●・○・●・○・●
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX,
mail

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༇ THE skies over Sydney stretch wide and impossibly bright, like the whole country is trying too hard to be cheerful. Hana hates it. The clouds are patchy, the sun's too bold, and even the air feels different.

She grips the handle of her suitcase too tightly as she and Seika exit the plane. Hana can't tell if she's numb or tired. Probably both.

Seika nudges her with an elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah," but nerves swarm around in her stomach. She hasn't told Seika about the email, but there's a chance Hana's parents will reach out to Seika's parents, and if that happens, Hana is afraid Seika will find out, and they'll get into an argument.

"You're lying."

Hana shrugs. She doesn't have it in her to explain that she feels like her entire body is made of glass. Instead, she asks, "How do we get to the dorms again?"

"Train. From there, ten-minute walk."

"Okay."

The train is clean and cold and quiet. Hana rests her head against the window and watches the scenery go by. It's entirely different from Japan, and she's not sure if that's good or bad.

By the time they arrive at their student accommodation near the University of Sydney, both girls are sweaty and sore. Their dorm is small. Two single beds, a shared wardrobe, and a tiny kitchen. It's better than Hana expected, honestly. She drops her suitcase beside the bed and sits down.

"I'm gonna unpack later," Seika announces, flopping onto her own bed. "You hungry?"

"No."

"Want tea?"

Hana pauses. "Okay."

Seika puts the kettle on. She knows Hana well enough to know when she shouldn't talk and how to fill silence.

When Seika brings over the cup of tea, Hana holds it tightly.

They don't talk much that first night. Seika turns on some music and they sit on the floor together, backs to the wall. Hana reads the welcome flier. Seika scrolls her phone. Neither of them brings up Japan.

The next morning, orientation begins. The university is huge, with towering buildings and green gardens. They attend the welcome lecture. They get free tote bags with campus maps and and fliers for clubs. Hana keeps her smile polite and her sentences short.

At lunch, they find a bench under a tree.

"I signed us up for the international student mixer," Seika says.

"Why?"

"Because if we don't go, we'll just keep sitting together like antisocial freaks."

Hana manages a small smile. "Alright. When does it start?"

"After lunch."

The international student mixer is chaotic. Seika thrives. She drags Hana from group to group, collecting acquaintances. Hana does her best. She smiles. She nods. She answers the basic questions: "Japan," "yes, first time here," "psychology, maybe," "yeah, I live on campus."

Later, as they walk back in the dark, Seika wraps an arm around her waist.

"You did good."

"I smiled for three hours straight. My face hurts."

Seika laughs. "You're adjusting."

Hana doesn't answer. Her chest is aching. She thinks about her siblings: Kaoru, little Sakiko's arms around her leg. She misses them so much it physically hurts. She wonders if either of them hate her now.

Days stretch. Hana learns the routes. She memorizes her student number. She sets up her new email and tries to pretend every other name in her inbox doesn't look like her father's. She meets her professors. One of them looks like Arisu if he were older and more bitter. She almost laughs during lecture. Almost cries, too.

In her dorm, she hangs a small photo of her and her siblings. Kaoru with Sakiko in his neck and Hana's arm wrapped around his waist as they stand below a big tree near a pond.

Seika joins a photography club. Hana signs up for a boxing class, unintentionally inspired by Kaede.

●・○・●・○・●

Baya reads the email late at night, a few hours after dropping Hana and Seika off at the airport.

Sakiko is asleep in her room, Chishiya is at a late-night gathering at work, and Kaoru also disappeared in his room long ago, but whether he's asleep or not, Baya doesn't know. She's no longer keeping track of his bedtimes now that he's nineteen.

She opens her laptop because she can't sleep, thinking maybe she'll check Hana's Instagram or just pretend she doesn't already miss her daughter for five minutes. Instead, she sees the subject of that email: Please don't respond.

Baya clicks. And as her eyes move down the screen, her chest tightens to the point where she can't breathe.

