Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide


No darkness could shield Yao from the pain he felt. And it wasn't as if he wasn't trying. After his blowup with Ivan, he had been hiding underneath his covers with the blinds closed and the lights shut off.

Ivan's words replayed in his mind like a broken record. "I'm not important. I am nothing," and "I am crazy." Was that really what Ivan thought? The quiet boy that Yao was beginning to feel so close to, the same one who shied away from someone half his size, shouted so loudly that it could've shaken the snow from the trees. Yao remembered the dryness in his throat and the tears in his eyes.

He hadn't been wrong when he said that Yao was a bit more than shocked to see Ivan at the support group, but it was nothing more than surprise. There was no disgust, there was no confusion. Just surprise. His attempts at assuring Ivan had deemed themselves useless; Ivan refused to listen to him.

All the misunderstandings that Yao used to have fizzled away. There was always a larger reason for Ivan being distant than just timidness. And that he knew, it felt like Yao's entire world was crumpling around him. Such a mysterious boy wasn't meant to make him feel so empty. And yet it was as if someone had reached into his chest and grabbed him by his heartstrings.

Yao remembered feeling the same way when Kiku was taken away from him and his father. But this pain was different, perhaps even worse. When he stopped crying, Ivan's cold, blank face would blear into his mind and the tears would start rolling down his cheeks once more. When he ate, it was by force. Food was always brought to him; he outright refused to leave the confines of his bed. It was so obvious that his family was worried about him, constantly checking to see if he had moved and asking what had caused him to isolate himself. He had yet to give anyone an answer. His friends from lunch had called a few times, but he didn't pick his phone up once. He only wanted to speak with one person and that person didn't want anything to do with him, not after their last encounter.

School was going to be a dread; two weeks weren't long enough. At the beginning of break, Yao couldn't wait for it to be over. Now, he wished it would never end. He didn't know what he would do when he saw Ivan again. He didn't know what to say or if he'd say anything at all.

He wondered if Ivan would stare at him. It sounded so creepy, but it wasn't, not to Yao. It was endearing, the way he would glance at him, as if he didn't know that Yao could see him out of the corner of his eye. Ivan probably didn't want to look at him anymore. His violet eyes wouldn't fill with alarm in realization that Yao had spotted him, and pink wouldn't spread across his cheeks in embarrassment. He wouldn't clutch his scarf out of shyness but out of worry. Everything Yao had had going for him was lost.

Sunday night before the anticipated Monday of classes, Yao curled into the blankets until they were almost suffocating him. Nervous was an understatement at that point. Tomorrow was inevitable and yet it was so terrifying. Acting as if nothing had happened was out of the question; it was so preposterous that Yao didn't even believe it himself. Going up to Ivan and simply talking to him sounded so apparent, but Yao couldn't do that either. He was sure he would faint before he could get a word out. And who was to say that Ivan wouldn't turn away at the sight of him?

Yao had no intentions of sleeping. It was a foreign concept to him at that point. Sleep meant relaxed and Yao was anything but. Worry built itself into his stomach and sat there like an anchor. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't push it away.

Life seemed to be getting more and more confusing by the minute, ticking away at Yao like a bomb. All he had to do now was wait for it to explode. And when it hit zero, maybe then the pain would stop.


"Yao, we thought you had died, man! Where the hell have you been?" It was the warmest of welcomes Yao had received all day.

Having few friends was a blessing and a curse, but today, it just felt confusing. He yearned for someone to talk to, but when he had seen Ivan in English, he wanted to sink into himself and disappear. There was no staring, just like he had guessed. He had only gotten a glimpse of Ivan's face; it was set like stone, hard and emotionless. Yao had thought of saying something to him, but the words got caught in his throat and he ran to his seat before he could do anything else.

At lunch, he felt the slightest bit better but not by much. They asked him where he had been all break, which was understandable, considering he had gotten as close to dropping off the face of the earth as humanly possible. He tried to simplify things as best as he could, leaving out personal secrets and his own feelings that were eating away at him.

