Far Too Young to Die

People intrigued Jaime, although he did not comprehend the reason. He utterly despised people. Humanity, to him, was an infinite cycle of disastrous ignorance, spite, and fear.
He knew that ignorance was not entirely at the fault of humans, for it was physically impossible for them to know the thoughts of others. That led people to assume and create their own theories, therefore resulting in judgment and potentially wrong perceptions. By word of mouth these perceptions were diffused- fruitless gossip- and like an epidemic, callous words were spread to the ears of like-minded listeners. It infected their brains and intoxicated them on bitterness that was fed on nothing more than a fallible assumption.
One could say Jaime was insightful, open-minded. He often saw both sides of things and it left him wondering where he stood. He often mused over why people must judge, but he knew that it was only in a human's nature to possess knowledge to questions unanswered. To illustrate, as far as Jaime was concerned, religions weren't true, because religions (theistic ones, at least. Ones like Theravada Buddhism and Daoism were ones he regarded as interesting, but nothing he'd commit to) were formulated by people who had hungered for the origin and cause for humanity. Christians believed God created the world and the purpose of life was to fulfill His plans for them. No circumstantial evidence proved this; nothing but a book written by people back in ancient times.
In the modern twenty-first century, scientific studies provided information of how the universe came to be. Jaime firmly supported the fact that he existed because of "the Big Bang," and saw legitimacy in the theory of evolution.
Quite periodically, he pondered the true point of life, until he reached an epiphany: there was none. Starting in his teen years, he assigned himself the destiny of being a psychologist when he grew up simply because it was his dream profession. With age, he realized that what people claimed to be their destiny always coincided with their own desires, and it dawned upon his that there was no generalized point of life, it was something people allocated to themselves as fate to justify it. The point of life varied from person to person.
Jaime was a university student. He planned to major in psychology and minor and sociology. People and their actions captivated him on such a level that he felt his purpose was to devote his life to the study of them. But since he was only in his second year, he had not started his major or minor yet.
He lied on his bed in his dorm, with no other sound than the ticking of the clock on his bedside table. The tedious sound drove Jaime's roommate, Jesse, insane, and Jaime didn't have time to question Jesse's whereabouts before he heard the door open. He recognized Jesse's infectious laugh coupled with an unfamiliar one of a higher pitch.
"Do you have a roommate?" a girl's voice giggled.
"Unfortunately... You!" Jesse and the mystery girl stumbled into view. His arm was draped loosely around her and she leaned into him, one of her narrow hands resting on his chest. She was attired in only a navy blue, silky cocktail dresse and black stilettos, while Jesse was wearing a black dress shirt that was unbuttoned, denim skinny jeans, and a black shoe. The other to his pair of black Vans was missing. Jaime knew that Jesse, at least, was drunk, and he must've been at one hell of a party.
Jaime raised his head to see that Jesse was pointing at him while teetering like a docked boat. "Get lost," Jesse sputtered and and shifted his finger to the door before Jaime could query as to what he wanted. But doing so would've been a waste of time because he already knew. It wasn't the first time Jesse had brought a girl back to the dorm, and he didn't need to guess why Jesse would make him leave. His intentions were to throw the girl onto his bed, retrieve a condom from his stash, and have his way with her.
In Jaime's opinion, Jesse led a hollow lifestyle.
Wordlessly, Jaime swung his legs over the side of the bed, pushed his sock-covered feet into his own red and white Vans, grabbed his phone, and stepped around the couple. Once in the corridor, the door slammed behind him, and the force seemed to momentarily rattle the still atmosphere of the desolate hall.
Most likely, everyone was either asleep or at the party that Jesse had recently abandoned. He checked his phone to see that the time was a few minutes shy of two in the morning. Jaime had attempted sleep, but failed. His thoughts disrupted his efforts, which wasn't too uncommon.
The corridor was uncomfortably stuffy and warm, or maybe the sweatpants Jaime was wearing made if feel that way. He strolled to his left and pushed open the heavy, steel door that opened to reveal the concrete flights of steps that led up to the levels above or down to the ground floor. Jaime lived on the second level, so he never felt the need to utilize the elevators.