She reads it once. Then again. And again.

I know everything.

You are not my parents anymore.

Kaoru, Sakiko, and I were just kids to keep your house warm.

I've already stepped over your dead bodies.

By the time she finishes, her hands are trembling. Her jaw is clenched so tightly she thinks her teeth might crack. Her lungs keep trying to pull in air, but it's not working. Her body isn't listening. Her mouth opens to cry out, but no sound comes. Just a thin gasp of breath.

A few choking seconds later, she sobs so hard the table shakes. Her laptop clatters to the floor. She doesn't pick it up.

She cradles her head in her hands and scream into them. Her voice cracks apart as she does. Every motherly instinct inside her rises to fix it, but there is nothing to fix. There is only the sentence burned behind her eyes: You are not my parents anymore.

Upstairs, the echo of her cries reaches a small set of ears.

Sakiko blinks into the dark. Her room is filled with stuffed animals and blankets. Her pink nightlight glows. It casts long shadows on the walls. She hears the noise. She thinks maybe a monster has come. Not to eat her, but to hurt her mama.

She slips from her bed, clutching the rabbit she sleeps with. Her hands wrap around the stair railing as she carefully waddles down each step, one foot at a time, whispering to herself: "Don't fall, don't fall..."

When she reaches the last step, she sees her mama. Not the loud, silly mama who makes funny animal sounds during breakfast, the one who kisses Sakiko's entire face until she giggles.

She's on the floor. Knees tucked up. Her hands over her face. Her shoulders shake hard. There's something on the floor near her: a laptop. But her mama doesn't look at it. She just cries. And cries. And cries.

Sakiko walks across the living room, careful not to scare her mother more. When she reaches her, she kneels down beside her. Her little hand presses to Baya's shoulder. "Mama?" she whispers.

Baya doesn't respond. Her cries are quieter now but still tearing through her in waves. She hiccups as she tries to catch her breath, unable to see clearly through the mess of tears and hair.

Sakiko scoots closer. She tries again. "Mama... why you crying?"

Baya lifts her face slowly. Her cheeks are soaked, makeup smeared in streaks. She tries to speak but can't form words.

Sakiko crawls into her lap. "I knew the house monster was real."

Baya lets out a half-sob, half-laugh. Her arms wrap around her daughter. She presses her cheek into Sakiko's hair and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I didn't want you to hear... I didn't mean to wake you up, I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry," Sakiko says. "You don't gotta be sorry, Mama. At least I can stay up late."

Baya whispers, "Mama's just... sad."

"Why?"

She hesitates."Because Hana is gone."

Sakiko pulls back slightly and blinks up at her mother, confused. "But, Mama..."

Baya breathes shakily. "Yes?"

"Hana's just... in Australia. She's gonna come back. You said. You said she was gonna study. You and Papa said it."

Baya exhales, closing her eyes as a fresh wave of pain swells in her chest. "I did say that," she whispers. "Because it's true."

"Then why are you crying like she died?"

Baya opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her voice comes gently. "Because Hana wants... space."

Sakiko stares. "But she's my sister."

"I know."

"She didn't tell me she needed space."

"I know, sweetie."

"Did she get mad?"

"Yes."

"Is she mad at me?"

"No," Baya says quickly, holding her daughter tighter. "No, baby. No. Hana loves you so much. This isn't about you. It's not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault."

Sakiko is breathing faster now. "Then why?" she whimpers. "Why did she leave?"

Baya's face twists in pain. "She left because..." Baya swallows hard. "Because she's really, really hurt. And when people are hurt too much... sometimes they run away."

"Did you hurt her?" Sakiko asks.

Baya almost chokes. "Yes," she whispers, like a confession. "I didn't mean to. But I did."

Sakiko cries harder. "But you're a good mama, even when I say you're not."

"I tried. I tried so hard. But Hana doesn't feel that anymore. She thinks... she thinks Mama and Papa never really her family."

