A/N: Depression is an invisible evil waiting to take over on everybody's shoulder. Also, forgive my very elementary attempt at lyric writing. I am definitely not cut out to be a musician or a lyricist.

[How They Got Over The Pain]

My muse sat across me in the room, dressed up with a serious expression, nicely styled white hair, sharp blue eyes and a matching blue coat. The fine-looking young man of his late twenties sitting in the waiting room of a counsellor's office was probably the most out of place, and he took my whole attention as I tapped my pen against my notepad.

He nonchalantly looked at his watch, and a line came to my mind.

He looks at the clock

Wishing for time to stop

Mr. Muse drew in a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down, and let it out slowly. His sharp blue eyes continued to focus on his watch as if it could do anything to compress the time. The struggle in his eyes was obvious; he was here for a similar reason as I had.

He prayed for a breath to spare

But in his heart he found nothing there

The tightness begins to fill from within

The memories that begin surfacing

The pain that start from the place

Where once a healthy heartbeat formed

Now never to feel any warmth.

I paused, not surprised that the lyrics were coming out easily. The notes that came with the words were already playing in my head, flowing steadily as I closed my eyes briefly. I could imagine my hands on the piano, playing the chords and the melody together. The chord would create a heavy background, the melody slow and soothing. There would be something bitter in the background too, just enough to mimic a slow beating heart.

I wish it was easier to breathe

I wish I did not remember those days

Those days we were happy and blissful

I hoped I could still see you again

But the truth only breaks my heart

More than your smile and more than your cries

You have gone away forever.

I paused before my pen could write another word, my eyes heavy and stinging from tears that were threatening to rise. The hot block in my throat fought to rise, the feeling as though someone was pushing on my chest and collarbone, forcing me to breathe in less air than I actually could; it was all coming back again. Hurriedly, I closed my notepad and capped my pen, wiping the tears out of the corners of my eyes.

It was coming again, the memories of the better days. Mika's laugh in my ears, her smiles whenever I closed my eyes, the imaginary feel of her warm arms around me... none of them were ever real, and what scared me more than the fact that I was hallucinating the feel, sight and sound of her, was the fact that they felt so real to me.

Forcing myself to focus back on reality, I opened my eyes and stared hard at the man who had been my muse for the past ten minutes. Writing songs were easier now, but they only had one theme in common now: it was all expressions of my thoughts in depression. It was the only way I could keep myself sane. It was the only way I could keep myself connected to Mika. I now finally understood the meanings and the feelings that Mika had always tried to convey through her songs when she vented out her frustrations and conflicted feelings through her songs. Even when the emotions never worked in her favour, Mika had wrote them all down, letting them jangle up in her perfect melody and tunes. They had been beautiful, and now –to the fiancé who could only understand her inner thoughts after her death –they were gorgeous.

Some days I feel like ending it all

To meet you, see you, touch you again

Some days I feel I need this chain broken

But when I remember how you were

I see you in my head

It's like you are next to me in bed

It's all so real to me

But always in the end

Nothing lasts forever

I blink and you are gone

My hands might have stopped, but it didn't mean that my brain had stopped working. The words came, paired with Mika's voice in my brain, came belting out like a private opera theatre had opened up around me. Again, my eyes stung and this time I was too late the wipe the tears before they escaped from the corners of my eyes. Blinking made them run faster, but before I could wipe them, a tissue appeared into view.

"I don't know if you are alright, but you have been staring at me and crying. If you want to talk, just talk to me while we wait." The white haired man who had been sitting at the other side of the room had crossed the room, and now held the tissue.

"Thank you." I accepted the tissue because there was no use in trying to pretend as if I had not been caught crying. There might be a social expectations for men to not cry in public, but at this point of time, I was mostly past caring what society thought about me. It really took a large blow for me to realise that even though at one point of time I might have been an important member in the society, the unrelenting force would let someone fall away as easily as it picks someone up.

Back in my days of happiness, it felt like the world was right behind me, supporting me. I felt like I could take on the world with a smile on my face.