"Really? Ivan did that?" Alfred asked, pushing away the fork holding a slice of a strawberry that Arthur offered to him. Yao couldn't help but notice the way Alfred's cheeks slopped inward, unhealthily frail. He was pale, and Yao could see his cheekbones. But he still smiled. His blue eyes still lit up like he was the happiest person in the world when he looked like the most helpless. His arm wrapped tightly around Arthur's shoulders, as if he was afraid that he would leave if he didn't. Arthur simply stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, leaning his head against his shoulder. His efforts were being ignored, and Yao could tell how hard Arthur was trying. "He doesn't seem like the kinda guy."

"He doesn't," Yao said with a sigh, pushing his food away from him. He didn't have an appetite.

"Really?" Arthur groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "I already have one stubborn boy who refuses to eat on my hands. I do not need another one. Put that sandwich in your mouth."

"Arthur, you aren't my mother-"

"Eat the bloody sandwich, Yao." Arthur sure had a way of persuading people. He picked up his sandwich and bit into it before he could say anymore. "Thank you. And, you." He held out the fork to Alfred once more. "You haven't eaten anything all day. You need food, Alfred." Mouth clamped shut, Alfred acted as if he had heard nothing, but it was so clear that he had. "Love, please. I know you're scared, and I know you don't want to. But you have to. Just a little, it's not much." The container of strawberries was pushed towards Alfred, but he didn't look at them. Matthew inched closer, hand resting against his bicep; Alfred didn't push him away, but he also didn't say anything. "Alfred," Arthur went on, voice gentle. "I promise you. This cannot hurt you. I won't let it hurt you." There was the ticket. Shaking hands reached to grab the fork, and Alfred looked at the fruit as if it were poison. Every time Alfred ate, it made Yao cringe. He looked so depressed and pained.

He finished the entire container, but he wouldn't stop shaking. Yao couldn't read what he was thinking, but he rarely could. A weight seemed to lift off of Arthur's shoulder and settle itself on Alfred. Wrapping him in a hug, Arthur soothed his boyfriend with a kiss to the head. Matthew let a small smile fall onto his lips. Yao sat silently, just looking at them. It didn't make him feel any better, but it wasn't his place to say anything; this moment wasn't about him.

"So, Yao," Arthur said, turning to him. "What are you going to do about Ivan?" He was trying to change the subject and get Alfred out of his fearful mindset. It only made sense. "Maybe you should try talking to him."

"No, I can't do that," Yao said. "He doesn't want to talk to me. Why would he want to?"

"But you don't know that," Matthew said. "He could be just as scared as you. Maybe he feels bad for what he said and he doesn't know what to say."

"Doubt it," Yao said, shoulders slumping. "I wish I could just read his mind. Everything would be so much simpler. But even if I could read his mind, I still wouldn't understand him. He's so confusing."

"He's afraid," Alfred murmured from his place on Arthur's chest. "I haven't talked to the guy much, but I've known him for awhile. He's always on high alert, like someone is always following him. He barely talks. But he talks to you, apparently. That means he trusts you, at least a bit." Looking Yao in the eyes, Alfred's baby blues pierced Yao in a way he hadn't felt before. "He knows what he said. And he knows that it wasn't necessarily right. But he was scared and he still is."

"I'm scared too," Yao said quietly. "I don't want to…lose him."

"I know," Alfred said, a grin playing at the sides of his mouth. "And it seems like he sure as hell doesn't want to lose you. So do something. Before he thinks he has."


The world had a funny way of playing tricks with people's heads. Yao thought life was playing a trick on him, but really, he was just a pawn in a never ending game of confusion and hurt.

Yao had tried thinking of the best way to approach Ivan, but he had yet to find it. What was he supposed to say? When was he supposed to say it? Should he apologize? Should he hug him? There were so many options, but none of them seemed just right.