"No!" Sakiko cries. "That's not true! She's my family!"

"I know. I know-"

"I want her to come back! I wanna go get her!"

"I want that too," Baya sobs. "But she doesn't want us to find her. It'll make things worse, Koko."

Sakiko wails and all Baya can do is hold her tighter, rocking her, whispering apologies again and again and again, hoping it'll somehow undo what's already been done.

The front door clicks open eventually. No sound beyond the rustle of a coat being removed, the scuff of shoes against the floor, and the muted sigh of Chishiya, who steps inside, as calm and composed as ever, holding his phone in one hand and his bag in the other.

The living room comes into view: Baya is curled protectively around little Sakiko, who's cradled in her arms with her face buried in her mother's chest, hiccuping.

Chishiya just stands there for a moment.

And then Sakiko turns her head-sleepy, eyes barely open-and whispers, "Papa?"

Baya looks up.

Chishiya steps closer, slowly setting his bag down."What happened? Is it Hana?" He takes Baya's hair and gently moves it away from her face, then wipes the tears from Sakiko's cheeks. "Are you okay?"

Sakiko shakes her head. "Hana hates us now."

Baya makes a small noise, covering her mouth with her hand. "...She sent an email," Baya says finally. "She... she said we're not her parents anymore, Shuntarō. She said she stepped over our dead bodies already."

Silence. Long and thick. Chishiya doesn't react like a normal person would, he simply absorbs the words, one by one, and then reads the email that is still displayed on the laptop. "I see," he says quietly. "I'll get a plane ticket to-"

"No," Baya interrupts. "Don't go there. We'll only make it worse. Give her space. Eventually, she'll miss us so much that she'll come back, right?"

"If no one picks her up from that country, she's likely to disappear, Yuzuki. I gave her nearly twenty-six million yen. She can flee to the other side of the world with that, instead of taking that course at the university."

"Seika's still there. We can contact her about Hana. Make sure Hana stays in Sydney and comes back when she's done studying. She'll miss us," she repeats. "She'll miss Kaoru, she'll miss Sakiko, she'll miss Kaede, Nozomi, Miyu, Souta, Kuina, Arisu-"

"That doesn't mean anything," Chishiya argues. "She's likely to have blocked half of us by now. If no one goes, we might never-"

"Hana will come back!" Sakiko protests. "Hana can't go without me! She'll miss me! I'm her best sister! She's always kissing and hugging me! She'll come back to me, Papa! I promise you!"

Chishiya sighs and looks at Baya again. "What about someone like Aguni? If another person goes instead of us-"

"Maybe. But not now. Leave her for a few months. Then we'll see. The more we press on, the worse things will get," Baya says, and it's final.

Chishiya's throat visibly wobbles. "Where's Kaoru? Does he know?"

"He's in his room. I haven't told him anything, but maybe Hana also sent him a message. Maybe she's still okay with talking to him. That way, we'll know if she's alright. If Kaoru tells us everything Hana tells him-"

Before Baya can finish, Chishiya is already walking up the stairs, marching into Kaoru's room without warning. Kaoru's walls are a dark grey color, with a navy blue carpet, bed sheets, and curtains. One of his walls is entirely covered with his collection of playing cards, and in every little corner, more details are to be found: lamps in the form of cards, small paintings, cards he secretly painted on his closet, and it goes on.

Kaoru is sitting at his desk, back turned to Chishiya, a thick stack of papers in his hands.

"Now I understand," Kaoru says.

Chishiya raises an eyebrow. "Understand what?"

So Kaoru turns around in his chair, staring directly at his father. "Why it was so important to you to teach me about consent and helping other people out." A long pause. "Because you never did."

"I'm sorry?"