He took the steps two at a time and listened to his footsteps ricochet against the cinderblock walls, shortly landing at the bottom. He already knew his destination: a nearby park. Jaime visited it frequently in his leisure time to jog the trails and clear his mind. The establishment was less than a mile from the campus, and the bridge above the creek was an ideal location for thinking.
The night outside was splendidly brisk, and the breeze seemed to lure Jaime to leave the building once he opened the entrance to his particular resident hall. It almost seemed to pull him gingerly, welcomingly to the outdoors.
The residential section of the campus had four brick buildings- whose perimeters were bordered with neatly trimmed hedges- packed with dorms. Each one formed the vertices of a rectangular courtyard in which multicolored flowers of all kinds from the modest daisy to the intricate tulip were planted in the areas of green between the primitive web of sidewalks that connected all four buildings and led to elsewhere on campus. A sweet smell constantly wafted in the air and the garden was famous pollination ground for butterflies and bees in the springtime. In the center of everything was a grand, ornate fountain that had not been operational since before Jaime started his first year.
The college campus wasn't exactly secluded; despite the lampposts lining the sidewalks at certain intervals not being lit, Jaime was able to follow the distant luminescence of the city. He walked down the sidewalk to the right and let his mind wander. His thoughts were reoccurring, and he often found himself thinking about the same things as much as multiple times a day.
A common one among the cyclical ideas was that even though Jaime was pursuing his self-assigned path, he often found himself with a sensation of emptiness in his mind and a heaviness in his heart: something was missing. There was a void in his life and he was at a loss for words when it came to what he could possibly be lacking. The feeling brought a faint ache to Jaime's soul that he wanted to erase like graphite from paper but he couldn't.
And as he left the campus alone with nothing but the vast, blue-black, starless sky and the faraway chirping of cicadas, the void was more ferocious than it had ever been. It was while he carried out the brief journeys to the park that he craved the presence of another man so he could wrap an arm around him. To absorb the warmth of another living human body must've been superior to the meager protection his flannel offered against the night's slight chill. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and hunched his shoulders in an effort to preserve his own body heat.
He approached the entrance to the park as he came to terms with the fact that the ache he experienced was a symptom of loneliness. Jaime wasn't what one would call a "social butterfly," (Jaime had had several friends over the course of his life, but they always came and eventually drifted away without confrontation) so the label was logical. However, he had always appreciated the solitude in between the sporadic friends; it spared him the stress of maintaining relationships with others. People were ignorant, and he knew, to some extent, he was ignorant as well. But he chose to deal with his ignorance alone over his and that of others. People were complex, simplicity was stable.
He neglected the sidewalk and blended into the trees, sneaking past the person who guarded the entrance from the toll booth. From behind the trees he crept past, shielded from the eyes of the guard and the streetlamps that'd give away his presence. Jaime had snuck past an innumerable amount of times and the result of getting caught was something he hoped to never discover.
He lurked behind the trees until, through the tiny gaps between them, he saw that he had emerged upon the fork in the road: the path farthest from him led visitors to the public swimming pool, while the one Jaime took led to a picnic area with numerous pavilions, a couple playgrounds, areas for fishing among the banks of the creek, a station for renting canoes and kayaks, and the bridge that stretched across the creek that led to two trails that looped through the mosquito-infested wilderness. He followed the left tine to the aforementioned picnic area and ventured out from his hiding place. The only illumination was the weak, white glow from the waxing gibbous moon. Free from the eye of an authoritative figure, Jaime switched on the flashlight feature on his phone and shone it on the ground in front of him.
He crossed the picnic area, but as he drew nearer to the bridge, Jaime immediately noticed something different from prior visits: he was not alone.
The sturdy, wooden bridge had a slight, concave arch to it, and at the lowest point in the middle, another person gripped the rail and seemed to be gazing calmly over the serene water. A gentle wind kicked up and caused the leaved of the trees to roar like a tranquil waterfall. The person had dark, shoulder length hair that flowed back with the wind, but returned to its initial position once it died down. Briefly, Jaime identified the person as a girl, judged by the shorter stature and longer hair length. Although, their shoulders seemed a little broad for a women, so Jaime then determined the unexpected party to be a man.