He would've consulted his friends, but they had disappeared. He supposed that they could be sick, but the coincidence of all three of them being sick at the same time was a bit farfetched. He tried to contact them, but no one answered. Alfred's phone rang a few times, but it always went to voicemail. Arthur's phone didn't even give him the hope of a reply; it was turned off, always sending him straight to the emotionless voice of a woman who could care less about what he really needed. He had texted Matthew a few times, but all he got in response was, 'Can't talk, sorry.' What was going on?

Lunch was so eerie without anyone to sit with. It was quiet, and Yao missed having people to laugh with. He wanted his three blondes back; he needed someone to advice him. He felt completely alone, more so than when he had first transferred.

A voice over the loud speaker rang through the school, alerting the students to meet in the gym for an emergency assembly. Perfect, Yao thought. Another opportunity to be shoved around by people he didn't know. Regardless, he trudged in line with the other students and was lucky enough to be able to get a spot in the first row of bleachers, only having to deal with the students behind him.

There were several things Yao noticed, every one more jittering than the next. In a long row of chairs were a group of people, all solemn faced. There were two adults who Yao couldn't recognize who sat next to Matthew's older brother, Francis, who was clutching onto a package of tissues. Gilbert sat next to him, one arm wrapped around him and another wrapped around a sniffling Matthew. The albino man seemed to be whispering something to him, which only made Matthew burst into a loud set of tears, burying his face into Gilbert's shoulder. But he didn't appear to mind; he cradled the back of Matthew's head in his hand, shushing him. And then latched onto the end was Arthur, dressed completely in black. He wasn't crying, but everyone could tell that he had been. Eyes red and cheeks stained with old tears, he gripped onto the sides of his chair until his knuckles were white.

The other thing he noticed was a large picture pinned to the wall, fluttering from the cheap air conditioning. Alfred's football picture was as stereotypical as possible; red jersey framed around him, he held his helmet under his arm, a football lying by his feet. His smile, so warm and reassuring, took up half of his face, and his eyes were as brilliant as ever. It was a familiar sight that made Yao feel at home. But why? Why was this happening?

Whispers from around him wondered the same thing. What was so wrong?

The principal silenced everyone with a tap on a microphone that was attached to a wooden podium. "I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here," he said, clearing his throat and straightening his tie before continuing. "With sorrow and remorse, I must tell you that we have lost one of our own. A few days ago, Alfred Jones, senior and football captain, was found dead in his bedroom by his cousin, Matthew-"

He was cut off by Matthew's loud cries that echoed against the gym walls. Gilbert continued to whisper to him, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. The principal continued speaking, but Yao had tuned him out. Dead. The word continued on and on in his head. It had to be a lie. He had to be dreaming. Alfred couldn't be dead. He was always so happy; there was no way he could've killed himself like he had heard the principal say. But maybe that was just it. He hadn't been happy. He had been miserable, and he had put up a front. He only took it down for certain people. And Yao supposed it just must've gotten to be too much.

"Alfred's friend, Arthur Kirkland, would like to say a few words." The principal moved aside and allowed Arthur to take his place. He had no paper in his hand like he had prepared a speech, and there was a blank stare set on his face.

Lowering the microphone to fit his height, Arthur said, "I'm his boyfriend." It was like a slap in the face, the way he spoke in the present tense, like Alfred was right next to him. "And I love him. And he loves me. I'll always love him. Just because he's…not here doesn't mean I don't." Taking in a shaky breath, Arthur continued, "For all of you that didn't know, Alfred has anorexia. He never wants to eat. I try to get him to, but he's very stubborn, as I'm sure many of you know. But none of you know that he has an eating disorder. He hides it far too well. He's always smiling and laughing. It seems too ridiculous to be true. But none of you are there to hold him when he cries like I am. None of you know how horrible he feels about himself, how hideous he feels. I can tell him a million times, but he never believes me. And you know why? Because people tell him how fat he is all the damn time. Your jokes aren't jokes to him; they're the truth. And who the hell are any of you to tell him what he is? To tell him all he's worth is his size." There were silent tears running down Arthur's cheeks as his voice increasingly got louder and louder. "You don't know him! All he ever does is care about everyone and make sure that everyone else feels good about themselves when he hates who he is! How dare you! How dare all of you! He's dead! He's gone! For God's sake, he's dead…" Matthew quickly moved to Arthur's side, hooking his arms around his waist and pulling him close as he sobbed. Yao could make out the muffled, "I love him," Arthur cried into Matthew's shoulder and Matthew's reply of, "I know."

