was fed up with everything. In this one, I was determined to go. I didn’t care how anymore. I just wanted to go.”

A silence ensues, and Luhan chews on his wobbling lip. His hand has unconsciously grasped Chen’s wrist, and he runs his fingers over the scars. It’s hard to believe that such imperfections are forever engraved in Chen’s skin, in the skin of such a perfect being.

“What stopped you?”

Chen smiles lightly at Luhan, and it’s genuine. It’s pure, and the emotion shines through his eyes.

“A stranger. A stranger who showed me that all was not lost. He taught me how to pick up the pieces. He helped me glue them back together again. He proved to me that I could still work and live on, even if there seemed to be glue everywhere to hold me together. He showed me that there’s so much more to live for, especially love.”

Luhan’s trembling again.

Chen takes the latter’s face into his own soft, warm hands again.

“Do you know who I am?” Chen whispers, and somehow, their faces are only inches apart. Their breath tickles each other’s lips, inhaling one another’s shaky exhales.

Luhan thinks that he knows the answer, but he shakes his head.

“I’m your stranger.”

Though the words are simple and they’re the exact phrase Luhan expected to hear, he shudders.

It hits home, hard.

And then Chen leans up and in, and Luhan leans in, and their lips touch.

And then their lips are pressing desperately.

Chen’s arms have curled protectively around Luhan’s neck, pulling their bodies closer together, and Luhan’s hands are fisted in the back of Chen’s shirt.

Luhan’s senses are overloaded, and all that’s running through his mind is that Chen’s kissing him, and it feels like their lips are meant for one another, and all he’s thinking is Chen, Chen, Chen.

They pull away only because they need air, and the both of them are panting. Chen’s lips are wet because Luhan may have gotten just a bit carried away, and Chen laughs.

Chen laughs, and it’s light and airy, and though both of their eyes are a little puffy and red rimmed, they smile at one another because everything is just beautiful all of a sudden.

“Don’t you see?” Chen whispers, and he’s tugging Luhan closer again, his lips moving on top of the other’s. “You’re being so silly.”

Luhan laughs at that, and it’s genuine. It’s the feeling that starts in his stomach and builds until he has to let it out, even if all he wanted to do was keep it in.

Chen smiles because Luhan’s voice is just beautiful, his laugh is just precious, and Luhan is just…extraordinary.

“This isn’t the way to go, okay? Not like this,” Chen consoles, and Luhan nods.

Luhan nods yes, and he steps back over the safety rail onto the solid concrete of the bridge, away from the ledge that would spell his demise.

“I’ve been there, and now I’m here, and you see? I’ve made it. You can make it too.”

Suddenly, Luhan pinks, and he chews on his lower lip.

“Y-you, um,” he stammers, and it makes Chen worried for a moment. What could Luhan be thinking?

“What is it?” Chen chides softly, and he takes Luhan’s hands into his own, an unconscious gesture of intimacy that sends delightful shivers up Luhan’s spine and makes his own heart go thump thump thump, hard against his chest.

“The only way I’ll make it,” Luhan breathes, and his eyes are soft. “Is if you go with me. I…I need you to, well, you know,” Luhan mutters, and he’s avoiding the topic a bit. He’s too embarrassed to say the words out loud, and his eyes flick side to side in apprehension.

“What?” Chen feigns confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, to help me find the pieces, and to pick them up, and to help me put them all together again,” Luhan breathes softly, and he starts to ramble because he’s nervous, “W-well, I mean, if you d-don’t mind, that is, because y-you’ve just s-saved me, you p-pulled me from the depths of d-despair, so obviously I-I owe you my life, but I wouldn’t m-make you if you d-didn’t want to help and—“

“Yes,” Chen murmurs, cutting Luhan with his own lips and a soft chuckle that follows, “Yes I’ll help you pick up and glue all the pieces back together.”

It’s clear to everybody that Luhan is no longer going to jump.

The crowd erupts. It’s a collection of happy tears, sad tears, and sentimental tears mixed along with cries of joy and yells of victory.

Luhan and Chen hear none of it, because they’re in their bubble, and all they know is one another.

And so begins the journey to pick up all the pieces, to glue them together in just the right way, and to live on, disregarding all the unimportant things and cherishing all that there is to be happy for.

They’re living for love, and really, that’s all that really matters.