Jaime's muscles temporarily locked upon primarily seeing the man, but he slowly tiptoed closer as to avoid frightening him.
He paused when the mystery person started to move. He swung one leg over the railing, followed by the other, then wedged his heels in between the posts supporting the railing. He tightly clutched the wood throughout the entire endeavor, and the process of moving from one side of the rail to the other was not a quick one, and Jaime figured it wouldn't have been easy, nor painless. He momentarily felt pity for the man's balls, but it was swiftly washed away by worry and an accelerated heart rate. Jaime did not want that man to fall. The creek was a long way down, and in this part, it was only a few inches deep. Jaime cautiously walked forward, the stale odor of cigarette smoke greeting his nose, and that was when a quiet sob broke the silence. It was hushed, yet it demonstrated extreme anguish, and Jaime realized what this man was doing on that certain night.
He came to die.
Jaime quickened his pace and managed to step on a twig, snapping it and catching the man's attention. He snapped his head around in Jaime's direction and their eyes connected. Much to each others' astonishment, they recognized each other, but made no hint of it. They didn't have a clue as to what the other's name was.
Jaime stepped onto the bridge, but the man only forlornly pleaded, "Please leave."
"I'll leave only if I have you walking away with me," Jaime said calmly.
"I can't," the man nearly mouthed, his face distorting as he released another sob.
Jaime only paced closer until he ws beside the man, except on the opposite side of the railing. "Come over here. It's safer on this side."
He only shook his head slowly and looked back over the water below, hanging his head and beginning to cry again. "Please... just go," the man whimpered.
"Don't kill yourself. Please. Not now, not ever," Jaime begged, concealing his growing desperation. He placed his hand over the man's cold one.
"No! Just... leave me alone! Leave!" the man yelled, with fury that contrasted harshly from his previous tone; anger burned in this man's eyes. It startled Jaime but he refused to back down.
"Well, if you jump, I'll jump too," Jaime promised without thinking. Even though suicide never interrupted Jaime's thoughts that often, it had always been a tempting idea. But Jaime was never able to gather the courage. He couldn't bear to leave behind his parents and his teenage brother, Chris. Nonetheless, even without their relentless support, reluctance and cowardice would still stand as obstacles. The will to live was instinct, and to ignore it was a tremendous feat. Suicide didn't express weakness, it showed strength.
The man didn't respond, but his face was frozen over with disbelief. He was speechless and wanted to protest, but Jaime only said, "You're far too young to die. You're in my English class. You're a college kid just like me. Life doesn't have to come down to this."
The man still didn't responded, but started to cry again. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the rail, then swung his legs over. He set his feet on the ground, and let his back slide against the rail so he sat with his legs folded up. He covered his face and wept.
Jaime collapsed beside him and wrapped an arm around his frail frame, offering him a shoulder to cry on. The man buried his head in Jaime's shoulders and squeezed his waist. He continued to weep, every sob racking his gaunt little body. Jaime didn't intervene, didn't try to pressure any information from him. He was obviously highly distressed and seemed to cling to Jaime as if hurricane winds threatened to pry them apart. He didn't know how often the smaller man was able to experience an energy release like this, and he decided that the right thing to do was hold him and rub circles in his arm with his thumb until the crying ceased. Jaime's eyes filled with hot tears, but he needed to be strong for his classmate. It occurred to him that they hadn't even exchanged names yet, but he wanted to wait for a better time.
After five minutes, the man silenced. He began to sit up, so Jaime released him. He wiped the tear tracks off of his own face with his thumbs, and he whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I just... there's no hope for me," the man admitted morosely. "And it hurts to say that. But there's no point."
"Don't say that."
"You don't understand. I've been in the psychiatric wing of the hospital five times, after five failed suicide attempts. The professionals can't help me, so who can?"
Jaime was shocked. Five suicide attempts? That seemed like a lot for someone so young. "Do you take any meds?"
"Zoloft. I stopped taking it."
