"Being thorough at the type of question you're going to ask must be put to your utmost priority," Ms Harvey was saying one day in Pelham's Psychology class, having had stirred out of topic, yet managed to maintain a constant ambience that drew the students' attention: adolescents' common issues that morphed them into the person they were going to be once they reached adulthood.

Pelham had almost fallen asleep at the time; eyes rolling into his sockets before blinking rapidly to wash the sleep out of them, head lolling sideways before straightening his posture in his chair, and pinching his forearm surreptitiously to keep himself alert. He didn't have a decent sleep the previous night, for he had been trying to soothe a bawling Oris until one in the morning before their parents finally arrived. He'd gone to bed, all right, but a nightmare woke him up hours before dawn, and he couldn't go back to sleep then.

"... and leading to socially desirable answers," proceeded their teacher, pacing at the front of the classroom with her hands clasped behind her back and halting as she emphasised the terminologies. "Not exactly lies, as you all very well know. What I'm saying is that you might want to stir out of sensitive subjects. For instance; religions, genders, skin colours, sexual orientations ..."

Ears perked up, Pelham averted his gaze from his desk to Ms Harvey as she droned on. She was really receiving the attention now, as though each and every one of the students felt like they were being personally confronted by her, as though the mere mention of something that they could relate to had somehow made them feel a tad noteworthy.

It wasn't uncommon for Ms Harvey to bring up such topics during lessons, yet Pelham felt like shrinking into his seat. Sexual orientation, the words echoed in his head, clouding his hearing that he couldn't hear the rest of Ms Harvey's words. And he had only snapped out of reverie when her figure loomed over him, seeing as he was sitting at the front of the class.

"Okay, Pelham?" she asked, looking mildly concerned. "You look lost there. Do you need me to repeat it?"

"Repeat ...?"

"Your face needs a wash," she pointed out, smiling. Faint sniggers could be heard bursting out from behind him, and he felt adequately self-conscious; he was rarely so quiet when it came to class, let alone zone out. In fact, he was quite known for interrupting the teachers' lectures with questions - as exasperating as it might be to some people.

"I'm okay,"

Ms Harvey, however, didn't look convinced. "Wash your face, Pelham, otherwise you're as good as not participating in class if you zone out like that,"

Obediently, Pelham pushed his chair back with a weighty scrap across the tiled floor and rose to his feet.

He had to blink rapidly as he made his way towards the mens' room, shaking his head while doing so. He hated missing lessons, for he knew that there was always going to be some significant - not to mention new - terminologies that needed to be jotted down somewhere in his notebook. Today just has to be the day, hasn't it, Pelham? he thought exasperatedly as he pushed the door open.

He went over to the nearest sink and turned the tap. Cupping his hands together to let the water pool around his bowled palms, he bent down before splashing his face with it, at the same time washing the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, he felt more alert. He repeated the process a couple more times that he didn't realise that his tie had gotten drenched as well.

He flicked his damp tie over his shoulder and straightened up to look at his reflection in the mirror.

Instead, his eyes landed on another figure's reflection behind him.

Pelham whirled around at that instant, his heartbeat picking up its pace.

Slumped down in one of the private stalls, with his dark hair and uniform tousled - not to mention partly soaked waist-down - was none other than Lucio Alves.

"What the hell-"

Not wasting another second to look at his own reflection, Pelham rushed over to the seemingly conscious-yet-unconscious boy. He hunkered down beside Lucio and went to reach his hand to his shoulder, when Lucio - with an unforeseen force - brought his forearms up to block his face, thus preventing Pelham from seeing his face.

"Hey - Lucio, it's me!" said Pelham, frantic evident in his tone. "It's Pelham-"

Pelham grabbed both of Lucio's arms and forced them apart, revealing Lucio's soaked face. Whether that was from his tears or other source of fluid - water, Pelham desperately hoped - it was hard to tell.

Scooting closer, Pelham brought both of his palms to cup Lucio's cheeks, causing the latter to look up. Dark circles bordered his worn, bloodshot eyes, and there was a swell on his temple. There was no mistaking the dried streams of tears that ran from his eyes to his jaw. His colar was askew, and his tie loosened. And there was something in his eyes as he stared at Pelham; shame?