The nineteen-year-old boy stands up. He points a finger at his father. "How could you?! How could you make me seem like the villain at that age when you've done so many wrong things, and never even told me about them? How could you make the Borderlands sound full of suffering when you were one of the villains? How could you do that to Mom?! I don't care that she worked at the black market or that she ate humans- I care that you let her get raped! That you left her in the hands of the man who raped her and then expected a 'thank you' because you 'killed' him! That not once, it seemed like you actually cared about that! Or rather, seems!"

Kaoru stares at him, his chest heaving, face hot with fury and shame: shame he doesn't own but feels anyway, because someone had to feel it all these years, and clearly, it wasn't his father.

"You don't care," Kaoru spits. "All those years you taught me about boundaries, about being the smart person, about protecting people, and that wasn't because you believe in that. It was just guilt. You were trying to raise the kind of person you never had the courage to be. You made Mom live with it. You made her survive it. And now you walk around this house like nothing happened. Like the worst thing in her life is just ancient history. I don't know why or how Mom can still love you after that. It's probably just another manipulation tactic."

A silence falls so sharp it could cut skin.

Chishiya finally says, in a voice that's rougher than usual, "How do you know about this?"

"That's what you're worried about?!" Kaoru raises his voice even more. "I can't believe you! Are you not even going to try to defend yourself?"

"I did what I did. I can't undo it and I can't apologize for it, because it's not something you're able to apologize for. But you clearly don't know the whole story, Kaoru. You don't know what happened after. Our marriage is not a manipulation tactic. Your mother changed me."

"Oh, so does that mean that before Mom got in your life, you went around and set every woman up for rape?" Kaoru blurts out. "I swear, Dad, I can't care less about who you killed, but this- this is so incredibly cruel that I just... I just..." he stammers at a loss for words.

"Your mother is and was stronger than me. I-"

Kaoru laughs bitterly. "Indeed, she is. And that's not a compliment, by the way. That's what makes this worse. You watched her endure hell and took that as proof she didn't need you. You used her strength to justify your own absence."

Chishiya's mouth opens. Then closes again. He looks like he's searching for a defense that doesn't exist.

Kaoru doesn't need one. "Do you even remember what he did to her? Do you let yourself remember? Or do you file it away under the 'uncontrollable outcomes' column and move on? You may have tried to kill the man, but you didn't kill the damage. You didn't protect her. And now Hana's gone, and Mom is falling apart, and you're still up here trying to calculate the fallout."

Kaoru wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. "You're so brilliant, Dad. Everyone knows it. Because you let everybody think you are. But back then, when I was thirteen- when I searched those things... if you would've just told me about your own faults, I wouldn't have gotten mad at you the way I'm mad at you now."

Even after Kaoru slams the door behind him, footsteps echoing, the silence swells around Chishiya. For a long time, all he does is stand in the light of Kaoru's room.

Then he turns slowly to the wall behind him. Playing cards, hundreds of them, pinned and framed and arranged. Chishiya stares at them for a long, long time. The air feels tight in his throat.

He never thought of himself as a good man. He never needed to. But he thought-foolishly, maybe-that time had balanced the scales. That protecting Baya in and after the Borderlands, marrying her, raising their children had... made up for it. But he never truly held it with her.

He watched. He analyzed. He solved. He stayed nearby when she cried and rubbed her back in silence. Yet Kaoru had said it perfectly: he used her strength as a shield. A reason not to face the truth. He let her carry it alone. They never talk about what happened between Baya and Niragi, or Baya and Yaba. It's been years since that has been mentioned.

He presses two fingers to his temple and leans against Kaoru's desk. His eyes catch on the stack of papers Kaoru left behind. He doesn't touch them. He knows better than to violate Kaoru's trust again, even if it's already in ruins.

Instead, he lets himself slide into the chair and sits there. Somehow, she still came back to him. Still gave him her body, her laughter, her loyalty. She built a home with him. Let him raise her children.

A sharp sound punches from his chest. His hands tremble as he lowers his head into them. He thinks about Hana. About how she looked at him the day before she left.

You are not my parents anymore.