"Were you instructed to do so?"
"No. I don't wanna be dependent on medicine."
"You can't just stop taking your meds."
"I know." The man twiddled his thumbs in his lap.
"Are you seeing anyone? Like, a psychologist?"
"I've seen so many of them." He shook his head. "I'm tired of this. I don't wanna live like this. I hate being sick. I just wanna be happy again." He looked at Jaime, his eyes wide and laden with new tears. "Why is that so much to ask for?"
"Depression's a bitch, uh... " Jaime had intended to call this person by their name.
"Vic."
"That's your name?" Jaime asked in the tone of a statement.
"Short for Victor, like my dad. But everyone just calls me Vic."
"Well, depression's a bitch, Vic. It's a diabolical disease. Most people don't think it is, but it can be fatal, just like cholera or AIDS or whatever other disease you can think of."
"I was diagnosed six years ago. You're telling me," Vic said dejectedly.
They fell silent, but Jaime wanted to keep Vic talking. Jaime might not have started his major yet, but he had taken a psychology course as his social studies course during his senior year of high school and had a shelf full of psychology books back in his dorm. He had already educated himself with the general aspects of the field without going into any specific types. He was no licensed therapist, but his inner psychologist was dying to make a guest appearence. He knew he alone couldn't save Vic, but he sure did want to try.
"Talk about yourself, Vic."
"Wait, I don't even know your name."
"It's Jaime. Now, what's your family like?"
"My family? Uh... well. I have my mom and dad-"
"Still together?" Jaime hated to cut him off, but he knew that parents maintaining their marriage and parents divorced could have different effects on their children.
"Yeah. Uh, my dad's Mexican, my mom's Irish. My brother's a senior in high school. His name is Mike." He chuckled, a bitter, sad sound. "He has so much potential. A lot of friends, good grades, one of the best drummers I know. He plays tenor for marching band at school. I went to see him perform in the half-time show yesterday. Football game." He pulled a corner of his lips into an unconvincing half-smile. "Too many people. I went only to see Mike play. I had to leave because if I stay too long, I start panicking."
"What intimidates you about the people at football games?"
"There's just... so many of them. And since Mike's pretty popular, there's quite a few people there that know him, and I just feel like I'm a big loser compared to him. Like, when I still went to high school with him, people would tease him for being related to me." Vic paused, shakily inhaled, and continued, "Do you know how bad that would make me feel?" His voice quivered, signaling that he could possibly begin to cry again. But angry, caged beasts needed to be freed before they caused carnage. Jaime wouldn't tell Vic not to cry, because the release was a necessity for him. All Jaime did was slowly rub Vic's back in a consolatory manner.
"How bad would that make you feel?" Jaime questioned quietly.
"It triggered me! I hated being Mike's burden, and I doubt that just because I graduated that things have changed. And when I go home for the holidays and spring break and the weekends and whatnot, I know my family looks down on me and they're only nice to me because they don't wanna set me off and they pity me and I hate knowing that my parents probably lay in bed at night discuss where they possibly could've gone wrong with me. And maybe Mike listens to people make fun of him because of me and he thinks of why he had to end up with an older brother like me. Why? Why, Jaime? Why did I end up this way? I didn't ask for this!" His voice had progressively risen over the span of his rant and he pounded his fist onto a wooden board between them. He emitted a dry sob, before adding, "Why? Why, why, why?" For each why, the wood received one more blow.
In all honesty, Jaime hated seeing Vic in this state. His sadness had morphed into white-hot fury, and he realized that Vic never wanted to die, he just didn't want to live in pain anymore. He could scream and beat the wood and cry as much as he wanted, but it was only the ravenous beast throwing a tantrum in its cage. It clawed at the metal grid that imprisoned it and hurled itself at the walls to break free, and the rage of such a creature would cast fear over the handler in charge. For Vic to get better, Jaime knew that he'd need to gather the courage to unlock the cage and let the creature go. He wanted Vic to learn how to free himself, but he was only huddled in a dark corner of his own mind, petrified of the ominous creature. The more Vic exerted the negative energy, the more the beast riled itself up before getting tired and temporarily quitting.
