T W E L V E

With his feet propped up lazily on his desk, Reese watched the second hand on the clock hanging from the wall tick by. Beside him sat two students with smirks slapped onto their faces, while they taunted each other, vicious words spilling from their parted lips. Across from him, a dark haired boy laid his head on the wooden table, strands of chesnut dipping into his piercing, jaded eyes. Long, chocolate eyelashes adorned his bronze skin.

Reese scanned the crowded classroom aimlessly, searching desperately for an escape route to distract himself from his wandering thoughts of a pair of chesnut irises. His eyes trailed to the book perched in his lap, words inked onto the pages, telling stories of the past, the past no one can seem to forget. His head held up by his elbow, he skimmed the pages, in an attempt to finish his history homework.

Boredly, he tugged at the loose strands of brown hair, detaching himself from reality. The passing of seconds felt like hours. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Reese stood up, tossing his worn-out backpack over his shoulder. Stretching, the boy across from him opened his eyes, reluctantly allowing the sunlight to seep into his green orbs. The two students paused their back and forth arguement, carelessly throwing loose papers into the bags. One by one, his classmates walked out, almost as if they were mindless zombies.

"Fuck," Jeong winces, threading his hand through his black locks. A soft smile fell onto Journey's thin, pink lips, as he dabbed at Jeong's wounds with a washcloth. Caught off guard in a dimly lit hallway, he landed himself in a brutal fight. Granted, he escaped with minor injuries because of his brute strength and quick reflexes.

Carefully, Journey wraps bandages around Jeong's sore wrist, which was gripped harshly when he was thrown against the wall. Jeong catches himself staring at Journey's lips, while the small boy wrapped a final bandage around his wrist, with his bottom lip lying between his teeth. Slowly, Jeong lifts his head, staring into Journey's baby blue irises. Embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze, Journey forces his attention back to treating Jeong's wounds.

"Where did you learn how to wrap bandages like that?" Jeong questions.

"My mom was a Emergency Medical Technician. She taught me to treat minor injuries." His blue eyed gaze refuses to waver, focused on Jeong's cut lip. A woolen, gray sweater hugs Journey's body, hiding his rosy skin color.

Unconsciously, Jeong's mind travels to Journey's exposed body beneath him, his small hands grazing Jeong's body, muscles contracting from his touch. The length of Jeong's sculpted body Journey's tongue would travel, tracing his chiseled jawline and taut stomach.

Snap out of it, dammit, Jeong chastises himself, shaking his black hair to rid the unwanted thoughts from his mind.

"Jeong," Journey says after a moment of silence.

"Ginger," he replies smoothly.

"Why don't you smile?"

Jeong sighed heavily. "I believe being happy means you're vulnerable and I have too many enemies for me to be vulnerable."

Journey almost scoffed. "Happiness doesn't make you vulnerable. It makes you fucking human."

Jeong shrugged, his fingers fiddling with the zippers of his leather jacket.

"I know you don't like showing emotions," Journey pauses. "But that's what makes you human. Anger, fear, and love. They make you human."

"No." He grits his teeth. "A beating fucking heart makes you human. You'd be a corpse lying on the floor without a beating heart."

"Without emotions, you'd be a statue made out of concrete. You wouldn't be alive. Would you rather be living or alive?"

"Personally, I don't see the difference."

His blue orbs softened, flecks of amber swirling through them. "Living means you're breathing, but doesn't mean you're alive. Just because your heart's beating in your ribcage doesn't mean you're alive."

Just because your heart's beating in your ribcage doesn't mean you're alive. The words echo through Jeong's head repeatedly.

Allowing the nearly burning water to course down his bare skin, he gently washes himself up, his pitch black locks sprawling across his face. Baby blue irises flash through his mind, a light shining into the darkness filling his thoughts.

On the other side of the school, a pair of chesnut orbs stare at his palms, tracing the cracks with the tip of his finger. A ghost of a smile stains his pale lips. The faint stench of weed colors the white walls, engulfing the empty bedroom, the familiarity rather calming. Worn-out photos scatter the small, wooden desk in the corner of Jaehyung's room, reminding him of the picture-perfect family he used to have. The unblemished photo nailed to the wall, behind a golden frame, the sleepless nights taunting him. Grief had consumed him at times, prying his eyes awake, silent sobs slipping past his parted lips.

"God, mom, I miss you. F-Fuck, I miss you so much," Jaehyung whispered. His voice cracked at every word, the shattered glass mirroring the fallout that pierced his family. One by one, tears pricked his eyes, sprinkling down his face, sobs bubbling up from his throat. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he cried into the cage he made with his bare arms, his chest racking with the loud sobs.

Even though he has come to terms with his mom's death and in some ways, he has begun to accept it, the sadness he felt at her funeral still stabbed him in the chest sometimes, pulling him down like ocean waves, causing him to gasp for breath. In juxtaposition to his brother, Jaehyung believed it was okay to let yourself cry, to let yourself break, instead of bottling up your emotions, tossing them in the tranquil waters of the sea, to burden someone else.