The little things

11. Broken boy 0.2

(1470 words) Mentions of suicide and DID, as well as what could possibly be an incorrect description of what the idea of suicide does to the body.

------------------------------------------------------------

The Broken boy had officially broke. He could tell by the way the long-haired male looked at everything blankly. He could tell by how the shorter no longer joked or smiled around his bubbly head-mate.

And he could tell because the boy who wanted to kill himself no longer talked to the stars.

He had only caught the shorter twice, finishing up what he could only think to be a rant. It could have only been those two days but he doubted he would get lucky enough to catch the other male both times. He also believed he was correct because the Broken boy would have jumped earlier if something wasn't holding him back. And that was proven recently, because without talking to the stars, he doesn't care when he jumps, he just does.

The taller has had to stop the male on multiple occasions while they were sitting at the edge of the cliff, and he believes the Broken boy doesn't even realize he is doing it. He only thinks that because it will happen while the boy is in the middle of talking.

All he does is start walking towards the edge, closer and closer all while continuing the conversation. His eyes blank and his voice dull. He wonders what happened to the Broken boy, what else could have possibly made him this broken, this shattered. He didn't want to admit that the shorter was shattered, probably beyond repair, because he still wanted to help fix him, help keep him together.

You can't word it like that, it sounds terrible that way. His bubbly head-mate was the smarter, it was clear in his words and actions, even if he was the youngest. But he wasn't sure how else he was to word it.

He wanted to make the Broken boy happy. He wanted the boy to stay alive until old age took his life. He wanted to find out what made him so broken and then get rid of it. He wanted to put the boy back together. So how else was he supposed to word it if that was exactly what he wanted to do?

He wanted to fix the Broken boy and make sure he stayed that way.

Now they rested at the cliff, the Broken boy asleep on his lap as he played with his hair. The shorter's hair was back to the braided messy-bun combo, the way he liked it. Not that his other hairstyles were bad, but this one seemed to fit the long-haired male the most.

He messed with the few baby hairs that escaped the hold of the hair ties, twirling the strands around his pointer finger while his eyes watched the sunrise. It was a Wednesday so the Broken boy had school, but he wasn't going to wake him. The shorter had eyebags that were turning a dark purple and even though he didn't seem that much different, he could tell it was taking a toll on his body.

His movements were slower and his words were slurred. He stuttered every once in a while, and repeated words often. His hair wasn't the flourished, well kept look he had before, it was slightly stringy and a little greasy.

It seemed like he was officially giving up on his life.

Before he wanted to kill himself, sure, but people say that and when they try, they back out. He never did that. He prolonged the jumps but when the time came, he didn't flinch or hesitate, he just did it, like there was no thought behind it. Or maybe he did think about it and he really didn't care that his life would end once the edge of the cliff disappeared from under his feet. Then again, that's basically what suicide is, isn't it?

You want your life to change for the better, want somethings to change while others stay the same, but because that seems so far away or it seems like it will never happen you decide to end your life. Most of the time you don't even want to. But the urge is so strong that your body finally gives in, it finally stops caring, just like your mind.

He moved his eyes to look at the sleeping Broken boy, his hand leaving the few strands of hair to softly rub his thumb against the boy's face, the path being the outer edge of his eye down to the point of his jaw, his thumb slowing down once it reached the corner of his mouth.

The Broken boy looked the most peaceful while he slept, though he has only seen the male asleep a handful of times. When he was sleeping, it seemed that every weight was lifted off of him, like he had no problems and he wasn't the Broken boy he came to know. Came to like. So, seeing his sleeping figure looking like nothing mattered, it brought a hopeful smile to his face.

It had started getting lighter outside, the stars disappearing as the brighter one grew bigger. His eyes moved to look at the town below, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the shorter's chin. The lights didn't look as bright as they had that night, the suns rays drowning out their once vibrant hues, filling the air with prettier colors.

The wind blew harder, the already cold air getting colder. It was December, about a week in, and snow hasn't even been close to being a real thing. It wasn't that rare to not have snow where they lived, but he thought the snow would have made the view better and made the coldness worth it, but he guessed it was worth it considering that was how he got the shorter male to lay his head on his lap.

His jacket was resting over the long-haired male's body, leaving his thin, long sleeved shirt the only thing that covered his arms from the cold. He didn't mind it though, sometimes the cold felt better.

His mind was quiet and he figured his head-mates were in their rooms or the very least in the back room. That was why he was so focused on the sounds around him, because the quiet felt good.

And that was also why he knew the Broken boy was awake.

The boy groaned in the slightest, his body tensing before relaxing again almost immediately. He took his hand away from the other male's face and went back to playing with the loose strands of hair, his eyes still trained to the town below, the suns bright light causing his eyes to squint slightly. He wasn't that bothered by the light that could blind him if he stared long enough, because he wouldn't look at the other until he knew he was back asleep or he decided to get up.

After a minute the male shifted again and then he stilled, a soft sigh of content leaving his lips before it was silent again. He waited and then looked down, his smile twitching a bit wider as he looked at the male who turned his head to face his stomach, his hands weakly trying to get under his head.

He moved his hand back to his face and softly ran his thumb from the middle of his forehead down to the outer edge of his eye.

Yeah, the shorter was definitely the most peaceful when he was sleeping.

The sun continued to rise and his own body betrayed him by yawning. His eyes moved from the sleeping boy to the space in front of them, his mind drifting to the days that he vaguely remembers, especially the day a few weeks ago.

The only other day last month he couldn't remember completely.

He knows he went to the cliff because the Broken boy was still alive, but he didn't know what happened and he wasn't sure who was in control that day. He just hoped it wasn't his blunt head-mate. He may not be the worst of the worst, but put in certain situations, he's not the best at comfort or real social interactions. He can also be an asshole half the time, so it was better if he and the Broken boy didn't meet.

They stayed cuddle together until around eleven in the morning. The Broken boy got up without a single word and stared off into the space in front of him before hesitating to move down the cliff. He watched the Broken boy leave with a soft smile on his face, the retreating figure not caring to look back and meet the stare of the taller male. The boy may be Broken, but he will always think of him as the boy who changed his life, even if it was only just a shift in his sleep schedule.