"You know what? This is hopeless." Vic sprang up from his seat and turned to the railing. He hoisted one leg on top of it and said, "Nice to meet you, Jaime."
"No!" Jaime yelled, rapidly jumping up and ripping the smaller man away from the railing. He knew that when he had acquired his license and started seeing actual patients, he couldn't express as much emotion as he was doing with Vic, especially knowing that Vic wasn't the only one suffering like he was. He'd come across people whose condition was more severe. But he didn't know what else to do. The two of them had collapsed onto the ground again, and Vic burst into tears once more. "Vic, don't do that. You're doing good, Vic. Are you lis-"
"I hate this!" Vic screamed furiously, followed by a wretched sob. "I hate this so fucking much! I don't want to live like this! I hate being a burden!"
Jaime held Vic tightly by his waist. They were laying on the cool, hard wood of the bridge, Jaime playing the role of big spoon. It hadn't been their intentions to end up that way, but in the heat of the moment, that was how they ended up. Vic's body was trembling violently in Jaime's grasp. "Jaime, please, let me jump. Let me be happy. Death is the only salvation for me. People have done all they can, but no one can help me. No one can save me. Just give up. It's hopeless. I-"
Jaime pushed Vic onto his back and Jaime moved so he was on top of him. He wasn't directly straddling him, but he had one calf on either side of his body and he pinned his shoulders to the ground. "Listen!" Jaime snapped. "Your mental disorders don't define you. They only blind you. They wage a war against you and they want to win. And the more you tell yourself that you want to die and that you'll be happier if you jump off this fucking bridge tonight, the farther away you get from winning. There's more to you than this. And you know what? What you need is stronger support. Do you have friends?"
"I had a friend once. His name was Kyle. He told I was too dismal of a person, and then dropped out of school."
"Well, I'll be your friend. You need to start seeing a professional again. You need to start taking Zoloft again. I'll be here for you. Every step of the way and I'll never back down until the dark clouds in your head part to reveal the sunshine and let flowers grow. And even after you can smile for the sake of showing your truly happy instead of to convince people that your're fine I'll still be here. People are ignorant, Vic. Maybe they ridicule your brother for being your brother. So let them go. Take everything that triggers you and everything you fear; rise up from your place of refuge in your mind and let everything go. Let the beast go!" Jaime had begun to yell as well. But he wasn't angry; he raised his voice as if he was afraid Vic wouldn't hear him.
But most importantly, Jaime meant every word that spilled from his mouth.
"You pity me, don't you."
"Vic. I don't pity you. You know what I'm studying to be? A psychologist. I care about you. You don't deserve to be victimized by yourself."
Vic stayed silent and he wore a calm, introspective look on his face. "Did you mean that?" he asked timidly after a couple moments.
"I meant everything," Jaime confirmed.
"What if something triggers me so bad that I forget everything you just said and I slip up?"
"I'll be there to help you to your feet."
"When you said 'friend,' you meant you'd actually be my friend, and not my personal shrink, right?"
"Of course. But friends help each other in times of need. I'll be a shrink if need be. Now, let's go back to school. I'm gonna drop you off at your dorm, and later this morning, after we both get sleep, I'll come back to your dorm, and you better be there, got it? I'm putting my trust in you, don't let me down," Jaime warned.
Vic nodded. Jaime moved his right leg over Vic as if he was dismounting a horse and grabbed Vic's hand, helping him to his feet. Jaime's phone was lying, flashlight-up, a few feet away. He grabbed it and used it to guide the two of them back to their campus.
~
Both of the boys had kept their promise. Jaime had walked with Vic back to his own dorm before heading back to his own (and luckily for Jaime, Jesse and the mystery girl had finished doing the do and were fast asleep in Jesse's bed.) They lived in the same building, but Vic lived on the fourth floor. Jaime returned around 10:30, after both of them had received a much-needed rest, and he was delighted to see that Vic's mood had improved. He was not cured, but sleep replenished him. His roommate's name was Kellin, but he wasn't too cordial; he had only grumbled a hello in Jaime's direction before leaving.
