star-crossed

1. a new life

Jeno could never forget the day he met Jaemin—it was the beginning of his new life.

See, good memories are often shrouded with a warm, yellowish filter which transforms the most simple stone into gold. Jeno acknowledges that is because a figment of his mind idealizes his past; it longs for the simpler times, when life wasn't absurdly cruel to him. However, the first time he met Jaemin wasn't a good memory, technically, because it was the end of his old life.

And it wasn't a good ending.

The day they met, there was blood and a lot of pain, demons and their strong voices flooding his exhausted mind. But, strangely enough, he recalls every word, every gesture, even the clouds unraveling like thread above the surface of a sky which had smoothly turned lilac. A light shade of peach veiled the top of the puffy clouds, resembling an old painting. Jeno's eyelids were heavy that day. He remembers thinking the world seemed so huge, and life so painfully everlasting, and he didn't like the idea of it. However, the sky was stunning and calming and that comforted him a little.

He heard the sound of a train in the distance and a group of kids chasing it just for fun. The noise merged with their screams and the sound of their laughter as the sun set behind the indigo silhouette of the imposing skyscrapers of Haide, the city where he had been born.

He hadn't asked to be born, though.

As he stared at the scenery in front of him, he thought it was a spectacular sight—one of a kind. The early moon had shyly emerged from the left side of the sky. If he had had a camera with him, he'd have taken a picture and kept it in the back pocket of his old jeans so he could look at it whenever he forgot that life, sometimes, was worth it. But all he had was a backpack with clothes and a toothbrush.

Jeno rolled onto himself as he lay down on a long marble bench with no back. He thought it would be a really bad idea to take a nap in a deserted industrial area like that, but he was exhausted and Donghyuck was nowhere to be seen. He just wanted to take a break from life. So he closed his eyes and recalled the day his mother taught him to peel an orange. He could see his hands all sticky before shoving a slice into his mouth, the acid flavor flooding his mouth. The gentle hands of his mother moved as she showed him how to peel it, patiently. Then, she waited for Jeno to do it like her with a second orange. The memory felt distant, he couldn't hear her voice—he didn't recall the sound of it—, but it was enough to make him feel at peace for a few minutes.

For some reason, he didn't hear them coming.

When the first kick reached his sternum, Jeno found himself staring at the sky with his eyes wide open from the shock. He found the menacing gaze of a boy of his age who stared at him behind long, blonde eyelashes.

"The fuck are you doing here, loser?"

A second guy pushed him from the other side of the bench with another kick in the ribs, throwing him off the bench. Jeno met the ground face first. He heard them laughing as he tried to get up on his knees, but when he lifted his head and met the first guy's lopsided smile, a third one punched him from his left side. That last punch was harder than the others, it made his eyes water.

Why me, he thought. He hadn't had time to give him a smart reply, nor to get up and face them. And why not? You deserve it.

Jeno didn't move, he just waited for the next punch. He stared at the first bully in silence. There were freckles all over his face and his eyebrows were so thin and blonde it almost looked as if he didn't have any. The boy lifted one leg and Jeno caught the sight of his platform boots getting closer to his face. The force of that kick made Jeno's back meet the marble bench with a thud. He felt dizziness invading his head as if a thousand flies were swarming all around him. Instead of fighting back, for some reason, he just let them go on.