His hands were gripping the toy, his knuckles turning white, as he slid into the only unoccupied chair in the classroom. Right at the back. Away from the teacher. As far away as possible from the students. The corner was the brightest part of the room. It was the safest. Everyone else were just all part of that one shadow, slowly drifting through school each day, hour by hour. Slowly dissipating as the bell rung for home. Where-ever home was for them.

 

Lay smiled warmly down at the fluffy animal being pressed to his blazer. It felt funny against his bare arms, the fur gently tickling his skin, but it was a good kind of funny. The kind of funny that leaves you feeling nice and warm. Not cold like the others who shivered in the winter mornings. Hugging the unicorn tighter, he bent down and got out his books, which he never opened. With a careful grip he picked up his pen and held it over the page. Lines of blank paper stared back at him.

 

This was page 1. He'd never written anything.

 

The teacher had begun to talk about...

 

Lay had never listened in class. All he knew was that this was a history class and this was were they learnt about that past. He'd had a bad past.

 

The scar on his chest was proof enough.

 

§§§

 

The nurse at school had seen it once when Lay had received a beating after sport and commented on it. She was pretty and reminded him of the lady in the suit and the shiny car he'd met at his house that one day. He'd been eleven and had been swimming with his Dad. But his Dad had gone suddenly. She'd seen it too. She'd taken his parents away. Even Mum. He'd hated her for that.

 

“It's nothing that can't be fixed. Forgetting is life's natural healing recipe.”

 

 

Black and blue against pale pinks and blues and dirty whites. Lay slung his bag over his shoulder and hobbled over to the bus. People avoided him. He didn't mind since he didn't like them anyway. They always gossiped. Shadows whispering to eachother. It scared him actually.

 

All those blank, mono-culture creatures with nasty words on the tip of their tongues were really quite daunting to someone as small and introverted as Yixing.

 

There it was again.

 

His name.

 

Zhang Yixing.

 

Lay hadn't been called Yixing for a while and if someone did then it was either to mock him or remind him...that lady in the suit had taken somewhere where it smelled like cleaning agent and the walls were blinding white and asked him his name. He was so shocked and frightened that he said the first word that came to his mind. Lay. He'd always been fond of those chips.

 

§§§

 

Some tall guy with massive ears and his friends pushed past him as the bus stopped, knocking him forwards. He brushed himself off and continued walking, his unicorn tucked safely under his arm.

 

§§§

 

“Lay, he's drowning.”

 

“LAY! He's freakin' drowning!!!”

 

Blinking, Lay jolted up straight.

 

Suho was talking to him. Or rather, pointing at the fluffy head that was being dipped into his bowl of soup. Carefully, Suho picked up the toy with his thumb and forefinger with a grimace. “Wash him will you?” His hand was covering his nose like there was a foul stench in their air. No stench. Just the smell of the old wood table they sat at.

 

Lay snatched the toy back.

 

No smile and a laugh like there used to be. Suho just frowned.

 

“A thank you wouldn't go unnoticed.”

 

The soup was leaking into Lay's shirt.

 

Since they were about thirteen, he had always ended up with Suho. Same foster home. Same orphanage. They were both lost children. Lost in the crowd of empty silhouettes that inhabited the world around them. And Suho was becoming one of them. He'd stopped talking to Lay for a while. He'd started pushing him over and punching him.

 

“Th-thank you,” Lay mumbled. “It was nice of-of you to, um, do that...” His voice was shaky from lack of interaction with human-beings. “You know, for saving him.” He quickly returned to eating his soup. Despite his lack of motivation to go to school the next day and the thought of being beaten-up so bad that he was immobile was beginning to sound appealing, he still wasn't fond of having that ointment rubbed into his wounds again. Everyone called it Methylated Spirits. Lay called it Hell.

 

Suho scooted closer towards him, an expectant look on his face. His hair had changed as well since they last talked. He'd dyed his black hair this strange brown colour that made him look older. All his old T-shirts had been replaced by nice button-downs and his run-down sneakers were Converse. He was different.

 

Not in a good way.

