Falling In Love -- 2nd Place Winner with 'The Universe and Us' by  Nicoismysenpai

~Me~

A daydream, that's all it was. The silly, fanciful daydream of a sixteen year old dreamer who always had his head up in the clouds. The more-solid-than-not daydream of a child with more fantasies than friends.

It was only the second week of my semester at a new school, and I had already fallen in love. Clichè, I know.

Besides, it was ridiculous. We were polar opposites. I was the new kid, intent on staying away from any social interaction and handing in my homework on time. He was the most popular boy in school, an Adonis with a dazzling smile and an even more dazzling personality.

I was the one everyone looked straight through. Not hip enough, not cool enough, not smart enough. He was the Sun in their solar systems. Laid-back, well-liked, beloved by the universe.

He was perfect. I was flawed.

No one noticed the admiring stares I always shot his way during any of our shared classes, or the longing sighs I would let out to myself. I wanted him, but he didn't even know my name.

To him, and to everybody else, I was just the invisible boy. The one whose one unforgettable trait was always hidden beneath a pant leg and a sneaker. The one who was simply unremarkable.

Everyone knew Anthony Jennison. No one knew Nick Hayes.

I preferred to keep it that way. As much as I wanted him to love me back, he would never fall for a social misfit like me. Besides, him returning my feelings would have to involve me actually talking to him. As someone with severe social anxiety, I liked to have as little contact with other humans as possible.

He remained solely in my fantasies, the unattainable god who I could never have. The nearly-fictional character who was always present in my dreams, who inhabited my every thought. I loved him, I pined for him, I touched myself to the slightest memory of him.

Yet, I knew that I would never have anything of him except a daydream.

The oppressive hallways loomed over me as I dragged myself along, my left leg hanging noticeably lower than my right as it dug into the floor with a subtle click, barely masked by the thin-soled sneakers I had decided to wear that day.

No one spared me a second glance, as usual. I didn't have friends in this school, not yet. It took me about a year to open up to people. Besides, nobody had said hello to me yet, and I was fine with keeping it that way.

My classes were boring, bland. I always tried my best to pay attention to the teacher and hand in all my assignments before their due dates. Although I considered myself a nerd in a way, I never really enjoyed any of my classes.

Except one. Music.

We had theory papers, singing assignments, group projects. It was fun, but the first two weeks had all been written work. I was dreading the day when we would have to pair up to sing, as the teacher had warned us beforehand that we would do.

The first time he noticed me was at our first music project of the year. Madame Fleures insisted on picking our partners. As she called out names, I ducked my head down and prayed that she would let me sing alone. Prayed that she wouldn't pair me up with someone who would bellow off-key, or make fun of my glasses. Or worse, mock what was in place of my left leg if the hem of my jeans rode up a little.

Madame Fleures looked at the class over the thick frames of her glasses. "Anthony, your partner will be Nick," she said. My stomach dropped down to the floor, rolled down the hallway, and threw up in the toilet. I felt my head spin as the boy of my fantasies nearly fell off his chair.

"The new kid. Good luck, man. I don't think he can even talk," I overheard someone whisper to the highschool Adonis.

Madame Fleures explained the project. We had to make our own melody up on the spot, and our partner had to harmonise with it. As Anthony shuffled over to stand next to me, he whispered, "Please don't make me fail Music. If you're mute, try to hum while I carry us."

And those were the words that did it.

I fell in love with him even more. I so badly wanted to prove him wrong. Feelings zipped through my blood; anger, desire. A million thoughts rushed around the recesses of my mind. I loved Anthony Jennison, and yet hated him at the same time.

I opened my mouth, and mumbled the first words that I had said in the two weeks of being there. "Try to keep up." I ignored the surprised expression on his face, listening for our names. When Madame Fleures called us, I started off. I launched into a series of melodic staccato beats, jumping from note to note like lightning as Anthony tried his best to catch up to me.

It was a game of Cat and Mouse from there. Eventually, the cat had caught up. I could practically hear his heartbeat as he harmonised with my clarion voice. In a single song, two joined as one.

When we had finally run out of breath, there was silence. Then a clap. And another one. Soon, the entire class had erupted into applause. For me, and for the boy I loved so much. For the boy I had always worshipped from a distance, viewed as a daydream.

I shut my mouth once more, the notes still bubbling inside me, wanting to be set free again. I held them down, forcing them back into my gut and sealing it shut. My left leg dragged against the floor as I walked back to my seat.

Anthony's hand was suddenly on my shoulder, his voice in my ear. "You sing beautifully," he murmured. The tiny compliment took a long time to make its way inside my brain. Once it did, it firmly lodged itself inside and wouldn't come out no matter how hard I tugged at it. I stammered out a thank you and rushed away.

At our next Music class, when Madame Fleures told us that we would be able to choose our own partners; I slumped into my seat. Who would want to choose the socially awkward boy who hardly talked?

And then there was someone next to me. His hand on my shoulder, his voice in my ear.

"Do you want to sing together again, Nick?" Anthony asked, a mischievous smile teasing the corners of his mouth. The crooked grin he had often worn in my deepest fantasies, the one I would embrace and clutch deep to my chest in my daydreams, the one I would let out loud cries to in my darkened bedroom, the one which always made the phantom pain in the stump of my leg lessen.

"Sure," I mumbled, more to myself than him. He beamed anyway, and it felt like the Sun was shining just for me.

That day, the universe smiled down upon me as I formed an unbreakable bond of music with the boy from my daydreams.

