Sitting with plugged in headphones. Head down. Eyes watering. Trying not to start crying. 
     Focusing on the song. Getting lost in it. Trying to make the pain go away. Subconsciously feeling the wrist; feeling the scars. 
     "Get up. Pick up your stuff. We're going for ice cream."
     The owner of the voice is a tall, gorgeous guy. Wavy brown hair and startling green eyes.
     Finally, he takes out his headphones, looks up; "Do I know you?"
     "No. But you're about to. I'm James, and you're sad. Those two don't mix too well. I'm also hoping you'll cooperate and come get ice cream quietly, or I'll have to take you by force."
     'Sad' looks back down. Doesn't know what to say. After a few moments of silence, mutters "My name's not Sad. It's Hunter."
     "Well, I'm glad that that's been established. So, Hunter. Are we getting ice cream by choice, or are we getting it by force?"

     Thirty minutes later it was like they had known each other for ages. Laughing and smiling. Sharing ice cream. Having fun. 
     "You know, you're much hotter when you smile."
     Hunter didn't know how to reply. So he sat there with his mouth wide open for a bit, then said "I didn't know you were gay."
     James laughed that lovely laugh of his and said "I did. The moment I walked up I saw you checking me out." He added a wink as he reached over for another spoon of sugary goodness. 
     Hunter blushed and looked down, ashamed. "Sorry..." he managed to mumble while he cautiously reached for another bit of sugary happiness. 
     "Hey. Hunter. Look at me. Didn't I just tell you you look hotter when you smile? Can you smile for me?"
     Hunter looked up, looked at James' goofy grin, and cracked a smile himself. 
     "There we go." James whispered as they moved towards each other. 
     "Your eyes are beautiful." Hunter replied, in a quieter whisper. 
     "Tha-" a kiss interrupted his gratitude. Then another. Slow. Passionate. Full of this raw, new, and oh so innocent emotion. Could it be love? 
     As they were both thinking about this, James glanced at his watch. 
     "F***."
     "What?" the worry was obvious on Hunter's face. "Is something wrong?"
     "You're so cute when you worry," said James - before he remembered what was actually wrong. "But, uhm, we're late for our next class." 
     Hunter was too busy trying to cover up his blushing to reply to this. Finally, he said "well. We should probably head back then."
     "I don't know."
     "Why not?"
     "I'm getting this unexplainable urge to take you on a date."
     "And what does that have to do with getting back to school?" Hunter's head tilted ever so slightly when he asked. He had the puppy dog eyes going. 
     "Well. My instincts are kind of telling me this date should be right now."
     Hunter's eyes got a hint of excitement in them - an emotion that the rest of Hunter's face wasn't used to. He looked like a little child who had lost their mummy. 
     "Hunter, may I take you on the best date of your life? Right now?"
     "James, ye-" 
     Another kiss interrupted his reply. 
     "Alright. Then let's go.
     As they walked out to James' car, their hands found each other. Fingers wrapped around fingers, palm touching palm. 

     About half an hour later, they were in the next town over in a beautiful park. The grass had never looked so green, the water had never sparkled so much, and the chirping of the birds had never sounded happier. 
     Holding hands, they walked on the path until they found a bench under a tree. They sat down, and just looked at each other for awhile. Admiring the other's innocent beauty. 
     "Has anyone ever told you how kind your eyes are?" 
     "Has anyone ever told you that you're crazy?" Hunter smiled and looked to James for an answer. 
     "Plenty of times by plenty of people. But it never sounded as good as it did when you said it." James was smiling, but he was sincere. 
     Hunter looked down. His head stayed down for a few minutes, and then finally he looked up with, and with fear in his eyes, he whispered; 
     "I lo-" 
      A kiss interrupted the sweet whispers. Then another. They were slow, passionate, youthful. But they were also hungry, asking for more. Devouring theirnewfoundd closeness, begging for so much more. Devouring their first day of love, and begging for thousands more. 
     "I know. And I lo-"
     And the sweetest kiss interrupted the conversation. Filled with love that words could only try to describe. 

     The next day, Hunter was back in his usual place. He had thought about his date with James all of the previous night - the stolen kisses, the stolen minutes on Hunter's front porch. The sweet whispers and the heartfelt laughs. The sparkle always present in James' eyes, the smirk always present on his lips. And he decided it had been a dream. 
    "Hey there, cutie." 
    Hunter jumped up, then smiled. 
     "I almost thought yesterday was a dream..." he closes his eyes. "Wa-"
    When he reopens his eyes James' are close to him. He smiles. 
     "Nothing but reality, my love. Speaking of which, I'm pretty sure we're officially dating now."
     "Welcome to my f***ed up world, then!" said Hunter, with a sad smile on his face. 
     "And welcome to mine."