The two spent that Saturday together, and Jaime did his best to pretend that he not witnessed one of Vic's suicidal episodes only hours before, because that wouldn't help Vic's case. Vic needed an actual friend, not a guardian. They got to know each other, things among the lines of interests and hobbies. They watched TV together, they ate microwaved burritos together (it was mostly Jaime forcing Vic to eat his burrito because his condition nullified most of his appetite, but Jaime was wise enough to know it was a mind trick that Vic was playing on himself even though he didn't realize it. After a couple bites, he became content with burrito consumption and allowed Jaime to retire from his position as eating coach.), they told jokes together. Vic said, "Okay. I saw this one online once. What do you call a hooker that you pay with spaghetti?"
"I have no clue."
Vic giggled. "A pastatute."
Jaime had nearly choked on his burrito.
That day was one of many examples of how efficiently Vic had learned to voluntarily suppress his emotions. Over a span of months, Jaime gradually chiseled his way to Vic's core to unearth the source of his troubles so he could figure out a way to unravel them. There had been several more occasions of Vic breaking down and expressing his desire for suicide, but Jaime had always been there to remind Vic to breathe. Breathing meant he was still alive, and after everything he had endured in his life, continuing to live was a wonderful thing.
But as Jaime learned more about Vic, he let Vic get to know him too. He admitted his hatred and fascination with humanity, and how he had never let someone in before Vic. Usually, he was wary of everyone. Vic asked Jaime if he had slight social anxiety issues, but Jaime answered that he didn't know, which was a candid answer.
　　　　They discovered that a mutual flaw between them was that they both had the tendency to think too much. This made sense, because how else would Jaime have compiled such an opinion of the human race if he hadn't spent hours of his life analyzing events that occurred to him and around him? How else did Vic's mental health fester and become something as capricious and potent as it was when inflamed?
　　　　In reference to Vic's health, Jaime accompanied Vic on a visit to his parents a couple weeks after the ordeal at the bridge. Vic was incredibly reluctant to inform of parents of what he had tried to do, but constant nagging from Jaime had persuaded him to go along with him, but he wanted his new companion to be there with him, for he felt it would give his parents great closure if they met the man that had saved his life.
　　　　And it did. Even when Vic's mother, Vivian, first opened the front door to receive them, she was overjoyed at the sight of an unfamiliar face beside her oldest son.
　　　　Jaime had taken a liking to the Fuentes family, as did they to him. Vivian was a slender, sociable woman with pale blonde hair that was cut in chin-length bob and hazel eyes that seemed to crinkle at the corners with congeniality whenever she smiled. Vic's father, Victor, was an equally friendly, somewhat stocky man with a receding hairline and only a strip of hair above his upper lip.
　　　　Upon entering the warm, quaint house, Jaime heard a muted, quick-paced sort of tapping sound originating from deeper in the house. Vivian had left them alone in the entryway to fetch Victor, and Vic informed Jaime that this sound was Mike playing a drum routine on his practice pad.
　　　　After Jaime was introduced to Victor, Vivian barged into Mike's room and flushed him out. The five of them congregated in the living room, sitting on the two, worn velvet sofas in the living room. It vaguely reminded Vic of the several group sessions he had to attend back when his family had tried that method with him. And to his family, Vic slowly recalled the events from a couple weeks before.
　　　　As Vic spoke, Mike stared at the carpet in sullen silence. Mike never had to understand what Vic was going through, all he could fathom was that his depression was debilitating and destructive. He knew that underneath Vic's jeans, an innumerable number of nasty scars served as a remainder of the menacing cycle of angst that Vic only knew how to take out on his thighs. He knew that somewhere in Vic's possession- whether it was in his pockets, his car, or his dorm- he stored an arsenal of Marlboro's, his second weapon of mass destruction. Watching Vic descend in a downward spiral always yanked Mike's heart right out of his chest, and seeing people at school torment Vic always pained him. He knew that no one would last a day in Vic's shoes, and that Vic had the highest threshold for pain out of everyone he knew. He admired his brother, looked up to him, loved him to bits and pieces. He wanted Vic to love himself just like everyone in the family did. Hearing that he had wanted to kill himself again tore Mike apart.