 

Lay hugged the unicorn tighter. “C-can you please move? I get claustrophobia,” he stuttered firmly.

 

“More like human-phobia,” Suho joked. He moved even closer, his leg touching Lay's and his hand reaching out for his arm. “Get it?”

 

Lay didn't laugh. His breath quickened and his skin began to grow clammy. He felt the knife slash his chest again and again and it was okay. But this wasn't. He hear a small rip as the plush toy's arm tore slightly. He stood, knocking the bowl of soup over and ran out of the room.

 

§§§

 

If he closed his eyes hard enough and strained his memory far enough then Lay could hear the familiar shouts of his Dad as he returned home from work and the recognisable bangs of doors slamming. He knew he'd been naughty which was why his parents were punishing him. It was their version of hide and seek. Little Yixing ran and hid and his father tried to find him. Twenty hits each time. A reward.

 

Lay let his head roll off the pillow and onto the mattress beneath. His head hurt. Turning on his side Lay his unicorn with his fingers, brushing the soft hairs and stomach. It had a heart there. A massive pink one.

 

Things were alright when you have someone taking care of you.

 

Lay peeked over the covers of his bed, peering through the inky blackness.

 

These people lying on beds either side of him and all around him were fast asleep. Better that way. They couldn't hear him cry.

 

§§§

 

His chest was aching. Lay had fallen over in sport and his gash had opened up. The teacher had made them all participate in that day's activity. He hadn't really understood the concept of the game (the rules even more so), which meant Lay had rooted himself to the spot during the entire period making himself a target for anyone who felt the need to push someone over. In the classroom he pulled his dusty, sweaty shirt over his head, he saw blood staining the murky grey fabric. Lay reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of cream coloured bandage. It didn't do much, since the blood seeped through anyway, but he felt secure having this thing pressing against his skinny chest.

 

A few people pointed out his shirt and told him to go to the first aid staff before they were sick from all the blood. Lay ignored them.

 

“Remembering is the hardest thing of all. It opens up old wounds and it takes longer to heal.”

 

His unicorn was going to fix him.

 

Maybe his cut.

 

Maybe his black eye.

 

But most probably not his heart.

 

§§§

 

“I want my mummy back,” little Yixing said blatantly for the umpteenth time.

 

“Try not to dwell on that too much Lay,” the woman in the suit sighed. “She's gone away for a while. She won't be back for ages.”

 

“But I want her now!” Yixing huffed. He sunk lower into his car seat. The leather enveloped him.

 

The lady didn't reply and when she looked like she was going to it was with pursed lips. Her sharp eyes twitched. “We're going somewhere nice. You'll like it there. You'll be with lots of other children your age and it'll be like having a whole new family.”

 

Yixing gave up after that. He remained silent for the rest of the car trip, reading this book about a boy called Peter Pan. What confused him to the most was how this Peter Pan didn't age. Yixing couldn't wait till he was eighteen. He just wanted his family back. “I hate you,” he mumbled.

 

The lady shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

 

She must've thought that those were spoken by a naïve, impulsive child who was home-sick, but she didn't know Yixing. He meant it.

 

With all his shattered heart.

 

§§§

 

“If you're not going to eat that then can I have it?” Suho was eyeing Lay's sandwich.

 

Lay nodded absent-mindedly.

 

“REALLY?! Awesome. You just came back from sport and you're letting me eat your food Xingxing? Sehun would threaten to eat me instead!” Suho said incredulously.

 

Sehun. Where had he heard that name before? Perhaps Suho had mentioned his name before and Lay hadn't noticed. He reached up and rubbed his aching chest. Big mistake. He doubled over in pain.

 

Suho leant forward and tore Lay's hand and unicorn away from his shirt. His eyes widened at the big pool of red accumulating in front of him. “Lay, what's this?” He began to lift up the hem.

 

“LET GO!” Lay yelled loudly, pulling away. “Don't touch me!” His face was deathly pale. There was red on his hand, running along his palm and down his fingers. It was pretty.