He's used to people hating him. He's used to being misunderstood, disliked, and distrusted. But not by his children.

A knock comes at the door. Barely audible. Chishiya doesn't move.

A moment later, the door creaks open.

It's Sakiko. Her hair is tousled from crying and sleep. She's still holding her plush to her chest and is blinking up at him with wide eyes.

"Papa?" she asks. "Why are you in Kaoru's chair?"

Chishiya turns his face away, wiping his face. "Just thinking."

Sakiko stops beside him, then places her hand on his sleeve. "I heard Kaoru yelling. Why was he yelling? What does ra-"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Koko," Chishiya interrupts. "Forget that word. Don't ever think about it or pronounce it until I educate you on it."

"Am I too young?"

"Yes. You're too young."

Sakiko nods, understanding. "Okay. I'm sorry Kaoru's mad at you. I'm sure-"

"Kaoru should be mad at me. Be mad at me too, please."

"I don't want to get mad at you, Papa," Sakiko whispers, wrapping her arms around him. "I love you!"

"Don't love me," he mutters, yet he picks her up and places her on his lap. "How about you go back to bed? I'll take care of Mama. She'll be okay. Hana will come back."

"You promise?"

"I promise," Chishiya states. "We'll give her a few months before we contact her, and assuming she still won't talk to us, we'll let her finish her course at the university before we go pick her up, okay? I promise you."

"Okay." Sakiko hugs him. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you, Koko."

And in Hana's room, Kaoru finishes writing an email, even though his sister told him not to respond.

Dear Hana,

I don't even know if it'll make it to you. Maybe you'll delete it the second you see my name, or maybe you'll read it two years from now, or never. I don't know. I just know that if I don't say this, it'll sit in my chest forever.

You broke us. I don't say that to guilt you. I say it because it's true. And maybe you needed to. Maybe that was the only way for you to breathe again. But the second that email came in, Mom stopped breathing, too. Sakiko cried for hours. I didn't know five-year-olds could even feel heartbreak that deep. She kept saying you'd miss her, that you'd come back to her, and then she started crying again. Her whole body shook.

Dad read your words in silence and tried to act like it didn't touch him. But he just bleeds internally. I confronted him about the things he did.

And me: I don't even know what I feel anymore. It's like I'm standing in a place where nothing is real. I keep thinking: she was just here. You braided Sakiko's hair in the kitchen and left your toothbrush in the bathroom and forgot your stupid jacket again. And now it's like you never existed.

I read your email to Mom and Dad. You said we were just kids to keep the house warm. I don't know what we were to you. But you were everything to me.

You're my little sister, Hana. I watched you grow up. I taught you how to lie to Mom about eating vegetables. I covered for you when you stayed out too late. You slept in my room when you had nightmares. You're the only one who knows how I cry. You once said I hold sadness like a person carries fire, afraid it'll burn someone if I hand it over.

You saw me. And now you're gone.

You're gone and I don't even know why. I mean, I know what you wrote. But what happened? What broke in you that none of us saw? Was it the way Dad never showed enough warmth? Was it the way Mom tried too hard? I understand you need space, but why me? Why did you have to block my number, too?

I'm sorry, Hana. I'm so sorry. I don't mind if you never speak to me again. If I never see you again. If one day you have a new family and forget we ever existed. I just want you to know that I love you. If you ever come back, if you ever need a place to land, even for five minutes, I'll be here. I'll leave the light on. You'll see me the way you've always seen me.

But Hana, if you saw me, how could you do this? How could you kill the family that tried to build a life around you? I know we failed you. Maybe in ways we don't understand yet. Maybe you spent years hurting in ways you never told us. And if that's true, then I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't see it. I'm sorry I thought love was enough.

You don't have to come back. You don't even have to forgive us, but I'll still be here. I'll still be your brother. And I'll never step over your body, even if you stepped over mine.

