1 Whoops.

A bird sung a pretty, trickling song outside the window. Rays of bright sunlight and a soft morning glow peeked through the curtains and illuminated patches of his room. The startlingly coloured posters on his walls stood out, yesterday's clothes strewn on the floor where he'd taken them off, and his guitar, resting on the desk chair. The boy had been lying awake awhile, staring blankly at the ceiling while his brain slowly turned its cogs and woke up. That was always a nice time of day. A time when you just exist. Your brain isn't alert enough to bombard you with a constant stream of thoughts. You don't feel too hot or too cold. You can just be.

"John, get up, idiot." The voice of his little sister rang in his ears, banging the door. Ouch. She opened the door and left it swinging annoyingly. He didn't bother to move. It was like hiding from a predator really. Play dead and they might ignore you. However, 13-year-old sisters simply don't ignore you.

"Fine, sleep in, miss school. I literally do not care. " To add insult to injury, she threw a pillow at him. Hard. John jolted up violently, glaring at the door where a flash of dark hair and blue pyjamas whipped away, giggling hysterically. Well, she's mad.

"CARYS!" He bellowed. She cackled and thundered down the stairs. Who the hell is so perky on the first day of school? John only used her whole name when she had truly crossed a line, though he knew it was all light-hearted. "I WAS ASLEEP." shouting to the very receptive audience of his walls.

"NO SHIT SHERLOCK." came her reply. Unfortunately, he found himself now wide awake. He suddenly remembered how late he'd stayed up the night before. His fingers buzzed, recalling the feel of hard metal strings beneath his skin. Scratching pencils on the page of a notebook. Chords. A sudden wave of irritation crept over his body like a little wildfire.

"Shit.."

John dragged his body up from the mattress like a dead weight, entwined in the thick bedclothes. Looking decidedly disheveled by deep sleep, he sported puffy eyes and red cheeks, skin marked by the pillow's creases. The thick laminate floor was a shock of cold under his feet, jerking his brain more awake. His little electric clock read 7:15.

Stumbling to the window, he dragged open the curtains. A large yawn crept out as John blinked out of the window. Ah yes, the charming delights of England. Truly lovely to see an old lady's massive knickers hanging on the line next door. On the fence, a fat cat yowled a tragic opera. Wonderful.

He peeled off his pyjamas, because somehow, they'd become clammy, and silently mourned the warmth of his bed. His skin prickled. Damn British weather. Yeah, he needed a coffee.

He dressed himself hurriedly, having to put his trousers on twice because he'd put them on the wrong way the first time round. He pulled on his school blazer, arms slightly too long 'so he could grow into it' and shoved the sleeves up to his elbows like he always did. It looked cool, he thought. The stiff cuffs around his wrists felt weird. He tidied his mop of unruly curls and sighed, fixing his tie up to his throat.

The tightness always made him feel claustrophobic.

"Ugh.." he complained with another wide yawn. He found himself already craving a smoke, despite it being so early.

John sauntered down the stairs, hopping over the creaky step in the middle. The comforting smell of toast and scrambled eggs leaked through the kitchen door and his stomach rumbled audibly. His mother hummed along to the little radio in the windowsill, playing out some dated tinny tune. Something the station played to please all the middle-agers.

She set down a plate in front of him as he took a seat facing the window. He nodded his thanks. Carys already had her plate and was hungrily tucking in, staring at him funny.

"What do you want, Carrie?" He stared back.

"Absolutely nothing, John dear." She said, pulling a cloyingly sweet smile. She'd grown a lot over the holidays. Her face now looked rather like a miniature version of him, albeit with just a few differences. They both shared big, round hazel eyes, rimmed with thick eyelashes, same as their mother. The same nose. Where John had soft golden freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks, she had pale, clear skin. He'd always thought his freckles made him very pretty though. Pretty was a funny word to use to describe a boy. But it fitted. He liked it. The freckles always faded over the winter though, only to come back again stronger than before, the second the summer sun kissed his skin. Carys had always envied him for that. Another difference was their hair. John's was curly and deep brown whereas Carys' was pin-straight and sandy-blonde, like their father. They didn't talk about him much though.