　　　　After a couple more weeks, Vivian had encountered a specialist that Vic had never seen before. The new psychiatrist analyzed Vic and had him taking Zoloft again. Jaime always made sure that Vic stayed on his medication.
　　　　By Vic's twentieth birthday in the following February, remarkable progress was noticeable, and the psychiatrist he had started to visit had lasted longer than any other. He hadn't recovered yet, but he was on the fast track. Vic never expected to live through two full decades in life, but he accomplished it, and Jaime was incredibly proud of him.
　　　　Vivian knew that the only reason why Vic was getting better was because of Jaime. In her eyes, as well as the eyes of Victor and Mike, Jaime had replenished Vic's hope in life. All he needed was encouragement from a source outside of their compact little family.
　　　　By the beginning of their third year, Vic had figured out that he was going to major in English education and become a high school English teacher. Vic's intellectuality absolutely stunned Jaime; Vic's side of his dorm mostly consisted of a full bookshelf and several more piles of books. Jaime couldn't have been more excited to finally start his major. But starting the new school year also surfaced something major, something everyone in both the Fuentes family and Jaime's family had been expecting: the two boys had to come to terms with themselves that they had fallen in love.
　　　　They had started to develop feelings for each other earlier, but both were more focused on Vic's healing. The two families picked up on it before they did, but soon, the two started thinking of how to gather the strength to confess to the other.
　　　　It was a Sunday in early September, only a few days before the one-year anniversary of the incident at the bridge. Jaime was Vic's dorm, helping him and his newt roommate, a freshman from Australia named Winston, reorganize their dorm. Winston had started to sense hints that there was something more between his roommate and his friend, but Vic always insisted that they were only friends... With a slight blush.
　　　　"Alright, I'm gonna go down the hall and check up on my mate, alright?" Winston said in this thick accent.
　　　　"Sure thing, man," Vic responded. He was grateful for someone as amiable as Winston to room with, and happy that Kellin had graduated.
　　　　"See ya, dude," Jaime said. Winston waved to him before leaving.
　　　　A couple seconds later, Vic turned to Jaime and said, "You know, I never got to thank you, Jaime."
　　　　"What for?"
　　　　"For saving me. For having faith in me when I didn't even have faith in myself."
　　　　Jaime shrugged. "I did it for your own good. You see now that taking your own life would've been a huge mistake, right?"
　　　　"Of course. But I'm kinda glad that I was out there that night. I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't been there," Vic admitted sheepishly. Warmth slowly blossomed from the sides of his neck beneath his jaw to his cheeks. What Vic had said was the endearing truth, and he personally considered Jaime one of the greatest gifts happenstance could have ever presented to him.
　　　　Jaime noticed his best friend was blushing, but he only smiled and chuckled. Vic grinned too, and he bashfully lowered his eyes to the ground. Jaime couldn't help but take in Vic's breathtaking beauty, from his silky, chocolate brown hair, his deep brown eyes, his smooth skin that was a shade or two lighter than caramel, and the overall youthfulness of his face. Vic was always rendered speechless whenever Jaime smiled, because with the smile came the dimples, a feature the made Jaime's roundish face even more adorable. Physically, the two contrasted harshly: Jaime was tall and moderately muscular while Vic stood at five-six and was still borderline underweight. But it was only one factor in a list of reasons. Jaime gave Vic the impression of someone who was ideal for snuggling into when the air carried a chill, and Jaime personally thought Vic was quintessential for pulling in close.
　　　　A comfortable silence settled between them, and they simultaneously longed for their feelings to be returned. They were both shrouded with skepticism surrounded by their own translucent self-consciousness. And of course, both wanted to believe that they could possibly score something higher than what was between them, but they both held each other superior to themselves. They both feared having the other slip through their fingers as easily as sand at the beach.