Now, all I could do at night was to hope that I would be able to wake up the next day with a better heart, a more forgetful mind and a world that would take me back in its embrace.

"I apologise for the awkward situation." I said when I was more or less certain that my voice would not waver and would be loud enough to be heard. "I still get episodes like these, and I cannot control them."

"How long has this been going on?" The guy asked, face not betraying any emotion.

"A few months. It started ever since... well, ever since my accident."

"This is probably bad situation for me to make a comment because I have no idea what happened to you, but is having to use a wheelchair for perhaps the rest of your life something worth having crying episodes over?" He asked, a question phrased so politely that I could even deceive myself into ignoring his silent scepticism.

"It's not about the legs. They give a new inconvenience, but it is not about the legs..." I paused, looking up at the man who was still standing unmoving in front of me. Since he had offered a listening ear (though I suspect that it was more from a disgust of having a man stare at him and subsequently cry), I decided to take up the offer. "Will you be willing to listen to my story?"

"If you met me a few months ago, I would have told you to go to Hell and come back before thinking of talking to me. But I myself have gone through a relatively life-changing situation, and am learning to be more sensitive and put in more thoughts to the people around me. Lending you a listening ear seems an appropriate thing to do." He answered honestly, walking to the table at the side and pulling up a chair. "But do not expect me to make emotionally-appropriate replies, because I have not gone through enough sessions to understand how to connect with people emotionally."

Even though his words sounded weird, I appreciated the honesty and heads-up for what I was trying to get into. Yet, at this moment, I needed someone to listen and simply take in my story. Even not reacting would be fine; I needed to get some of the tension off my chest if I wanted to breathe properly.

"My name is Arai Shirakawa. You might have heard of me."

"Vergil." The man answered with his name, then paused. "Arai from the duo Arai-Ishi?"

"Yes." The mild reaction from the man now named Vergil confirmed that he was not much of a fan –not that I was expecting much. "These days I have been having more popularity as a solo artist. Of course, that was before my accident."

"Do tell." He spoke in such a plain manner that if taken wrongly, could have sounded very sarcastic. For some reason, I did not think that he really had the intention to be sarcastic, since he had been the one to offer a listening ear in the first place.

"I'm not sure if you keep up on tabloids, but I have... had a girlfriend named Mika Tadakuni. She was the winner of the Nationals Singing Competition and signed a contract in my entertainment company. We met when we were set to create a song together, and I guess we hit off very well."

"I distantly recall the name, but go on." Vergil observed, and funnily it seemed as if he was doing his best to give appropriate responses when he didn't actually need to.

"Mika has... had depression. The depression tendencies showed 5 years ago, and I persuaded her to go for treatment. It was a tough period of time of our lives, but with treatment and counselling, she got better. She used her songs as a way to release her emotions, and her insecurities connected to many in the public."

"Ah, yes I remember her now. My brother was saying how her songs annoyingly fit my situation, but it is completely different. I am not depressed, just having problems accepting some things that happened in my life."

"She became my fiancée a year ago. We were going to get married next month." The thought of the red circles I had made around the set date on my calendar back at home brought rising tears again. "Two months and fourteen days ago, when I was in my studio recording my second solo album, I received a text from her. She said sorry for many things, and then she said goodbye. I immediately knew that something was wrong, so I tried to get to her."

Vergil looked like he was ready to put in something that I suspect would have been rather inappropriate for the situation, but thankfully he hesitated and swallowed them when I paused to wipe more tears that were crowding the corners of my eyes like a leaky tap.

"I was so busy calling for an ambulance while driving to her place that I didn't pay attention to the road. I crashed, and in the end, I couldn't save her. I couldn't even see her one last time. I was still in critical condition when her funeral was held." As the words rushed out, it was like the bubble that had been winding up in my heart had finally burst. The sobs came out like a wave, and this time there was no holding them back as I cried as quietly as I could.