"Goodness, you eat like you'd just got out of prison!" Remarked John's mum with a warm smile and her beautiful, lilting Welsh accent. She sat beside them with her own plate. He returned the smile up at her. It was nice to see her home for once. She usually worked so late and started so early that seeing her and eating a homemade breakfast became about as rare as a four-leafed clover. It had always been like that since John's dad had left the year before. He'd got drunk, walked out one evening and hadn't been heard from since. It wasn't unlike him to go off for a few days at a time, staying round at a mate's house or in one of the pub's rooms, so they hadn't worried at first. Only when a few days turned into a week, then a few weeks, then months. Frankly, John no longer cared. His dad could be dead in a ditch and he wouldn't bat an eye.

He sighed and lit a cigarette, taking the packet and lighter from his blazer pocket. The reminder that he'd promised himself he'd cut down the cigarettes when the summer holidays started poked the back of his mind. He took a few deep puffs, blowing out the window and waiting for the satisfying effect of the nicotine to kick in. Quitting could wait till tommorow. Smoking always calmed his nerves, and after he'd had a few cigarettes, it took the edge of whatever he was feeling. It felt like the difference between a sharp knife in his chest and a small, dull pressure somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Smoking at the table?" Piped up Carys. "I've just washed my hair. I don't need to go to school smelling like your cigs." She waved a hand at a small wisp of smoke.

"Oh, shut up. Use some of that fancy toilet water spray you bought."

She gasped dramatically, feigning deep offense. Her eyes bore into him.

"Toilet water? It's called EAU DE TOILETTE, YOU DUMB PIG." she banged her fork.

John shrugged. "Same thing, innit. 'Eau of toilet' or whatever." He knew he was pissing her off. It made him chuckle, which only annoyed her more. Carys gave a very loud 'HMPH!' and left the table stormily. Moody much? 

"Carys! Cariad?" Their mum chastised, calling after her. She shook her head and clicked her tongue.

John looked out the window again once it was safe to assume Carys wasn't going to try to execute him. Death by hairspray wasn't a dignified thing to put on someone's mortuary file.

He liked watching the wind blow leaves off the trees. That was soothing too. They danced across the ground in a haze of vivid pink, red, yellow and orange. A postman hurried along, wearing shorts. John had always wondered what insane force compelled them to always dress so inappropriately for the time of year. Maybe they were all mindless clones that didn't feel the cold. After all, he'd never seen a postman outside of the job.

His first day as a Year 10 at Heathgate loomed on him. He thought about last year and the possibilities of the coming one. Honestly, anything would be better.

Exam prep, studying, maybe make some new friends. Normal year?

Last year had been absolute shit.

Some guy had messed with my feelings all year, led me to think he liked me, hung out with me a lot, but turned out to be the biggest arsehole I've ever met. Says something about life. I ended up confessing my feelings to this boy, called Michael, or Mike as he told me to call him when we'd been friends. Bloody stupid thing to do. Turns out Michael had his suspicions about me that he wanted confirmed and was trying to catch me out. After all, liking guys wasn't exactly normal OR welcomed by most kids at Heathgate. Unless you were a girl, of course. Which very unfortunately, I am clearly not. For a straight guy, Michael had played a part very bloody well, I'll give him that. Having had his suspicions confirmed and being the general jerk he was, Michael made very sure to list off an extensive dictionary of derogatory terms for people like me. He knew so many you'd be forgiven for thinking he'd researched them. To make matters worse, Michael spread the wonderful news through the whole school, making my life a lovely fucking misery every day. Everyone seemed to believe Michael over me. Defending myself became pretty pointless. After all, he was one of the school heart-throbs. Dashing good looks, perfect hair, high cheekbones framing bright blue piercing eyes, perfect peach-pink lips. Who in their right mind would protect some shy gay kid instead of siding with the popular kid everyone had a crush on? He was literally the perfect hot high school cliché. The bullying got worse than ever after that and most of my friends drifted away. Was just too embarrassing to be associated with me anymore, I guess. What hurt me most was when my best friend got distant. I could see his point of view, in a way. I'd thought about just disappearing a lot, and done a great deal of wishing I'd never existed. Oh, well. Can't change what's already happened now. The cigarettes had helped a lot, anyway. Managed to get something stronger off someone once but that's.. not for me.