"Pelham ..." Lucio tried to pry Pelham's hands off him, but to no avail, for the older boy refused to budge.

"Who did this to you?" he had never sounded so stern, so enraged, yet so afraid.

"I'm," Lucio shifted, "fine."

"My ass you are!"

"Pel-"

"No, you're gonna tell me-" Pelham paused as realisation dawned on him. "It's them, isn't it?"

Lucio didn't even need to ask who Pelham was referring to. He merely nodded, looking away as though the answer had made him bashful.

"Look, Pelham," Lucio began to say, "I've got this."

Pelham, however, wasn't the least bit convinced. "Sure thing, honey," he said tartly. "I'm reporting this-"

"No!"

"Are you mad?"

"Just ... just go to your class,"

"And leave you here?" said Pelham as though Lucio had just asked him an inane question. "Good luck trying to stop me."

"Pelham-"

"They did this to you?" Pelham pointed towards the purple swelling on Lucio's temple. When Lucio didn't answer, Pelham dropped his hand almost dejectedly with a sigh. Of course they did, he told himself. "Can you - how long have you been sitting here?"

"Let's just say I didn't get to enter class after break," Lucio attempted to laugh, but ended up pressing his palm against his chest.

"Have you tried standing up? Do you think you're able to walk?"

"No, no ... I like the floor better,"

"You know what else makes it better?" said Pelham soothingly, as though Lucio were some seven-year-old being reassured that showers make them more hygienic. "If you're not burdening them with your weight."

Lucio's eyebrows rose. "Floors have feelings?" he asked, not even with a tint of sarcasm, as though he really was eight years old.

Did they knock him in the head? Pelham mused. "Let's get up and get you home, okay?" he offered.

"Whatever you say, Pelham," Lucio groaned as he pushed himself up on his palms.

He managed to stand up and limped out of the stall. As soon as he cast a glance over his reflection in the mirror, something passed in his eyes, and at that instant, Lucio's shoulders slumped.

Pelham knew he still had class, but missing it didn't seem to concern him any longer. So what if he missed one lesson, which was going to end in half of an hour anyway? They were merely having a recap on the previous topics anyway, owing to fact that their exams were only only a couple of months away. Seeing Lucio in a wrecked state had brought a stab in his heart; how could someone as charming, as carefree, as laid-back as Lucio, be hurt? What did he do to deserve it? And why did he look so ... casual, regardless of his condition?

It was not just sympathy that Pelham felt.

Lucio seemed to be fighting back winces as he bent down to wash his face. Pelham noticed that the hem of his shirt was untucked at the back, as though someone had yanked him by the scruff of his shirt.

"D'you want me to call your mum-"

"No," said Lucio not unkindly. He attempted to smile at Pelham from the mirror, but he ended up grimacing. "My parents ... they're not in the house ..."

Pelham shifted from one foot to another, contemplating this issue. Whoever did this to Lucio - and he had a decent guess who, though he didn't quite have the courage to start a brawl just yet - they sure were doing it stealthily, leaving Lucio alone when they were done with him. Doubtful though he was, Pelham deduced that they had been doing this forever. And he was suddenly weighed down with guilt; this must have been happening for far longer than he would like to presume, especially since how Lucio looked nonchalant about it, as though he had grown accustomed to be in such a state.

And Lucio, why didn't he say something?

Pelham wasn't going to let the boy wander around at school, even if it meant missing the rest of his classes. Pelham didn't assume it would do Lucio any good anyway; could he even pay attention in class? Least of all was that the teachers - who were considerate enough anyway - would tell him to have a check-up and go home.

Alas, that happened to be an issue; Lucio's parents were not in the house.

Which caused Pelham to offer his aid by saying the next sentence; "You can come to my house."

Lucio cast a sideway glance over his shoulder, so the only unharmed side of his face was facing Pelham. "But-" began.

"No, I'm not letting you wander alone," said Pelham. When Lucio remained looking hesitant, he said, "Just tell your friend - whoever she was that I heard on the phone last week - that you went home early."