~You~

I chucked my bag down on the sofa, wanting to hurry up before my father saw me.

"Anthony Lee Jennison, just where do you think you're going?"

Dad. Damn it. I made a beeline for the stairs, where I could run to the safety of my room. No such luck. A rough hand shot out and grabbed me by the collar, making me choke as he pulled it taut against my throat. I fell down the few steps I had managed to get up, tumbling down to his feet.

"Look at you," he sneered scornfully. "On your hands and knees, just like the pathetic little puppy you are. Useless and whiny. I wish your mother never had you."

At school, I was the most popular boy and the Sun of the social solar system. At home, I was nothing. My teeth gritted together helplessly as he shook me hard, once, twice. My father slapped me in the face, once, twice. I dropped completely to the ground, like a lifeless rag doll.

He hated me. At the one place most people considered their asylum, there was no sanctuary for me. There was only a ghost of a mother, silently flitting from room to room in my demented memory; and a father with a shout and punch that would make grown men cower.

I felt his hand come down again, and I closed my eyes. I kept them closed as he switched to the walking stick he sometimes used. They remained shut tight when he started driving his foot into my gut, stealing the wind from my breathless lungs.

He was a smart man, my father. He was careful to leave bruises where people wouldn't see them, hitting my face just hard enough to sting and redden without any noticeable damage. The contusions were there, but no one saw them.

His stick slammed into my back. Fortunately, my bones were strong from all the sports I played. Still, despite my physical strength, I was still a terrified child trapped inside my own head. I was scared of this man, too scared to fight back.

"Please...stop," I whispered. What if I died today? What if I never got to get my degree or play my guitar? What if I never got to sing with Nick again? The boy with so few words and such a beautiful voice had maddeningly captured my attention.

I felt the world fade around me as the universe laughed its sadistically gleeful chuckle.

•••

We were soon inseparable, Anthony and I.

What did he see in me whenever he sauntered up to me in the halls, trying to get me to talk to him? A lost puppy? Someone desperately lonely? An admiring worshipper? I didn't care. All that mattered was that I had Anthony Jennison's coveted attention.

The first time he saw my prosthethic, it was after I spilled ketchup on my jeans and ended up in the bathroom, pants off, trying to scrub the red stains off in the sink. In a stroke of chance, he pushed open the door to ask if I needed help.

I froze. He froze, his eyes travelling down to the metal where a left leg should have been.

Then he asked, "Does it still hurt?"

"No."

"Oh. Do you need help with your jeans?"

My shoulders slumped in relief. He didn't think I was a freak. He had just moved on from it like it was nothing, like I was normal. I stuttered out another no. He nodded to me and turned around. However, his very presence still made my cheeks flame.

•••

I loved him.

I loved Nick Hayes.

And it wasn't because of his prosthetic. I loved how he talked to me, how he looked at me with complete admiration in his eyes. The exact opposite of how my father treated me. I loved how he spoke little and yet, every word that came out of his mouth was so beautiful.

As I endured my father's beatings day by day, I thought of Nick. I thought of him to help me weather through the bad days, to all but fly me through the good.

As Dad pounded a new horseshoe of purplish bruises into my waist and back, I prayed a silent wish to the universe. For it to let me survive, for it to let me live.

For it to let me stay alive for Nick.

•••

"Why do you always wear shirts with long sleeves?"

Anthony stopped in his tracks. His perfect teeth started teasing his plump bottom lip anxiously. "I get cold sometimes," he replied.

"I know that's not the reason."

"You don't."

I grabbed his arm and pulled up the cuff of his shirt before he could stop me. Angry red cuts littered his wrist. Some looked like they had been sliced just this morning. Bloody, scarlet against skin that was paler than the rest of his golden tan. Imperfections, marring the perfect daydream in my head.

Scars to his beautiful.

And yet, they only made him seem more real.

He yanked his sleeve back down. "I'm sorry," he sighed, running a hand through his hazel-streaked hair. "I've tried to stop, but it's just...so addictive. I...can't quit."

"Why?"

•••

I tossed my bag onto the table, praying that I would be able to rush upstairs before my father saw me.

My eyes widened in shock when Nick slipped out from behind the stairs, covered in a sticky red liquid. He looked badly shaken, frightened as hell. "Nick? What are you doing here? I thought you were sick? And how did you get into my house?"

He staggered a few more steps, then finally collapsed into my arms. "I...I lied about being sick," he rasped. To my horror, I realised the liquid on him was blood. Rich, crimson blood. "I...your father let me in when I said I was a friend of yours. We are friends, right?"

"Of course," I said, running a hand through his hair. Where did the blood come from?

His eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I...I've tried to make it all right. I've called the police. I'm so sorry, Anthony, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to see him hurt you anymore. I didn't want to see you hurt yourself anymore."

A growing pit of dread settled itself in the bottom of my stomach. "Nick, what did you do?"

"I killed him, Anthony. I killed your father. I didn't just see the cuts. I saw the bruises too, the marks. He talked about how much he detested you, about how much he wished you'd never been born. I...I couldn't stand it any longer." Nick let out a sob. "I love you. I killed him for you."

And then I heard the sirens in the distance.

Nick clawed at me, plunged himself into my embrace. "I'm sorry," he whimpered.

I wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sorry too," I replied, the tears pooling in my eyes. If it hadn't been for me and my stupid home problems, Nick wouldn't be in this mess.

And I kissed him for the first time, as they came to take him away.