twelve

Of course, I went.

Except I didn't go for Akira; I went for Kiyoshi. I was curious about who he was and I figured maybe I could see a different side of him at a party.

When Akira said "birthday party," I didn't know why I expected very few people to be there. Of course, the place was going to be overflowing with people from school and strangers. Of course it was going to be a typical highschool party, with underage drinking and—if they got lucky enough—drugs.

I, being the introverted seventeen-year-old I was, steered away from any place filled with drunk teenagers and drug-addicts. I had no problem with them—I just hated communicating with strangers.

So I ended up sitting in the hallway on the second floor of the Kim household, hugging my knees and hoping that the people passing by would ignore my existence and continue to go on with their business (to which they didn't seem to have a problem doing).

It wasn't until two hours had passed that I felt someone's presence beside me. I looked up, afraid that it would turn out to be a drunk teenager or one of the few drug-addicts I had seen around, but it was neither.

It was Kiyoshi, and he looked as if he were about to cry.

I had only seen him cry few times, but still—it broke my heart to see him that way. The way his eyes welled up in tears and his bottom lip quivered, how weak and fragile he looked. Seeing him cry made me want to hug him and never let him go.

"H-Hey," he said through the loud music. "I didn't know you w-were here."

"Are you okay?" I asked. He hesitated before shaking his head. I watched as a tear slowly rolled down his cheek and how he harshly wiped it.

"I-I'm not okay," he said, breaking down. Kiyoshi's head hung low as he cried, his shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry."

I grabbed his hand and stood up. He didn't stop crying as I dragged him into a random room at the end of the hallway and closed the door behind me, blocking out some of the music and cheers from other teenagers.

Kiyoshi fell onto the floor, his cries getting louder. He sounded out of breath as if he couldn't breathe and I panicked, not knowing what to do. He put a hand over his chest and repeatedly hit himself, screaming.

Acting off of instinct, I knelt down beside him and hugged him. "Shh." I rocked him back and forth, patting his back as he screamed his pain away. "It's okay, you're okay now."

It took me a while to realize that I wasn't afraid of his cries anymore. I wasn't afraid if he kicked me, scratched me, pushed me away—none of that mattered to me. All I wanted was to protect the boy in my arms with all my might. And though I might fail, it was still worth trying.

He was worth it.