Trigger warnings for blood and murder.

Samaru hasn't seen Ayo for a month.

He concluded that it'd be too creepy if he went to the library regularly, so he waited for a few days before going back. When he did, the presumably lonely librarian was first to confront him the moment he went through doors of the library. The look of morose so frequent in her features inreased tenfold as she said,

"As requested by the guardian of Ayo Korudo, in regards to her mental health, no visitors will be allowed in the library from here on out. If books from the library are needed I would very much prefer if you would come  to me beforehand and I would get the book for you or go to a local library not far from this establishment. Thank you for understanding."

Her head hung low as she said those words, but came out dry and robotic. Her gaze was locked on the spotless marble floor of the library as she skulked back to her desk, back to nothingness.

His thoughts suddenly drifted to his encounter with the infamous girl. As stated, the librarian said that her guardian requested that she be left alone in regards to her mental illness?

He didn't know what her illness was but this is absolutely, beyond absurd!

It was one thing that the students avoided the place like it was hell itself, but robbing students of their free will and right to enter the school's library? That girl brought this onto herself. If word gets out, she'll be in deep shit and she'll never get to live her moments of peace outside her safe haven aka the library. If she ever goes out that is.

The preposterousness of the situation left him to find answers for himself, and the next thing he knew he was standing in front of the principal himself, the atmosphere heavily weighing atop his shoulders. But he didn't care. He was going was going to need answers or he isn't the darling of Kireina Academy.

"How may I help you, Mr. Samaru?" He asked, his posture erect and legs crossed with authority, like how the head of the school should be.

"About the library," Samaru started, arms crossed in front of his pristine, gray blazer as held the gaze of the old geezer.

The principal raised his eyebrow waiting for him to get his point.

"It's about a certain library dweller who requested to ban students to go to the school library, and said request being fulfilled with second to none hesitation." He paused to lightly brush his blond bangs from his eyes. "What was that all about, sir?"

It was foolish to talk curtly to the principal, and he was practically gambling on the fact that all of the school staff loved him. It happened in the heat of the moment too, and emotion outweighed his logical thinking.

The principal raised his glasses higher. "Ah, Miss Korudo's request. It may or may not be obvious but Ayo is autistic who is still undergoing treatment as of today. Just a few weeks ago, someone visited the library and made her situation a bit.....complicated. She had higher heart palpitation, increased anxiety, and whatnot."

Samaru took in the new found information while straining his poker face.

"The rumors made her mental state unstable as it is," the principal continued. "but it was best left that way since she didn't have to handle any social interactions. Her performance in academics were exceptional and we wouldn't want her illness getting in the way of her potential. So, we complied with the request."

He then faced Samaru sternly but compassionately. "I understand your concern as the salutatorian and the sole embodiment of what students of Kireina should be, but you must understand Ayo's situation. She'll be graduating soon along with you, so I would like nothing more than for you to bear it a little longer."

And with that he was out of principals office without a word with a certain emotion pooling in the pits of his stomach he couldn't discern. It was unpleasant to the say the least.Frustration? That can't be it. He barely went to the library in the first place, so why else would he be upset.

It must be the girl. She had more influence over the authorities than he ever had, that's probably why.

Then again, that never became his problem.

~•~

It was Miyou's birthday.

And nothing less from his sister, the celebration screamed wealth and power.

It was held at what seems to be a ballroom-like room, elegant and pink carnations adorned the place and the fringes of the stage, round tables covered with white silk had people, whether may it be relatives or close friends, occupied in each seats. The most noticeable part of the pseudo-ballroom was the large golden chandelier hung in the centre of the atrium-like ceiling.

He sat in a shiny metal stool of a mini bar that handed out cocktails and alcohol, a shot of tequila in hand. He was underaged. He wasn't allowed to drink alcohol or anything of the sort. But it was events like this that he had a moment -an opportunity- to lay back and stop being the perfect boy everyone thought he was while his family was occupied entertaining guests. It was only for a short while until people would see him and he would revert back to being perfect, but he seized any chance he got. He recalled considering the use of cannabis once.

The cloth of his collar itched against his neck; the way his tie wrapped tightly around his neck didn't help either. The suit was constricting against his midriff, leaving only little room for him to breathe. His hair was gelled back on one side and the other styled above his left eye, but it didn't bother him as the rest of his appearance did. He saw himself in the reflection of the metal refrigerator for cocktails of the bar in front of him. He looked dashing. Discomfort was a small price to pay to look this good.

People greeted the birthday girl lovingly and her sister basked in the adoration. Her mother was with what he used to call his father and the sight made him fume, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the empty glass cup.

His so-called father held her mother's waist affectionately and the other hand held a glass of champagne as they talked with the guests, their shoulders shaking with laughter and  amusement from time to time.

Samaru tried so desperately not to notice his father's woman in the distance eyeing his lover with lust. He tried so, so hard not to notice the way his father would look at his woman that's not his mother through the crowd and return the same look.

He wants this to stay secret. He didn't want to live to see the broken look befall her usually loving expression. He didn't want to see her cry for a man who doesn't deserve her. He didn't want to see her mother who he loves so much love a man whose infidelity surpasses that of a scum.

Yet, his mind screams for someone to notice.

Why was he the only one seeing him like this?  He didn't realize the growl escaping his bear teeth.

Why did he have to carry the burden of the knowledge that would tear his mother's heart into two?  He held the empty glass cup with disdain, ready to hurl it at his father.

Why would his father look at someone else when there was his beautiful, loving wife right by his side?  His heartbeat hastened, his legs twitched, his muscles contracted with hatred.

Why? Why? Why!?  Why!? 

A large, calloused hand held his shoulder.

"Calm down, young man." Said a deep, raspy voice.

His whole body went rigid. He ceased all motion he was originally attempting and felt his heartbeat go slower. There was something about this man's voice that was reassuring. Calming even.

"Good." Came the voice, the hand never leaving his shoulders. Instead, the hand craned his body towards a handsome, young man around his age with messy black hair in a tuxedo, expression blank with something gleaming dangerously from his right hand.

A knife.

He caught the gist of what this man was doing, in war between his desires and his own conscience. He has to stop this. This wasn't right. Murder isn't right.

Then there came his other side, berating the young man. He walked so recklessly, so carelessly. As if he's doing nothing more than walking in a park. So spontaneously that Samaru wouldn't be shocked when he'll suddenly hear a high-pitched shriek if he was spotted. He would be caught and he wasn't going to be able to do anything to his monster of a father.

His goodwill and resolve was forgotten as he composed himself, watching the young man trudge the quartz tiles of the ballroom and then dissapeared within the crowd.

A frightened shriek. Sounds of champagne glasses shattering on the floor. The guests' aghast look. Crimson staining the otherwise spotless floor.

His eyes widened at the horror of the situation, all air seemed to leave his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

It wasn't because of the amount of blood pooling on the floor. No, he wasn't scared of blood. An aspired doctor isn't supposed to be afraid of blood.

It wasn't because he witnessed murder. Of his father no less. No, he didn't care what happens to him.

It also wasn't because of the deranged, sardonic look the young man had as he stabbed his father repeatedly in the chest. As frightening as it looked, that wasn't the reason.

It was because he didn't stop. The man didn't stop when his mother threw himself in front his father in futile attempt to protect him.

He froze in horror. Jaw unhinged. Body refusing to move. Mind refusing to accept the turn of events.

His mother was dead.