Looking about the gym, Yao saw the expressions of guilt and misery generating across people's faces. Everyone looked so awestruck, and Yao couldn't help but feel good about it. They were the reason Alfred killed himself. They should feel the way they did. But then his eyes landed on a tall boy who was hiding himself in his scarf. Ivan's eyes looked so broken as he stared at the group of crying individuals. Before he could look away, Ivan was standing up and rushing towards the door. Yao knew he should stay put; it would be inappropriate to leave when one of his only friends had passed. But he was drawn to Ivan in a way where he couldn't refuse. It was selfish and rude and out of line. But he remembered what Alfred had told him that last time he had seen him. 'Do something,' he had said. And he was sure as hell going to do something.

He ran out the door just after Ivan had. Grabbling onto Ivan's shirtsleeve, Yao felt him try to shake him away; but he refused to let go. Glancing down, Ivan bit his lip. "What do you want, Yao?" he said, looking anywhere but at the boy in front of him. "You should be inside. Alfred was friend, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Yao said. "Of course he was. He always will be. But…I need to talk to you."

"There is nothing to say."

"Yes, there is." With an intake of breath, Yao said, "Ivan, I want you to know that I think no differently of you. I learned that you're a bit different, but I don't care. You're still Ivan. You're still my friend. And these past few weeks, I've been so worried for you. And after what happened with Alfred…I only worry more now."

"I am not suicidal, Yao," Ivan said. "You know that."

"But neither was Alfred." There was a heavy air between them. The truth hurt sometimes, but that's just how life worked. "I don't want to live a life where I can't talk to someone I care about. It hurts not being able to see you, Ivan. I've missed talking to you."

"Really?" His voice was quiet and unsure, but it held a sense of hope that he seemed to be holding out on.

"Yes. And it's been so hard not being able to be around you. Did you really think that I would hate you just because of your disorder?"

Ivan shrugged. "I am crazy. I hurt people. I will probably hurt you too."

"No, you won't!" Yao demanded. "You haven't yet. Why would you now? Why can't you see that I'm trying so hard? I care about you a lot, more than I ever thought I would! And you're acting as if I'm lying. I'm not! I've never been more sure about something! Why can't you see that?" His chest heaved as he spoke, from passion and anger. Ivan meant something to him. He wasn't quite sure what, but he meant a great deal.

Silence filled the hallway as neither of them looked at each other. Yao couldn't find any more words and Ivan hadn't a clue of what to say. Perhaps Yao had taken it too far. Maybe he should apologize and go about his point softer…

"We got A."

Looking up, Yao quirked an eyebrow at Ivan's words. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

Ivan smiled down at him, his violet eyes no longer holding panic but satisfaction instead. "Our history research paper. We got A."

Yao couldn't believe what he was hearing. Ivan had completely switched subjects on him, and yet he looked so happy. What he had said must've stuck into his mind then. But still that cheeky grin was so obviously dignified. The idiot looked proud of himself.

"Shut up," Yao said quickly before standing on his toes and bringing a hand around the back of Ivan's neck. There lips met and melted together as if they were always meant to fit like a puzzle. Ivan's arms found their way around Yao's waist, pulling him close against him. This was what Alfred had meant when he had told Yao not to let Ivan get away. Alfred always knew so much more than he said. Taking his advice was the best choice Yao had made in a long time.


To be continued.