Because Pelham understood it completely; going to have himself checked would cause the school doctor to interrogate him regarding his recent events, thereby leading them to write a report. There were students, Pelham was aware, who didn't like being offered with any kinds of help. Lucio, apparently - and to his slight dismay - was one of them.

Lucio was silent for a while before asking, "Will you parents be okay?"

"They're at work," said Pelham. "And Oris is at my Grandma's. I have the keys." He patted his pocket as if to convince Lucio that everything was going to be fine.

Pelham didn't drive to school, and he had to come up with a rational excuse if he wanted to call his father to pick him up early from school. He could walk, but he didn't want to pain Lucio any further. He had to admit that he had been growing frantic at the sight of Lucio, even if the boy kept reasurring him that he was all right. Pelham wasn't the least bit tranquilised by that, however. He had even burst into his Psychology classroom to pack his belongings. And when Ms Harvey, baffled by the sudden event (it must be fairly comical to her, having had told a sleepy Pelham to wash his face only to have him burst back in a few minutes later) asked what had happened, Pelham cast a quick glance over his shoulder and said, "Emergency." before leaving the classroom.

For resolution, they took the bus. Although Pelham knew that it wasn't that of a time-consuming drive to his house, he simply felt the need to compose himself as well as Lucio. He could tell that the younger boy was fighting back the affliction that was surely threatening to agonise his system.

He had the strong urge to hold the boy. He tried not to fight it. He wanted to. But something - there always had to be something - was holding him back. For one, he didn't want Lucio to feel as though he was meek and feeble.

The pair of them became the centre of attention as soon as they got on the bus. Even though nobody spoke to them, Pelham could feel their hot gazes burning pairs of holes onto his back as he and Lucio made their way down the aisle towards a pair of empty seats at the far end of the bus. There was also Lucio, with his partly damp school uniform and bruised face, limping at Pelham's wake, while straphangers gave way for them.

The bus was mostly packed with commuters. Pelham couldn't help but feel their condemnatory gazes linger on him, as though he were some student who was skipping off school - especially from a young woman in an indigo blazer. It was difficult to tell. He hated attentions anyway. All in all, he was put quite at ease as soon as he slid onto the seat at the back of the bus, Lucio following suit.

"You don't have to do this, you know," began Lucio as soon as they felt the floor judder, indicating that the bus had begun to move.

"I suppose you wanted me to leave you back there?"

"Well - not really-"

"I didn't really have a choice, do I?" said Pelham, leaning against his seat and landing his gaze on Lucio, whose head was hung. "Does it hurt? Your head?"

"I can manage,"

"Excuse me,"

Both boys turned their heads at the source of a feminine voice, which came from the seat right beside them. It was the woman in the indigo blazer who had eyed them when they entered earlier.

"Hi," said Pelham, trying not to sound nervous.

"Hello ..." Lucio greeted, sounding relatively nervous.

"I can't help but ask," the woman began, "But what happened to your face? You look horrible."

What business of it to you, anyway, unless you're a doctor? Pelham very much wanted to say that, but thought better of it.

The woman, however, put on a kind smile. "Did you two have a fight?"

"Us?" Pelham said incredulously.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "Maybe it's just me. See, I've just dealt with a pair of boyfriends fighting in one of their therapy sessions this morning. Was quite harsh, really. And I can't help but wonder whether the same thing ... I mean - like, you know - if ..."

Pelham's eyebrows rose high up on his forehead that he swore they had gone behind his fringe. Then it clicked to him. "Oh ..." he said. "Oh."

Lucio, however, took a longer time to digest this. "What?" he said.

"Oh, we're not ..." Pelham began gesturing towards Lucio and himself, and the woman nodded as if confirming what Pelham assumed she was inferring to was correct. "No, we aren't - we're friends."

She made an 'O' with her mouth. "Okay, sorry then," she said, laughing it off. "This thing has been getting into my head lately. What with some recent news. That was awful. Have you heard about it? About that man-"

"I'm well aware, thank you," Pelham cut her off, suddenly feeling acid accumulate in his voice as though they had risen from his stomach.

The conversation was saved when the woman received a phone call.

At this, Lucio looked at Pelham with both of his eyebrows raised. "What was that about?"