　　　　And a fear almost as substantial as that resided in Vic: that he'd lose Jaime before ever having the opportunity to reveal how he felt, especially knowing that Jaime was secretly convinced that he was one who was impossible to fall in love with. He couldn't die oblivious to the fact that it was, indeed, very possible. In fact, Vic was incapable of imagining how someone couldn't love Jaime. Jaime was intelligent, thoughtful, caring, and adorable, with solely unselfish ambitions to brighten as much lives as he could.
　　　　However, the untold consternation of Jaime's was that Vic only sought his friendship because of Jaime's altruistic, heroic deed. In fact, Jaime had assured himself that that was the only explanation for Vic wanting to remain in his life.
　　　　But Vic felt that Jaime was more than a hero.
　　　　On impulse, Vic stepped up to his companion and gingerly snaked his arms around the taller boy's waist, resting his head on his shoulder. At first, Jaime was frozen in place. But he slowly returned the embrace; he would never live it down if he rejected a gesture like that. Vic took in as much of Jaime's warmth as he could, and he never expected to find the physical contact of another being so solacing after being ill with a heart of stone for so long.
　　　　With Vic nestling into him, Jaime felt like he'd conquer the world if that was what the smaller boy wished.
　　　　"I love you, Jaime," Vic murmured, Jaime's keen ears picking up the sound.
　　　　"Do you actually love me, or do you love what I did for you?" Jaime hesitantly asked. He almost didn't want to, and he had sounded a tad more incredulous than he preferred. He wanted to say that he loved him too, even if Vic didn't mean it in the way Jaime would.
　　　　Hearing Jaime say such a thing appalled Vic. He failed to realize the extent of his dubiousness, and it devastated Vic that he felt this way. He slightly withdrew from the hug but moved his hands to cup Jaime's face at his jawbones. Jaime couldn't resisting tugging Vic in closer by his slender waist, connecting them at their abdomens. Their hearts leaped and somersaulted within their chests, and Vic whispered, "You're so much more than a hero."
　　　　"Am I?"
　　　　"We associate heroes with being superhuman, and even though you're less than that, you're more. You're more and I have hopelessly fallen in love with you."
　　　　Jaime stayed silent, and Vic felt as if his reaction activated the opening of a trap door beneath his heart. Jaime, however, was driven to bewilderment at what his best friend had just proclaimed. He needed to speak. He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to choke on the words he could not find.
　　　　"Please say something," Vic begged, attempting to swallow and loosen the familiar tightening in his throat.
　　　　"I... " Jaime stammered, despising how incompetent he sounded. How could a a phrase so simple be so difficult? But what he couldn't find verbally, he compensated with physically, by capturing Vic's lips with his.
　　　　The kiss was brief, and Vic had forgotten to shut his eyes, but it was enough to create tremors that expanded from his knees. Jaime hoped the action was adequate; he wasn't experienced in the field of kissing, but neither was Vic. Such a sensation was new to them. But Vic only wrapped his arms around Jaime's neck and reattached their lips. The kiss was gentle, amorous. Fortunately for them, love had worked in their favor. There was no need for a rushed, desperate kiss. Time had slowed for them, and the occasion was perfect as their bodies seemed to mold together. They began to move their lips in a gradual, sweet harmony, and Jaime carefully guided Vic backwards to his twin-size bed. He frantically broke the kiss before lowering himself onto it.
　　　　"I don't wanna go this far," Vic blurted, implying that what Jaime desired was to commence in what he called "doing the do."
　　　　"It's okay, darling. That wasn't my intention." And because Vic didn't detect a trace of lust within Jaime's casual, brown eyes, he believed him. "Do you still wanna lay down?"
　　　　"Let's turn, so you can be under me?" His own boldness caused his cheeks to blush and his heart to flutter.
　　　　Jaime emitted a loving little giggle before suavely gliding around him and sitting at the foot of the bed. He scooted back and as he was moving to lay down, Vic crawled into position, straddling Jaime's lap. Jaime brought his hands to Vic's sides, gripping him tenderly by his waist. There was no one in his life he had ever adored more than the man above him.
　　　　"I love you too," he finally said.
　　　　Vic only smiled and leaned down, snuggling deeper in the security of Jaime's warmth and pressing a soft, quick kiss into the crook of his neck.