What actually helped me recover faster this time was actually the feel of the body warmth of someone still sitting beside me even while I cried. Vergil offered me tissue silently as I wiped my tears and blew my nose; sure that I was an ugly mess in front of him as my eyes and nose stung from being wiped too many times.

"I don't know what to say to you." Vergil finally said after a long pause as I calmed down eventually, feeling actually weirdly relieved to have cried everything out. "I didn't go through the same sadness as you when my parents died, so I cannot connect."

"You don't have to say anything. Thank you just for listening to me." I answered. "And I am sorry to hear that your parents have passed on."

"They passed on years ago. It's nothing to me now." Vergil replied, then a thinking face appeared on his face all of a sudden. "Actually, the counsellor says that their deaths might have been the start of why I am like this right now."

"Would you..." I paused to get a read of the atmosphere. "Would you like to share your situation with me?"

"It's nothing much, nothing dramatic like yours. My parents died when I was ten years old. My brother and I were separated ever since then. I grew up on the streets and became obsessed with power. I was desperate to be the most powerful, the most knowledgeable. A few months ago, I went after my brother to take something from him that I wanted. I was willing to kill him as long as I got what I wanted. Nothing else mattered. But at the last moment, when I almost died because I was doing something stupid, my brother forgave everything that I did and saved me. He nursed me back to health, and when I was finally awake again, he made me realise that I was basically being a complete idiot running around the world like a headless chicken pretending that I needed to be powerful. He made me promise to never do something as idiotic as what I did, and forced me to come here and realise more stupid things that have developed while I grew up away from him, and try to solve them one by one. Not viewing everyone else as lower than me and recognising that even if someone is a complete retard, he might still have some redeeming points was basically my first lesson."

"I... I see..." I nodded. It was easy to see how Vergil might have been like he was described previously. "We are in rather different situations. But you have suffered for long as well bottling up your emotions since youth."

"It certainly did not feel like suffering. It was my way to live, and I never thought that it was a problem until my brother opened my eyes. It was just a need to survive." He answered.

"That is what I am doing now." I sighed, wiping my face to make sure that there were no more leftover tears or moisture that I had not wiped off. It was a good tension-relieving crying session, and I was slightly surprised to find myself feeling better than I had in a long while. "I am just surviving, waiting until I reach the day that I can think of Mika and not want to cry. Until then, I'm just going for counselling, hoping that my thoughts don't go stray too often, and make songs when I need to get the feelings off my heart."

"What if it never happens?" The question came after a short pause in our conversation, as if the man didn't know what to say. "What if you never forget?"

"I don't know." I answered honestly. "I'm afraid to think about that."

Vergil looked down at his hands, seemingly to concentrate on something deep inside of him. I wasn't sure if I had given a reply that required such level of thought, but kept my eyes carefully on him. Funnily enough, talking to him was actually making me feel normal again. Knowing that he was suffering from his past, learning about what happened to him was actually making it easier for me to get my mind off Mika for a few moments.

"It becomes a part of you." He said as he blinked back to reality, looking up with his piercing blue eyes again. "It becomes a part of you that you use as a defence mechanism. It becomes a lesson that you value too much, and you become obsessed to do everything you can to avoid that situation again. You don't even know how and when it happens, because to you it's all natural. You don't know that you are unconsciously doing things so that you will never get hurt the same way again. You think you are fine with the way things are when you become comfortable, but it isn't."

"I... I know I have to let Mika go, but I don't know how to. I cannot imagine myself not feeling pain when I think of her."

"I cannot imagine myself feeling pain when I think of my parents." The reply came lowly as if a slow realisation was coming to be. "I still have the memory, but I think I forgot the pain so that I could survive."

"I wish I can be like that." I professed with a tiniest bit of irrational jealousy that he was now able to think back on something painful and not feel it anymore. Much as it was cruel for me to say, forgetting my ex-fiancé ever existed would be the best type of amnesia that I could have right now.