John winced at the thought of walking back into the school, dreading the pointing, hushed whispers and laughter and feeling the stares burn into his face like red-hot lasers. The snide comments whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Maybe it might've died down now the Year 11s had left. They caused the most trouble anyway. A small consolation was he couldn't be the only kid in the whole school who felt like that. Somebody else must feel the same pain. Maybe he'd even find them and offer some comfort one day.

John pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to rub out the thoughts, breathing slightly more ragged than before. His mum looked over, visibly concerned and brow furrowing. She'd been aware John was going through some things, but he'd never talked to her about it. She never knew exactly what. Partly because she often wasn't there to talk, and partly because whenever she'd tried to broach the subject, he'd quickly changed it. The idea of him hiding things hurt her.

"Annwyl, are you alright? Only, you look quite upset."

He stared blankly for a second. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

John loosened his tie to breathe, trying to ignore the lump in his throat and the pain in his rib-cage slowly creeping back. A resolve to smoke more before school formed. That would help with the nerves. Carys came down the stairs, clutching a near-overflowing backpack, smart as ever in her uniform. She nodded at him.

"See you at school."

He picked up his bag to leave, calling a goodbye to his mum. He forgot to stop to hear her reply, realising halfway down the road that she probably wouldn't be there later. He faltered for a second, then started off walking again. His mind fizzed, a mix of anxiety, sleep deprivation and nicotine. The wind whipped around, throwing leaves against his feet and into his hair. They caught in the curls, disheveling them again. He pulled his Walkman from his bag, shoving it into the blazer pocket and pulling the headphones down tightly over his ears. Queen blasted through on the highest volume possible, heavy beats thumping. He could already feel the muscles in his shoulders untensing.

It worked very well to blot out any thoughts and blank John's mind. He simply focusing on the repetitive movement of his feet and the sound of his new shoes on smooth concrete, following the music's tempo.

-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-

He lit another cigarette, holding the lighter steady as he walked. He took a long inhale and breathed out slowly, enjoying the sensation. The smoke clouded from his mouth.

-Thump-thump-thump-thump-

The same old route was well burnt into his memory, so he didn't even look around before stepping over the curb. His mind still felt blank after all. Suddenly, a hand grabbed the back of John's blazer and shirt, tugging him backward sharply. His cigarette fell down into a leafy puddle. He shoved his headphones off his head.

"What the fuck-" He breathed, eyes wild and annoyed, ready to clench his fists.

Looking up, he saw that he'd nearly walked directly in front of a car, containing a very angry man brandishing his fist at him and shouting some obscenity.

John whipped around to the stranger who'd grabbed him. Not quite sure what he was expecting, he was pleasantly surprised to see someone he didn't recognise. He looked old enough to be one of the boys in his year. Now he thought about it, he had maybe seen him before. Just in passing. One of the few kids who hadn't made his life a total misery. Someone who was actually, very pretty, and looking at him for very long would make your cheeks go pink. Especially the way he seemed insistent on making eye contact. John's face quickly softened. The boy released his tight grip on his arm. John felt extremely concious of where the other had touched. There was a small, awkward silence.

"Sorry! Are you ok?"… the stranger started, his face falling into a small, open smile.

John felt his face flush red, embarrassed. The boy's shockingly blue eyes looked searchingly into his, friendly and genuine. John noted that he stood at least two or three inches taller than the stranger.

"Oh. Uh, yes. I- I think so. I just, uh, don't look where I'm going. Thank you!" He gave a forced laugh and waved a hand toward his headphones, now slung around his neck. John dropped his gaze back to the ground, where he felt more comfortable. He felt like he would catch himself staring otherwise. He turned and walked off into the school, internally cursing himself for being so stupid. The boy's voice rattled round his head however. It wasn't something he wanted to forget yet either.