Apparently, that simple question seemed to soothe Pelham, for he smiled casually and said, "She thought we were together."

Lucio's cheeks was instantly a dark shade of crimson. "Why?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Because she thought I'd hit you,"

Lucio laughed. "That doesn't make any sense," he said.

"Of course it doesn't," Pelham shrugged. Why would I ever hurt you? "The world is crazy, Lucio. You, for one, need to move to a better school."

Though, Pelham could distinctly hear the other part of him yelling at him in anger at the last sentence.

*

Lucio had expected Pelham's mother to already be in the house as soon as they arrived at the driveway, but remembered that both of his parents weren't home. And he briefly mused on whether Pelham was simply dropping Lucio before going off to school again - who knew if he had extra classes to attend? Pelham didn't look like the type of student to simply skive off. And if he did leave the house, Lucio would be left alone.

But the older boy tossed his schoolbag over the couch, loosened his tie and untucked his shirt as soon as they had gone inside the living room. It was enough to tell Lucio that Pelham was done for the day. He gestured for Lucio to sit down, to which Lucio obliged.

The couch sunk under his weight, and fatigue washed over Lucio. He could just doze off right there and then had Pelham not come over to examine his face. The edge of the couch tipped downwards as Pelham kneeled down on it, bringing a hand to touch the edge of the swollen area on Lucio's face.

He winced, causing Pelham to extract his hand at once. "Still hurts," Pelham confirmed. "Are you cold? You shirt ..."

"It's drying," said Lucio with a casual shrug, though he could feel his thighs going numb from his cold dress pants.

Pelham went off to grab some dry clothes anyway. He himself hadn't changed from his attire. He lent Lucio his own jeans and shirt, stating that they might fit Lucio, seeing as he'd outgrown them since he was fifteen.

"You grow like the grass," Lucio stated; a feeble attempt at a joke.

"Shut up and go change."

And Lucio did.

By the time Lucio went back to the living room, Pelham had prepared a bowl of ice as well as a handkerchief. Without looking up, he motioned Lucio over.

"Aren't you going to change first?" Lucio asked, sliding onto the couch next to Pelham, biting back yet another wince. "Must be stuffy in that attire."

"Like the swelling on your face," said Pelham, putting ice onto the cloth, tied the edges together, forming a heaped bundle, and bringing it up near Lucio's face.

A gasp escaped Lucio's lips as soon as the cool cloth made contact with his skin, and his hand instinctively made to grasp Pelham's wrist. Pelham chuckled. "It's just ice," he said, his voice lower than normal, as he pressed the cloth firmly against Lucio's temple. "How does it feel?"

Lucio just nodded in response.

"Tell me," Pelham began, "that this has been happening forever."

"Not really," said Lucio. "I think they just switched to Level Five of Torturing Lucio Alves this week."

"That's not funny,"

"It kinda is,"

Pelham sighed. He brought his other hand up to hold the side of Lucio's head as he moved the bundle, pressing it on Lucio's jaw now.

It was a rather odd combination for Lucio; a cold left cheek and a warm right cheek.

Pelham's eyes was fixated on his work. But Lucio was gazing at the older boy. Never had anyone ever offered him such hospitality. It must be so wonderful, Lucio thought, to be Pelham Nixon. No internal conflicts to endure. Always so carefree. Always so shrewd and so benign. It was as though the boy had no problem with life at all.

"I need details for this, you know," said Pelham, still not moving his eyes from Lucio's jaw. "What did they hurt you for?"

"Apart from the fact that they're dumb?"

"Lucio,"

"I don't know, Pelham. Ask them," Lucio suggested with mock patience. "Ask them why they followed me into the toilet. Ask why that Bryce guy had pretended to slip on the floor and had 'accidentally' knocked into me, when really all he wanted to do was hit me. Ask them why I'm their favourite punching bag-"

"Hey, okay," Pelham stopped him. "I was worried. This needs to stop. I should've reported this. I'm going to."

"Bet you they won't give a damn if they're suspended,"

"I'm just gonna thank Oris for keeping me up at night, otherwise I wouldn't've been sleepy during class, thereby the need of Ms Harvey to tell me to wash my face,"

"What?"

"What?"