(A/N): *stares at the title for so long, a smirk probably on my face*

Disclaimer: I do not own anything! Nada! Plus the title should give away a hint for what is coming up in this chapter, so I do advise you to keep on your wit's toes.

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Your POV

Again, it was only moments before afterschool. Nothing particularly caught your individual attention today, except maybe a fight breaking out in lunch. But that brawl ensued in the cafeteria while you were luckily safe and happily eating your homemade bento outside, far away from the multitude of arms swinging at each other with brute force.

Jyushimatsu, as the per usual, batted at the clear air in the school fields with the ever-increasing promise of it possibly getting warmer for him to practice more often, even if five hours of practice in the bitter cold didn't faze him at all.

The Matsus have been busy lately, barely gaining the opportunity to see you once in a while since you were technically just a friend in a very different classroom, not close to get considered an equivalent being on their level. It was a disadvantage, as farfetched it was for you to declare that being a well-off individual prevented any real bonding with the few friends you have.

So far, the Matsu you most hangout/stay with would be Jyushimatsu, since he never failed to show up during lunch to practice.

Besides, who would wanna be outside in the cold?

Even if spring is just around the corner, the bitterness and pinching feeling that lingered during this impending transition between seasons drove people in their preferred tame habitats, choosing hot chocolate over a cold. Simpletons.

I guess with that established logic, the Matsus would be the simpletons of the simpletons. Jyushimatsu would never honestly be a simpleton, his personality too disorganized being categorized in some cliché group.

With that crazy disorganization was created a new category just created for him and him only.

Kudos to Ichimatsu for perhaps 'raising' him this way. You would love to know more about them, though. They're so different from each other, so why do they get along so well? Baseball doesn't automatically bestow some forever glue between two brothers, so what gives? The last time you played baseball only ended up with Ichimatsu gaining a pretty ugly bruise for a couple...days?!

How will that pertain to some higher level of bro-ness in a friendly brotherly relationship? Does the pain maybe bond people together? Maybe one of them simply likes the pain and wishes to feel more of it from the other?

No no no, none of those thoughts are true, and they never will be! They were stupid, unrealistic.

Crazy as it may seem, traces of red decorational pieces remained in the oddest of places, the volunteers simply too lazy to find them all again in a boring Easter Hunt and hastily dispose of them properly. A prime example of this would be the same red banner you just happened to describe on the day of the dance, exactly the one above the still dirty water fountain.

It's been weeks after the dance, totalling up to maybe even a week after White Day. Ultimately, it was depressing to see new and old couples hook up on White Day, but you learn to forget and forget some more. Now on this dawn of another school day, you were nothing but anxious to exit out the a-cursed place and hopefully find [P/N] once more in your home.

Your heavy legs dragged themselves in harmonious sync, stepping through a familiar hallway of brooding grey lockers as your attentive eyes silently filed through them, narrowed as they tried to spot the correct one. Your handy dandy school bag swung and gently knocked against the top of your leg, containing your especially handy dandy notebook and regular textbooks snugly compacted in the area stitched out specifically for said materials.

Shadows casted from the menacing metal containers, old friends you watched and admired from afar. However, they were not enough to completely consume the sight bestowed to you at all, proving to be a waste of eye strain.

A dusted handprint of twinkling glitter caused a simple reaction of you inconspicuously raising a confused brow up, causation at effect here.

It was clearly obvious the one behind this was Karamatsu, seeing that it also 'glissimed' a shade of bright baby blue that would've burned your eyes if were not dark in this school. Sighing, you halfheartedly opened your locker with the same procedure as you've always done.

Out popped the weasel! A miraculous bouquet of the sweetest roses by any other name caught your attention in the long run as you eyed it. How did it fit in the narrow locker, you may never know.

You chose to ignore it, however, seeing as there was no more time to waste in this school. You zipped open your bag and promptly took out some books you will no longer need for today. The only items left were of course your English binder and a folder specifically kept for homework.

The strong adhesive fabric strung over your shoulder seemed to significantly lessen its rough barrage on your shoulder, the weight factoring to this decrease in force. No matter, you were officially done with your business here in this establishment and simply just want to head home already.

You briefly slammed your locker door to a complete close, the suffering cycle of useless work done for the day. Now all that was promised to you was a nice, long bath with peace and silence for the remainder of daylight.

(A/N: Now this is the part I'm worried about. I'm unsure on whether or not to change the rating to Mature, but please note that there's bullying in this chapter. You may skip ahead to the next author's note if you're not comfortable with the topic of bullying)

Now trapped in a strolling pace, your body was headed straight on to the main exit of the building before you heard a few faint sounds of...taunting? The echoes drifted off from the left, a frighteningly cold driving edge added to these reflected words.