The morning classes seemed to go quickly, which was a nice change, considering how dull they could be. Especially first-period English with Mr. Walsh. He couldn't think of anything that could be possibly more mind-numbing and utterly soul-destroying than an hour of hearing some tragic Victorian poem drawled out and picked to bits by a geriatric teacher who should've retired 20 or even 30 years ago. John had always found his aversion to most poetry confusing considering how much he enjoyed song lyrics. Perhaps it was the genre. Although, Mr. Walsh could make even the liveliest, jolly rhyme sound like it would be better suited to a funeral. From the look of him, it wouldn't be long till the teacher was attending a funeral himself. Just not as a guest. As the VIP. 

The spider crawling around in the corner of the window slowly weaving a glistening web was far more intriguing than the lesson. He was reminded of that saying, If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Morning break came and went relatively eventlessly if you don't count a couple kids beating up some poor helpless Year 7 over bench spots again, oh, and walking in on some questionable activity between a girl and a boy in a bathroom cubicle. The cubicle hadn't even been locked. They rushed out rather shamefaced and red-cheeked when John accidentally walked in, the girl hurriedly adjusting her uniform.

I would've thought that morning break's a bit short for illicit bathroom sex, isnt it? Oh well, each to their own.

A rather average day at Heathgate, all in all.

John dreaded lunchtimes. The dinner hall was always teeming with loud, brash people shouting at each other, the perfect time for someone to pick on him unnoticed, or to get caught in a 'who can spit peas the farthest' completion. Surprisingly, it was usually his year indulging in that delightful past-time. As usual, he just collected his lunch and found some deserted corner to eat in, watching people talk with their friends. He was over the jealous stage. Well, that's what he told himself at least.

Someone familiar caught his eye as he looked up though. Squinting slightly, he realised it was the boy from earlier. The same bright eyes seemed to have noticed John as he appeared to be coming towards him. John watched quietly, half-hoping he might just walk past, but he sat down opposite him at the table, a wide smile across his face.

"Haven't walked in front of any cars recently?" He chuckled at his own joke, the small hint of a smirk twitching at his lips. Shit, don't look at his lips. He decided on a laid-back glance making general eye contact.

Still slightly bewildered, John felt his face breaking into a bashful smile.

"Not yet, I might later though." He felt himself say. "If I feel like it." The slightly-less-than-stranger offered a handshake. At a glance, John noticed that he had very nice hands. Slim fingers capped with shell-pink nails and rosy palms with blue-green veins running through to his wrists. The skin was slightly stained different colours on the fingertips and under the nails though. It looked a lot like paint or perhaps ink. An artist's hands. Pretty.

"I'm Stephen, what's your name?" John accepted the handshake. He introduced himself, feeling slightly more comfortable. He shifted in his seat, letting his shoulders relax.

"I'm John. Nice to meet you.. again."

Stephen's bright grin had a disarming quality, pleasant and friendly. Almost like a breath of fresh air.

"Hey wait, didn't we go to primary together? Saint James's right?" Asked John, recognition finally sparking in his eyes.

"Oh shit, yeah, we did. I'm honestly embarrassed to have forgotten." Hearing Stephen swear was slightly strange. He didn't have the sort of face you would expect to swear. He had a face you'd assume was more suited to sweet smiles. John could get used to it though.

"Don't worry about it. Was ages ago now. I've seen you here before though, right? My memory's not the best. Did you transfer here last year or something?"

Stephen again. "There was me thinking I had an extremely memorable personality! Guess I need to work on that-"

John let himself laugh quietly. More an exhale of breath but oh well. He was slightly amazed at himself talking so much. Especially to a stranger. Maybe it was something to do with said stranger's smile. The kind of smile that makes you want to gush everything.

"Yeah, I did transfer here though. Mid last year. My old school was absolutely terrible. Couldn't stomach it a second longer. "

"Awh, I'm sorry! None of the schools round here are particularly great though." John comforted. It was true. They really were mostly shit. The area received most of the worse-off kids.

The boys found themselves talking for much longer than either had expected. They discussed school and lessons and found they had an equal hatred for Mr. Walsh. Well, in fairness, it was probably a hatred they shared with a great deal of the upper school.

"He's so bloody dry! I can't believe they even let him teach anymore. He'll probably still be reciting Hamlet in his coffin." joked Stephen.