Love,
Kaoru

●・○・●・○・●

Voices float up from downstairs, into Kaede's room. Baya's voice, too broken. Chishiya's voice, too calm.

Kaede freezes where he's sitting. He wasn't eavesdropping on purpose, but the house is old. Sound travels easily. And now he can't move.

Usagi speaks first, worried. "Is something wrong?"

"She's not talking to us anymore."

Kaede tilts his head, frowning.

"She knows everything we've done, Usagi," Baya continues. "All of us."

"She sent an email," Chishiya says. "She doesn't want anything to do with us right now. Not until she decides otherwise."

"We can't even reach her," Baya's voice cracks. "Not by phone, not email, not anything. She has blocked everyone. Even Kaoru."

There's a silence after that. A long one.

Kaede doesn't realize he's standing until he feels the pull of his muscles. He doesn't remember climbing down the stairs. Doesn't remember pushing through the door to the room where he left his bag. But now he's inside, hands shaking, grabbing his phone.

He opens his messages.

He types: Hana, are you okay?

He presses send. At least, he tries to.

The message fails.

His fingers freeze. He tries calling. The screen barely rings once before: Call failed.

She blocked him.

She blocked him.

The air punches out of his lungs. He tries again. And again. Nothing. The rage hits him like a wave. He hasn't done anything.

Kaede grips the edge of a table so hard his knuckles go white. He wants to throw something. Punch something. Break a window. Shout her name out the door and demand to know why she cut him off with no explanation.

It was them. Their parents. They did this. Whatever she saw, whatever she found out-it wrecked her so hard she cut all of them off. Even him.

Even him. He drops into the desk chair, shaking. His mind races. What did they do? What the hell were they hiding that was so awful she can't even speak to Kaoru?

He knows Chishiya's always been cold and secretive. And Baya... she's sweet, sure, but also unstable. Kaede always saw the cracks. But he didn't think they were dangerous.

His breath trembles out of him. His vision blurs slightly. He types another message. Hana. Please just tell me you're safe. Please.

Message failed to send.

Kaede lets the phone drop to the floor.

Kaede doesn't even wait to think.

He's out of the house in five minutes. No one sees him go. He doesn't want them to. He doesn't even care that it's late, or that it's raining, or that he's in a thin hoodie with nothing in his pockets but gum and his cracked phone.

He takes the back streets toward the club, fists clenched. She blocked me. Those words beat with every step.

He gets to the club after twenty minutes. The place is full tonight. The usual guys are there. Kaede doesn't talk to them unless he has to. He changes in the back, tapes his fists, throws on his mouthguard, and steps into the lineup.

The guy in charge sees him and raises a brow. "You good, Kaede?"

"I'm fine," he lies.

He gets matched with a guy named Riku. Kaede's fought him once before. He lost by a point.

This time, the second the bell rings, Kaede explodes. He moves with precision. His punches land faster, sharper, and harder. He doesn't stop to breathe. He dodges Riku's swing and lands a punch that snaps the guy's head back. Then a hook. He hears shouting from the crowd but Kaede doesn't register the noise.

How could she leave him like this? His knuckles are splitting beneath the tape. Riku tries to block him, but Kaede knocks him sideways.

The ref calls the match thirty seconds later. Riku can't even stand. Kaede doesn't stop. He demands another fight.

"You're bleeding," the ref warns.

Kaede doesn't care. "Next."

They throw him in with another guy. And another. He wins. Every time. His fists ache, his nose bleeds, his chest heaves, but he doesn't stop.

After the fourth fight, they try to make him sit. Try to force him to cool off. But Kaede shoves the stool away and shouts, "Again!" He points at one of the heavier guys on the sideline. "Get in."

It's the closest Kaede has ever been to feeling empty and full at the same time. His whole body pulses.

You left. You blocked me like I never mattered.