Was taunting the right word? You might've classified it for joking if it weren't for the fact that a chorus of distasteful sneers followed after each comment.

Those were not jokes! Where's the gold comedy? Where's the punchline? Where's the standing ovation? Where's the semi-iconic knock knock jokes? None of the comments were remotely funny, most of them specifically targeting one of the members of the crew. They all hurt, meant to really insult and rub salt into the large wounds of someone.

It seemed to be echoing around the corner, the source of this teasing in one of the separate hallway's dead ends. The closer you were to this tease fest, the more clearer the snarky insults were.

So joking turned into teasing, teasing turned into taunting, taunting turned into insulting, and insulting turned into...harassing. What else will it turn into next? I'm certain that this is not even the right order either!

"The little guy's not speaking at all! What a waste!"

"Shush. He'll speak eventually."

"I doubt he will. Look, he's not even flinching!"

"Give him a good sucker punch in the eye and he'll speak."

"I already tried that. Look, see that black eye there? It's fresh again."

"Try his gut then."

"Roger that..."

A sickening thud followed after that order, the taunter taking the command really seriously now. Almost nothing came out from that abusive slug, except a small minimal reaction of a pained grunt. The abuser sighed disappointingly right afterwards, expecting a little more raw passion to the victim's nonearth-shaking cries.

"Aight. Maybe you should take a knack at 'im?"

"Mmm."

Despite the terribly informal language the other terroizer spoke in, the original taunter understandably hummed in agreement and didn't swing at the victim for an awkward while now. I guess he was more formal with his torture and wanted to properly prepare his bulging knuckles for stinging impact.

You finally walked up to the winding corner and took a small brief little peek of the troubling scene before immediately closing your eyes shut. The terroizer punched him in the...somewhere, immediately making you wince inwardly just from the sight of it. A shrill cry resonated from the victim, yet they still haven't given the abusers the pleasure of his clear pain.

In return, the abusers were disappointed once more and silently whispered admist another, staring at the shadowy figure slumping against the metal lockers. You peeled your eyes open after you were sure there was no violence in progress and felt bad for the guy. Wasn't his family worried or something?

Your family was barely around to check on you around, so maybe that's the case for this poor fellow? Simply work was just more important than the one you're supposed raise and nurture to the paved road of independence. Yeah, that was the correct motto for parents like yours.

(A/N: That should be the end of the violence sequence for now)

The disheveled pair sent the shadowy figure a warning look combined and both sent straight off to the entrance of the school by an alternate route, both still heavily disappointed by their 'fun'.

"It's just not the same like last year..."

One of them commented in a bored tone as they left, their bulky feet dangerously close to crushing the weak body's limbs writhering underneath them.

Maybe now was a good time to help him out?

The sight below you was awful in terms of the damage, most of it covered by the victim's school uniform itself. The gakuran was pitch-black, zipped all the way up to the collar to inadvertently cover the bruises inflicted by their abuser's pointy closed-toe tennis shoes.

Their hair was a glossy raven dark, a mess after probably slamming into the front of the locker door repeatedly. The only reason you could infer this was because of the sole fact that the metals doors were also bent in a nasty angle, busted up after some sort of struggle of some kind earlier in the fight.

His chest heaved up and down, the only action calming him down being his ragged breaths attempting to seize enough air to stop the panting.

Was it working? You would say no, but gradually the huffing would lessen in raw strength and everything will soon restore to natural order once more. No one was that out of shape or anxious to keep the irregular panting up for ten years straight.

In the meanwhile, your sorry eyes were quick to wonder to his covered face, knowing the damage was not just inflicted on his stomach and his...smoogly. A black eye was earlier mentioned, so you definitely entered late to the whole abusive process.

The more time you spent staring at him was starting to take a toll on you, that before established worry transforming into a dolefully sick kind of worry, maybe obsessive when the features matched up with someone familiar.

The figure finally had the strength to stand up on his own, groaning and having a limp to his back. I wouldn't say that the cause was a fierce case of scoliosis, though it could be justified.

No, this was someone you knew. And you only 'knew' six certain compadros in the whole school. Ah, so other than that hot dog guy you once met, it would be the Matsunos, surprise surprise.

And who else showed symptoms of scoliosis but in reality just was lazy and a slouchy guy? That's right, it was not Osomatsu, but Ichimatsu!

Ichimatsu uncovered his face, grimacing while bearing a hefty bruise on his face.

It wasn't pretty.

Behold, here comes the stone-faced user of a throbbing blackish-purple eye. It was plain horrible just stealing glances of the single injury alone, nearly stinging your inner soul with a strange but powerful tug. It wasn't just dark, but a few drops of blood stained his right cheek and that glowing purple hue was nearly a bold black. The black eye from baseball game back in Autumn should've long healed since the incident, but this perfectly explained why he hadn't felt pain then and now.