     For their one month anniversary, James got Hunter a bracelet. Nothing too flamboyant, nothing too fancy; just a leather band engraved with half of their quote - the other half already on James' wrist. 
     But when James turned over Hunter's wrist to fix the bracelet into place, he was horrified. 
     He traced each of the scars with his finger, and looked up at Hunter to silently ask why. 
     "It's not easy being gay in my family. It's really not. And along with all the other s*** I just couldn't take it anymore. So I turned to this. To self-harm. Gave me a release without having to communicate. And then I turned to music; started getting lost in it. And then I foun-"
     A kiss stops his little monologue. James finishes the thought for him; "And then you found me. Happy one month, darling."
     "Happy on-"

     "F**." 
     This delightful word greeted James everywhere he went now. The hallways used to be filled with such joy. 'Hey Janes, what's up!' or 'how's it going!'
     Now it was just 'f**.' Occasionally this word was accompanied by a not-so-gentle shove into a locker. 
     But every day was also filled with Hunter. They'd walk each other to class, kiss for the whole school to see. They weren't going to let some fools bring them down. Once or twice a month they went out for ice cream and skipped class. And every day after school they hung out; talked about their day, talked about their life, and marvelled at their love. 
     With each day the scars healed. With each day their love grew. With each day they promised they'd have so many more; sometimes verbally and sometimes with a kiss. And with each day the name calling got worse - the names got meaner, the shoves got harder, and the sadness started to take over. 

     He got home. Tried to clear his mind of the depression; the monster telling him he should just die. But the monster wouldn't shut up. It wouldn't stop. He needed to stop it; he couldn't deal with it. Luckily, he was home alone. Nobody there to tell him to stop. Nobody there who just doesn't understand. 
     He picked up the knife and ran a finger along the edge, careful not to prick himself beforehand. No premature relief. Then he turned his wrist over, and stared at his pale skin. It was calling to him; taunting him at this point. He felt every name; every shove; every look. "What, are you actually going to do it, loser?" the depression was talking. There was only one way to shut it up. 
     He let the knife have it's first bite. Then, not satisfied yet, he dragged it along. Watched the beautiful red blood flowing; thinking "see, I'm human too. I'm bleeding, aren't I? The same stuff as would come out of your body..."
     He had finally shut the depression up. For now. See, he was going to do it. All the pain - emotional, mental, physical. He couldn't take it anymore. 
     But he wiped the knife ever so carefully with a paper towel - careful not to stain anything. Then he washed wrapped a bandage around his wrist - no longer just pale, but not sprinkled with red. As he was finishing washing the knife, he heard the door open. He put the knife down to dry just in time to hear his mother calling his name.
     "James! Hey James, do you mind getting the groceries for me? They're in the car!"

     "James... Why..." the pain in Hunter's voice was heartbreaking.
     "I couldn't take it anymore, Hunter... You understand. The name calling, the shoves... I couldn't take it."
     "I know... Just... Please, James, please. I love you too much to let you do this..." Hunter's words threatened tears, but he knew better than that. 
     "I'll try."
     "Promise?"
     "I pro-"
     "Thank you, James. And happy 6 months, darling."

     It was their anniversary. They were at their favourite ice cream place. He could hear everything the other was saying, see the smile on his face, the glimmers of hope and happiness in his eyes. But all he felt was pain, and a desire to make it stop. He tried to pay attention to the words coming out of his boyfriend's mouth, but he couldn't. Eventually, he gave up and gave into the world devouring him. 
     "James! Are you there?!"
     "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about how cute you are," he lied. Faked a smile. 
     As he trudged home, dragging his feet, he thought about everything wrong with the world. It seemed like too much to fit in his head. 
     He came home, and took out his knife. He looked at his wrist, where the scars had almost healed, and he gave into the voice in his head. 
     The last thing he heard was Hunter's voice, screaming "James. No. Please. James." and his sobbing; grasping for air. 

     The funeral was supposed to be small, but the whole school came. They walked up to Hunter, and offered their sincere condolences and apologies. But Hunter didn't hear them. 
     He was sitting with plugged in headphones. Head down. Eyes watering. Trying not to start crying. 
     Focusing on the song. Getting lost in it. Trying to make the pain go away. Subconsciously feeling.
     When he looked down, his vision was blurry.