 

“Lay, let me have a look. I promise I won't hurt you,” Suho said. He jumped at the trembling figure and held his arms back forcefully while undoing the bandages. They fell to the floor in a messy pool of hurt and healing.

 

The air sliced through the wound like a painful knife. Not that good pain Yixing had felt. That had made him smile. This pain made Lay wince and hold back a cry. It made his eyes tear up.

 

Suho stared at the cut and pulled the boy to his feet, dragging him out of the canteen...

 

The unicorn and sandwich forgotten.

 

§§§

 

“My name is Joonmyun but I hate it so much so call me Suho.” The short, bossy boy was the first one Yixing had met when the lady in the suit had left him by himself. “What's your name?” He wasn't very polite. Most weren't.

 

“Lay.”

 

“Like the chips. Damn, I love them. Do you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What else do you like?”

 

“I like hide and seek.”

 

“That's nice.” Uninterested.

 

“Me and my Dad used to play it a lot. It was different though. You've probably never played it like we did. It was fun.”

 

“Cool...Now follow me or you'll get beaten up. You just seem like an easy target.” Suho had a grin on his face. A rare sight.

 

 

§§§

 

Was it that long ago?

 

§§§

 

“Can you hold still for just one moment? I'll end up poking your eye out! Minho can you help me?”

 

A tall guy with shaggy hair shuffled over to the bench on which Lay had been swinging his legs off. He awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. “It would be better if you stayed still,” Minho said.

 

Suho leant forward and held out a small cotton ball with some liquid on it. Oh God. Not again.

 

Lay shook his head violently. “No,” he said. “Not that.” His legs began swinging again. Faster this time. And they hit the table legs harder. Bang. Bang. Bang.

 

Suho didn't look impressed. “What? Antiseptic? It doesn't hurt that much. Over exaggeration much.”

 

It does. It does. “No. No. I don't want- please...don't.” Lay trailed off. His fingers had turned blue from the icy coolness of the metal bench. His unicorn was cold too.

 

Suho took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Fine! Fine. But don't come complaining that you've infected yourself. See you later, loser.”

 

“Loser?”

 

“Still slow, I see. Just 'cause I'm helping you doesn't mean we're on friend terms again? Catching on?” Suho raised an eyebrow. “God, you're frustrating.”

 

Lay raced out of the room.

 

§§§

 

Suho had his back pressed against the brick wall outside the orphanage. It was sunny.

 

“Hide and seek huh?”

 

“Yeah! It was so fun!” Lay smiled widely.

 

“Right...”

 

“You don't like the game, Suho? We can play it if you want? I can teach you!”

 

Suho stared at him and didn't say anything.

 

Yixing was worried he had said something wrong. Was his friend feeling deprived of his childhood? Hadn't Yixing just offered to play with him?

 

Finally, Suho pinched the bridge of his nose as if in thought.

 

“You idiot,” he hissed.

 

“Pardon?”

 

Lay didn't understand.

 

Suho scowled. “You ing idiot.”

 

§§§

 

It hurt. Not that pain that eventually passes. It had stayed. And was going to as long as Lay harboured it and he didn't plan on letting go. With this pain he had the ability to hold onto something. He hugged the unicorn frantically. He needed it to protect him.

 

No one else was going to.

 

§§§

 

“Yo, Yixing!”

 

The ground felt harder that day against his cheek and rough. Lay let them shove him further down with their feet since all his will to retaliate had basically gone when he learned that he was never going to win these fights. Another shove on his rib-cage sent sharp needles piercing into his lungs. The air. Restricting. Not quite dying.

 

They were shouting indistinguishable things. It hurt though. A lot. Lay screwed his eyes shut.

 

More pounding against his back.

 

And then they ran away. Only Suho was left. Looming over him like one of those blank faces Lay had learnt to fear.

 

He kicked Lay on his side harshly before bending down and smirking. “As I said,” he whispered. “Easy target.

 

§§§

 

 And then there was only a weeping boy and his broken unicorn, lying in the dust.  

 

“Do you know the feeling, when your heart is so hurt, that you can feel the blood dripping?”