"Don't." The sharp tone in which the word was said cut off more words that could be said. "Don't wish to be like that, because it makes you less human. It makes you a shell. And when you look back in your memories, trying to find your pain again..."

I startled at how fast the sharp blue eyes were filling up with moisture. His eyes were still hard on me, and even though his facial expression had not changed a single bit, his irises were trembling a little as moisture crowded the corner of his eyes.

"A-Are you okay?" I asked, not sure if I had done the right thing to have him share his past. Had I accidentally triggered something that I was not supposed to?

"I'm fine." His quick reply came like a reflex, but the real answer came shortly after, "I'm not really. My chest hurts, and my eyes feel hot." 

"Do you need to see a medical doctor?" I asked, beginning to get a little worried.

"No, I don't think so. This pain is not physical. This pain... is the same one I have been wanting to avoid acknowledging that I have ever since my parents died. I am only feeling this now, years after they have gone..." He wiped the corner of one eye, smudging tears across the side of his face but I could see that it had filled up again just as quickly. "Is this how it feels like to you too now?"

"I... I don't know." I answered honestly again. "But crying always helps."

"Does it?"

"I cried in front of you just now and I feel slightly better than before."

"I forgot how to cry." The man answered, despite all of the water hanging adamantly in his eyes like a thin protective layer against the pain he was finally beginning to feel. For all of my own pain, I, for some reason, could not imagine what he could be going through at this moment; when the pain from all of those years that he had been keeping at bay finally broke from its hardened wall and came crashing in. "My father said that men should not cry unless..."

It was unsurprising when Vergil's voice break –I had tried talking through the tears before, and my voice had broken too many times too count –but what was surprising was how surprised the man himself was to hear his own voice break. His words stopped to a silence, as if trying to drag up the memory of how and why his voice had failed him.

"Am I... crying?"

"If the tears in your eyes are any evidence, you are." I said as softly as I could. "Just let them out; you will feel better."

"Then will you do me a favour and turn away?"

I did as asked, going so far as to spinning my wheelchair around to give him a sense of peace that even if I wanted to look at him, I would have to spin my wheelchair back around. Feeling strange inside; a sweet-sour-bitter mixture of tastes on my tongue and twisting in my heart that I couldn't understand, I uncapped my pen and opened my notepad to a new page again.

The tears I forgot to cry

The ones my father said not to shed

They come out free

Will the years make me forget this pain?

Will I make it a part of me

Never knowing that you leaving will forever be a scar?

I bid you, tell me a lie

Tell me I will be alright

Tell me I'm fine

That I have moved on with my life

"Mr. Shirakawa. Thank you for the wait. Your counsellor is ready for you." The call from the nurse drew my attention, and I looked back once to the man who had his head bowed, the tears quietly falling from his bowed head to the floor. I could see no expression, and his cries were silent. His shoulders did not move, and if I had not been talking to him before, I might not have assumed that he was crying.

Flipping quickly to another notepad, I wrote my well wishes for him, thanking him as best as I could in the short amount of time I had. Then, tearing the paper off and haphazardly folding it in half, I left it on the chair beside him and rolled myself to the counsellor's office.

For some reason, even though I had been hurting very much, to know that this man named Vergil was hurting with me made me feel better. To know that he was facing his problems, trying to understand what had went wrong, and what he could do... he gave me a strange light that I never thought I would receive.

Importantly, he gave me a motivation. I would try my best to avoid what happened to him. I would not push away the pain, would not make it a part of me. I would not let it control me. Even if my pain was there, I would face it and cry over and over again until the tears run out. And even if the tears run out, my words for Mika would never. Phrase after phrase, song after song... I would write them all down.

And hopefully, just hopefully, when I finally run out of words... then I will know that I am done.

________________________________________________________________________________

A few months later, Vergil returned from his usual counselling session to find his brother on the couch, surfing through the television channels leisurely. There was nothing wrong with the picture –he had long come to accept the fact that Dante was as lazy as a snail and getting him to go to look for work on such a fine day would probably be akin to killing him.