So Ichimatsu was...

It hurts to even think about it. Ichimatsu didn't seem to notice anything wrong with him and trudged his way to a nearby water fountain. Damaged could be the literal definition of him now.

He walks (limps) to your general direction before stopping only feet away from you to take a quick pit stop at the friendly neighborhood water fountain.

Realizing what a great opportunity this might be, you poked your head out from your hiding spot. Maybe you could help him safely return back to his rightful home before everyone transforms into worrywarts and blame you if you now knew his whereabouts.

Ichimatsu cautiously crouches over and presses the worn-out metallic button of the school water fountain with his trembling thumb, his dry and badly-cut lips meeting with the gentle sprout of slightly dirty water.

Blood streamed back down into the dark slits of the fountain, leaving behind a mixture of watery red every second he stops the fountain to ruggedly breath and dive back for more needed water. It wasn't like he was scuba diving or anything, but the comparison to that water activity and him drinking was uncanny.

You completely stepped out the shadow of the locker, the irony of it smacking you back in the forehead. A shadow coming out of a shadow? How edgy. (You totally didn't accidentally bump your head against a nearby open locker door, too...)

Ichimatsu senses your unwelcomed presence at once, voluntarily sliding his thumb away from the jammed button to stop the mini geyser. His body shifts slowly in the other direction to face you, a flash of confusion crossing his plain face for a slight moment. However, that confusion subsides into anger when he furrows his eyebrows and frowns heavier than usual.

Not a word exchanges between you two as you stood there, waiting for the other to make another move. Nobody was new in this case, so there shouldn't be any pistols waiting to be fired while one mutters 'there isn't enough space in this town for the two of us'.

The dirty fountain never stops spouting water, broken from Ichimatsu's accident-prone-like touch. Good thing there was still a drain there, although it's unsure on whether or not it will keep up with the machine's rapid flow.

So...how are you doing everybody?

Ichimatsu was the one to make the first move, although it was to first escape from this imprisonment of a school...

You can't honestly blame him for leaving this place. It's kinda like coming across the hundredth Caterpie in your game, basically running away because you luckily had the option to do so.

Ichimatsu slowly speed stepped in the same direction of his bullies, contradictory in the worst way possible. And it just wasn't the part of him running but somehow being slow as well, but the part where he was searching for another beat up.

Fury visibly forced his body to shake unnaturally, greatly intimidating you to stand back dumbly and let him find the exit himself.

"Just stop getting involved."

Words hurt. But they hold a truth to them.

Animals like cats and dogs easily know that, so why can't you?

A soft sigh escapes your lips, enveloping you in a wave of sadness. That enabled your body finally turn around and head off into the direction of a different exit.

The water fountain still contained a trace of blood surviving on the metal surface as the sprout continuously spilled water while time flowed by. It was forgotten, already gone past saving the moment it started overflowing. It'll probably be replaced with something newer, something fresh and innovative.

---

You were home but late. You were late but home. By the time you arrived home (late), the sky was still feigning a beautiful baby blue color, a sign that the seasons are changing once more. Winter is the longest season, that's what everyone states, but it felt short for you. There was little to no excitement to it, shortening the days into two each time.

The first thing you enter to is emptiness. Of course.

The house seems abandoned with the little proof of living activity here. It might as well be, with the fact that your parents abandon you every day to this emptiness you were now accustomed to. It didn't matter if this was neglectance or not, you were 17 now. That might not be the official starting age of an adult, but people would start looking to you expectantly as one. Adults are suppose to be independent, strong, and able to stay at the house alone like other adult.

We all know how much it sucks to be an adult.

You lolled your school bag against the living room wall, ignoring the new papers present on the table. They were just some brochures of America with a weird bookmark sticking out of one. Only one had a bookmark in it, so it must've been important.

Then again, only your parents could've done it, and with the little time they spend in this house, they might as well be saving the reading for later.

So maybe you didn't entirely ignored the papers, but you managed to steel them away from your mind and head to your room. The school uniform uncomfortably bothered your line of thinking and you quickly tugged the darn thing off, tossing the articles of clothing simply to the basket. You'll wash them later.

Hastily slipping on some pajamas, you collapsed on the bed and ignored the studying time you had left to spare. After all, you were thinking about the one...

The one who got away...

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(A/N): I bet all of you are planning to murder me now. Another late update is better than this being updated on April Fools Day. So this will be officially the last chapter for WINTER. It's pretty far into Spring already, but you gotta start somewhere either way.

I got one question for you: Should this story be rated Mature?

I didn't get a whole lot gory with the violence, had the warning for bullying, and this story is originally supposed to be somewhere in the Teen rating, but unfortunately Wattpad doesn't have that. So should I change the rating in that case?

04/02/17