The next opponent dances around Kaede like a shadow, landing hit after hit, and Kaede barely defends himself. He stumbles, vision spinning. He swings wildly and misses. He's gasping for air, but there's a high thrill rushing through his body. He wants to be punished. He wants to hurt like Hana must've hurt, all alone in a house full of people who she thought she could trust.

He keeps going. A fist cracks against the side of his head so hard it sends him to one knee. Someone shouts, "End it!" but Kaede stands. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

By the seventh fight, he can't even lift his arms properly. His elbows are locking up. His legs are jelly. His heartbeat thunders against his temples. He can't tell whether he's soaked with sweat or blood or both. He can't stop trembling. He's overheating. His stomach churns.

He tells them he wants one more. They look at him like he's lost his mind. Someone even laughs. The guy he's supposed to fight refuses. "I'm not gonna kill a kid."

Kaede steps into the ring anyway. A different guy steps up. They start. It's a disaster. Kaede barely dodges. He swings too slow. His knees are giving out underneath him. And then his body quits.

His ears start ringing. A deep, vibrating pulse that blocks out sound entirely. His chest tightens. His eyes roll slightly, and suddenly the lights above him twist, multiply, and fold in on themselves.

His opponent lands a blow. Though it's not even that hard, he slams into the mat and tries to push himself up, but his arms are useless.

Someone runs over. Then another. He tries to say he's fine, but the words come out slurred. His lips are numb. He's lifted off the ground by two people, dragged to a corner. Water is shoved into his hands. He can't drink. His mouth won't work. Someone presses a towel to the back of his neck. Someone else crouches in front of him and says something he can't hear.

He hears Hana's voice instead, or maybe just imagines it. He hears it even as he ends up in the silent locker room. He sits alone on the bench, his body slouched forward, drenched in exhaustion. His head hangs low between his shoulders, eyes fixed on the floor tiles.

He breathes in sharp. Tries to push the fury down. But there's no space left for it to go. He feels like a stranger in his own skin.

He peels the tape off his wrists. The skin underneath is blistered. His knuckles are split open and dirty. He pulls off his shirt and stares at himself in the mirror: at the bruises along his chest, the cut above his brow, and the new look in his eyes.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches into the bag he permanently keeps in his locker. There's a razor tucked in the side pocket, meant for shaving.

Meant for normal things, but nothing is normal anymore. He holds it for a while. Just sits there on the bench, staring down at the silver edges before he presses the razor against the inside of his arm. Just for a second. Just to feel it. A cold prick. Then he pulls. It stings. Then burns. Then bleeds.

He watches it. The line of red trickles down his forearm and drips onto the tile. One drop. Two. Three. The sight of it drowns something in his head. His thoughts slow. The pressure inside him shifts.

He feels something real, though it doesn't last. His body sways. The adrenaline that kept him upright begins to crash. His vision wavers. His stomach twists again. He grabs a towel, presses it to his arm, but it's sloppy.

Kaede stumbles to his feet, dragging his shirt on over the fresh wound.His hands are shaking too badly to zip his bag. He shoves everything in his locker and rushes out the back door without saying a word to anyone.

He bolts down dark streets, past closed shops and flickering lights. His feet hurt. His side screams. He has only one place to go.

He turns a corner and sprints toward the apartment complex. His vision swims. He's not sure if it's blood loss or panic. His arm throbs under his sleeve. His lungs are on fire. He reaches the front door and buzzes the intercom.

No answer.

Again.

Still nothing.

He pounds on the glass door. "Shirabi!" he shouts. "Open!"

A light switches on from the second floor. A shadow moves. The door makes a sound. Kaede shoves it open, stumbles inside, and climbs the stairs two at a time. When Shirabi opens the apartment door, sleep in his eyes, Kaede nearly collapses into him.

"Kaede? What-"

He just lets himself be pulled inside. Lets Shirabi close the door. Lets himself fall. Onto the floor. Into someone's arms. Away from himself.

The blood seeps through the fabric, warm against his skin. "You're the only person who's never done me wrong, Yoshiro," he murmurs.