At least, there was nothing wrong until Dante flipped the channel once more as Vergil was making towards his room, and on came the news channel.

"Fans of Arai-Ishi break down upon the news of the passing of their beloved idol." The words made Vergil pause all of a sudden, the familiar name striking a bell. "The hospital that Arai Shirakawa was rushed to on emergency announced the man's passing one hour ago from asphyxiation..."

Continuation to the news report was interrupted when Dante flipped the channel again, but Vergil turned back from his route to his room.

"Dante, go back to the previous channel. I want to watch the news." Vergil instructed, and even though Dante looked back at him over the top of the couch with a confused expression, he obliged.

"I didn't know you were a fan of any singers." Dante commented.

"I am not." Vergil answered passively, feasting his eyes and ears on the information that the news channel was reporting, along with images of distraught fans gathering in front of the hospital, lighting up candles and waving posters of a familiar man.

"Ever since the death of the nation's beloved idol Mika Tadakuni, her fiancé had been suffering from depression and had been going through counselling regularly to deal with his emotions. Most remarkably, in the short months following the death of his fiancée, Arai had taken over her style and had recorded and composed songs in accordance to his feelings. He released two songs charting his difficulty in accepting his reality on the internet and received widespread fame, particularly from the fans of his fiancée. He did not do any promotion for the songs and continued to compose. Just last month, his company, Triple X Entertainment, released his second album which boasted a surprising 15 songs. Three of the songs were apparently pre-recorded before Mika passed on, and the remaining songs appear to be composed after her death. On the official album release press conference in which the man himself did not appear, Arai's manager explained that he was still doing his best to deal with his emotions and has been hard at work composing music. It was stated that writing songs was Arai's way of releasing the emotions inside, and this genre type attracted many old and new fans alike as everyone understands that Arai went through a particularly bad time after his accident in which he did not manage to save his fiancée despite his best abilities and ended up paralysed waist down."

"Err... Vergil?" Dante's words finally broke Vergil out of his staring at the television screen, the words going through his head and echoing. "Are you okay?"

"I... think I am?" His honest answer was not appreciated by his brother, who sat up straight quickly in worry. Dante might be a lazy bum, but he had gone through thick and thin with his brother (after saving Vergil from certain death). He knew that his elder brother had done very well facing his (metaphorical) demons by going to counselling regularly, and he did not look forward to facing the maniacal Vergil anytime soon.

"Did you know him?" Dante gestured to the television screen which was still going on describing the life of a man who struggled with depression with his girlfriend while she was still alive, then struggled with it alone after she passed on after suicide.

"I met him at my counselling office once." Vergil answered, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving the folded piece of paper. "He made me cry."

"He what?"

"He said in this piece of paper... no, he promised in this piece of paper that he would cry over and over again until he had no more tears left. He would write until he had no more words left, and when there were no more words, he would be done grieving." Vergil said. "He was looking forwards to the end where he could think about his fiancée without the pain."

"But, he..." Dante could not completely understand what was going on, but he got a general sense that the man on the news now had been an important moment in Vergil's counselling process.

"Breaking news: The police has released an official statement on their website, along with a picture. It seems to be a farewell note that was left stuck to a few boxes in a corner of Arai's bedroom. The police have confirmed that the boxes contained CDs and notes and composing sheets of completed but unreleased songs and have passed them to Triple X Entertainment." The words sank in again, and once more, Vergil and Dante turned to the television screen, waiting for more information.

Then, on the screen, showed the farewell note that the man had apparently written down.

Since the angels took her from his arms,

He stood there, waiting, wondering

If their tomorrow had left without her

But as he draws his final breath,

Through the light, he will find her

Taking her hand, he softly says

There are no more words I have for you

No more hymns singing in my brain

The angels took you, but I am here

I am done. Close your eyes; I am home.

Vergil wiped the corner of his eyes, surprised to find moisture there.

"He got over his pain, and ran out of words." He said, startling his little brother at how hoarse his voice had become. "He is home."