"Just shut up, you ignorant asshole! Don't think you know everything based on your own shitty experiences, and leave my life alone!" shouted the tall female, throwing her palms down onto the deep brown desk and staring a redhead named Gaara straight in the eye. Her vibrant blue hair fell in locks in front of her face, several stray strands sticking to her perspiring cheeks. Her violet eyes burned with a fiery passion, illuminating her pale skin. She would die to defend her beliefs, and Gaara knew it. He lingered between shocked and amused at her outburst, fighting a grim smile as he mused at how he could toy with her mind. Several moments passed, Ayame's muscles tightened and tense as she stood behind the desk in contrast to Gaara's relaxed state, sitting in a plastic chair and silently laughing in his mind. "God dammit you need to grow a heart somewhere in that icy soul of yours, I'm not your toy nor game you bastard," were the last words she stated, rather calmy, and he remained stunned in his little plastic chair as she slammed the door shut behind her. The deep wooden desk with her hand print smeared on it, and the little plastic chair that seated the sociopathic boy.

"I love you," he muttered, fighting tears as he bit his tongue just to taste the blood. "Such a fun game, but it hurts so much to play it," he thought to himself. The image of her short messy hair streaming in the wind haunted his mind. His fingers combed the empty air in front of him as he imagined what it could feel like. Nihilist. Sadist. Cold heartless boy. These words made their rounds in his head. "Quit hurting her so selfishly, and at the least give her the ice cold stone in your chest." Throb. He clinged onto his shirt as he had done as a small boy, and a tear dropped onto the floor. Plip.

"Jirou... you're my only hope now, please, stay with me," Ayame cried, crumpling into a pile on the floor. Her broken sobs echoed throughout the small, dank room; the wooden surroundings and metal walls reflected her sorrow and desperation. "Stupid girl. There are no such things as truly good people. I don't need to waste my time with you," he answered, standing tall and strightened up in front of the pitiful mess. Contempt shown clear in his black eyes, a hatred and rage developing in his mind towards the little girl. "Daddy... Daddy..." she bawled, tears rimming her eyes and trickling down her face. "Jirou... I said I loved you! You're the father I never had! Why? WHY? Don't leave me..." she trailed off, looking pathetically into his angered eyes. He kicked her onto her side and walked out the door. Nihilist. Sadist. Cold hearted man. That was Jirou and his tan skin. His black eyes, his light hair.

"I survived that. After years I became the best friend anyone could ever have. I dedicated my life to strangers to make sure they would be happy. I was the one who became the truly good human being. I never wanted to see someone hurt, I never want to hurt anybody. Happiness is a way of life, and I've chosen it," Ayame spoke to herself. Her real father had abandoned her emotionally, so she turned to Jirou, a sociopath and murderer to replace him. He made her strong, he taught her. She loved him, he betrayed her. Now at the age of fourteen, the sixteen year old redhead boy was challenging everything she held so close to her. Now living in one of the small dorms in the school that housed so many students, she made her way past the laughing classmates. The glow of the soft green grass and shine of the blue sky burned into her, her foot steps loud and harsh against the sound of the singing birds. Down the corridor, turn left at the second hallway, room 777. Her shiny metallic key turned in the lock and she collapsed onto the bed, hugging her pillow and wishing it were a boy she could love. The smell of musk and lavender filled the red room, bits of purple mixed in to give an elegant look. Her baggy, black, knee-length shorts spread across the bed spread as she sprawled out to feel the coolness of the covers. A sigh escaped her lips as she sipped a V-Fusion drink lying on her nightstand, planning the rest of her day. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she remembered his deep voice, the blue-eyed boy's voice as he said "I hate people, and there's no hope for me, now leave me alone and go get some common sense. What you believe is a lie fed to you by your own imagination." Bastard. What the hell happened to him anyways? And why does he never sleep? Either way, it explains how cranky he is.

Gaara sat on an elevated brick garden border, staring into the sky as he grasped the wall which he sat upon, feeling the warmth as he imagined holding Ayame's hand. "Why dammit... why," he muttered feebly, digging his fingers into the bricks as he screwed his eyes shut and fought back sobs. He looked down and could only wonder why he had to be like he was. Why he had to be so heartless. Why it was him to be ostracized. Why he was dumb enough to hurt the one person he could honestly say he loved. Why they hated him in return. Why he was so cold. His heart throbbed in pain and disgust for himself, his teeth clenched in frustration. He tried so hard to fight his sociopathy, given to him by his own family. "I can't," is all he could think. She had been the only one that hadn't run away from him. The only one who tried to help him. The only one kind enough to do anything for him at all. He was taken away by how strong she was... How stubborn and dependable she could be. A warm feeling in his chest arose, followed by a chill as he realized she was and would probablly never be there. "DAMMIT AYAME I NEED YOU," he shouted, choking up and eventually crying as his hunched over figure shook with his own rattling breaths. Plip, plip, plip. A pause. He felt someone's finger gently wipe away the tears from his eye, their skin stroking the delicate areas where his rings had developed.

He felt their arm tense, and remained motionless as they struggled to not shove him down, to not hurt him so evilly.