"Either that or threatening to cane the local corpses." They both sniggered loudly, causing a coven of girls to turn around and eye them menacingly. After all, there's nothing more truly terrifying than the death stare of a 13 year old girl who thinks herself tough. That reminded him he'd forgotten to look for Jacquie. John watched Stephen try very, very hard to not burst out laughing. There was a bit of silence after that, the conversation lulling slightly. It, very strangely, didn't feel awkward though.

"Do we have any lessons together?" Stephen inquired.

"Dunno, let's check our timetables… Oh. Quite a lot." John replied, examining the sheets. "Different form though."

"Alright, sounds good. We should work together sometime! You're fun. "

"Uh, sure, I'd love to. Wait." He breathed in. "Do you- Nevermind. See you around." rushed John, as the bell rang. Stephen smiled.

"Cya."

The hall erupted in a roar of noise, scraping chairs, kids calling to their friends and teachers shouting. He hurried out in a sea of people, a small smile lightening his face. His cheeks flushed slightly pink. He was glad someone liked him enough to want to get to know him better. He was about to ask if Stephen knew the rumours about him though. Otherwise, why would he possibly be talking to him? Or asking to work together sometime? He felt a little spark of excitement somewhere behind his navel. John decided he just might not know somehow, by some strange blessing of fortune, and he certainly wasn't going to do anything about that. He might finally have a friend.

When the bell rang for hometime, John rushed away as quickly as his legs could reasonably carry him. Didn't want to run into anyone particularly problematic. Like Michael. He was surprised to see Stephen standing by the front gate, rummaging through his bag.

He looked a bit windswept and red from the cool wind. A little angelic. He looked up, noticing John walking by. He gave him a little acknowledging wave and John smiled to himself as he walked away.

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John dumped his schoolbag on the kitchen table. A few minutes later, Carys walked through the door. She'd left looking immaculate, hair smooth, hands clean. She now looked like a different person. Her hair was messed, hands covered in pen doodles, socks rolled down to her ankles.

"Rough day..?" John dared to ask. He received a bitter glare in return.

"What do you think?" She bit, the tiniest little bit of Welsh accent she had left showing through. She shrugged off her blazer and sank down onto a chair with a deep sigh.

"Alright, alright." He placed a mug of tea in front of her and sat down with his own. "D'you need to talk about it?" The answer could've been guessed.

"Nope. Absolutely not." She took a long sip. "What about you though? Saw you at lunch." She gave a smug little smile as if she knew something and cocked an eyebrow.

"Right.." John said slowly. Carys gave an exhasperated huff, putting down her drink.

"Are you really that thick?" she said, whispering under her breath. "Who's that boy?"

John's face immediately reddened. She did not miss a thing, simply leaning back in the chair.

"He's.. uh. His name's Stephen. I met him this morning." He deliberately tried to avoid the part where he nearly got hit by a car. That is not something he was eager to share. Who knows what Carys would share with her coven of other 13 year old witches? One thing she wouldn't share though. She knew what went on at school. She couldn't really not. John knew he could trust her with important things like that. But.. It did mean he had to undergo extensive teasing about every boy he encountered. There were pros and cons, alright?

She made a long 'hmmm' noise.

"Shut up, Carrie." John got up, draining his mug.

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He went upstairs, skipping two steps at a time and shutting the door firmly. He took off his uniform, roughly shoving onto his desk chair. He pulled his favourite old black jeans over his hips, and fished a t-shirt from the bottom of a drawer. The reflection in the mirror now looked familiar, like him, rather than a schoolboy blending into hundreds of others. He combed out his curls so they hung messily over his face, the way he liked it. Picking up the notebook he'd been using the previous night, he opened it to a page full of music notes and lyrics scrawled across the page. John grabbed his guitar from the corner of his room, relaxing at the comforting weight of the instrument against his chest and legs. A tune tumbled from the strings John strummed gently, testing out lines thoughtfully. His hair fell across his face, framing his eyes and sharp jaw perfectly as sunlight from the window patchily illuminated him.

The lyrics tumbled out of his mouth. His music was a way for him to detach himself from the world and just absorb himself in playing the notes and singing his songs, over and over until whatever was bothering him felt totally unimportant anymore. Plus, there are no rules to what he could write or create. Just totally his own to play around with.

That went on for several hours.