Lucy Heartfilia often wondered what goes on the mind of a person before they commits suicide.

What was the exact feeling they were having before they jumped? Regret, anger, loneliness, sorrow? Does the air felt different? What are their thoughts while they cut their wrists? Do their heart pounded so fast they can't breathe? Do they search for the last pull of help? Did it scared them while they waited for the drugs they ate to work? How does it feel, waiting yourself to die? The question is limitless and the answers are infinite.

Every answers is disturbing.

But not to Lucy, never to Lucy.

She was a writer and a psychology graduate, and her mind is opened for all things. She often wondered, staring particularly at nothing when she do, and now she did as she sat at the roofed walkway at the institution of Fairy Tail Hospital. She was hoping to talk to one of the patient of the said organization and was glad they didn't declined her request. It maybe helps that her best friend works there as a psychiatrist and assured the institution that she has enough experience and wouldn't messed up.

She was a sight even though she only wear a plain white shirt, jeans and sandals. Often, people threw her curious glances but no one dared to approach her. It was because of the far away looked on her face. It was like to people who didn't know her she had a glass wall surrounding her, thin, ice-cold, and impenetrable.

She had gone to Blue Pegasus and graduated magna cum laude. She was a psychiatrist, and one of the foremost experts in trauma in people. She had extensive experience with schizophrenic and bipolar. She worked with them and their families, often with excellent results. She had been part of the consulting team for the children in Lamia Scale after the school shooting, and had advised the Magnolia public schools.

She was an expert in her field, and appropriately admired and acknowledged by her peers, but when she reached her twenty-fifth birthday, she learned it wasn't enough. She found what she was looking for in writing psychology books and left her job. Now she was contented. Three years after, she had written two highly respected books for laymen, about the effect of trauma on young children.

And now she was interested of the mind of a suicidal human being.

Her phone ringed. It was a call she'd been waiting. "Hi, Levy," she said into the phone, and relaxed in her chair. The marveling demeanor she kept always whenever she writes vanished when she talked to her. In spite the fact that she left the psychology world, they were good friends, and had stayed very close. "Where are you now?"

"I have a patient five minutes from now. I just called to remind you. Is it okay to wait?" A vision of Levy's office instantly flash into her head. She hadn't seen it in three years. It was one of the many places she missed when she left her work.

"Of course, it's okay. Who am I to complain anyway?"

"Don't guilt me, Lu-chan."

She smiled at the phone and can't help but laughed at the whiny tone of her voice. Even in twenty-eight, three diplomas, and a one published book about troubled teenagers, Levy Mcgarden is still a kid. "It's really okay. I'll just come by your office at four. Is that okay?"

"Of course, it's okay. Who am I to complain anyway?"

She laughed at her answer and hanged up. Levy and Lucy are friends since Gajeel introduced them to each other. Gajeel is Lucy's bestfriend and Levy's boyfriend. They'd been going out for almost two years and Lucy was happy for them. Gajeel has been her best bud since college. They both study psychology and have the same specialties, and she often teased Gajeel that he was a Bipolar himself, which would be snarled back with an insult.

She smiled at the air. That was the days. She and Gajeel are the most mismatched best friends in the history. She was neat, he was sloppy. He liked violence, she detest it. She like loved stories and such and he thinks she's weird for liking them.

It was ironic when Gajeel found the girl for him before her. She teased him endlessly about it, and she still was whenever they see each other or whenever she visited his place.

She was happy when she met Levy. She was every girl could ask for a best friend. They both loved books, shopping and writing. Levy inspired her to write and she was thankful for her because without her she wouldn't find what she was looking for.

She was grateful to have this two wonderful people in her life. Even though both of her parents died when she was eighteen, she didn't let herself hate the world. Instead she strived hard to find the happiness she know her parents want for her.

But sometimes, like right now, when the air is quiet and the clouds are fascinating in the sky, she wondered about her feelings. She was content, yes, she have everything she wished for. She was happy.

But she can't shake the feeling that something is missing.

It was odd, it was ridiculous, but she felt it and it was there, in her heart and in the back of her mind. Her memories of childhood is blurry. No one knows about her past, even the orphanage that keep her. She was adopted and her new parents explained that she suffered amnesia from trauma. It was her urge, when she was grown enough, that she'd study psychology and maybe, just maybe, she can cure herself and have her memories back.

Sadly, it didn't happened. She lost hoped and she told herself to be satisfied and she was. She just wished the feeling of emptiness in that part of her heart shake off.

She was sitting there, her mind elsewhere, when suddenly a big blue cat snatched her papers away from her hands and run. She stared at its running form for a moment, her mind blank, then her eyes went wide and she was running after it. "Hey! Come back here! That's mine!"

The blue cat went left and right, across the infinite fields and left again and disappeared. As fast as she could, she ran along the building, sailing over plants, and leaping over obstacles and pushing away people in her path. She never run this fast in her life and now she knew that her book's life depended on it. The cat turned right at the corner and disappeared again as she continued to run without stopping for breath or for anything. She knew exactly what she was doing and where she was going—or, in this case, where the cat was going.

If only that dumb cat stopped running.

Lucy found the cat beside the enormous Sakura tree. She was fuming, the cat drained the energy out of her. She recognizes the cat was smarter than others, like it was trained to be, but she wasn't certain what she'd been expecting. The cat had an owner.

She paused, studying the guy who was sprawled on the ground beside the Sakura tree. About the age as me, Lucy decided. Young, slim, and had an oddly pink hair. He had a white scarf wrapped around his neck, which is weird since it was blistering hot day in summer. He was wide awake, staring at the sky, and had his one arm behind his head to support it.

Mechanically he stroke the blue cat's fur behind its ear.

"Excuse me."

He glanced at her. His eyes surprised her. They were very light, very clear, and green. Somehow they were at odds with his face and his coloring—until you noticed how direct they were, and how carefully they watched, as if he were a man who measured everything and everyone.

"Yeah?"

"Is the blue cat yours?" She gestured at the blue cat resting on his lap, but the guy continued to look at her face, not the cat. The stare anxious her for some reason. "He steal my papers."

"Happy is not a thief." He sat. He shook his head, and dusted himself off Sakura petals that had fallen to him. He gave her a-you're-weird-look. "He was just playing with you."

"It would help if he didn't do that again—"

"Did you steal it, Happy?" The guy asked the cat, which annoyed Lucy since he cut her off, the cat purred in response. He glance up at her again. "He said, he didn't. Would you blame me if I believe him over you? He's been my companion for years."

"Oh? So you know cat-language then?" She remarked sarcastically, her eyes rolling.

To her irritation the guy was unmoved by her sarcasm. "I can't help it if I'm awesome."

"Awesome? By dyeing his cat blue?" The cat meowed at her and she told herself not to be annoyed by just a stupid big fat cat. Laughter was now burning in his eyes and she palmed her forehead. "Please, don't tell me he just agreed."

"Actually, he just told you you're weird."

"Says the guy who dyed his cat blue."

"At least I didn't accuse strangers of stealing."

Annoyance came back with a vengeance. She forced herself to smile. "My papers were clearly stolen by your cat. I hope you don't tell him to. That papers are really important. Can you give it me, please?" She asked with gritted teeth. He was beginning to irritate her too.

Without interest, the guy grabbed her papers up from the cat's mouth. To her chagrin, his eyes skimmed the paper. She resist the urge to snatch the paper away from his prying eyes. "You're a writer."

"Yes, I am. Now can you give my papers back to me?" She held out her hand but he ignored it. He glanced up at her with interest instead.

"Why are you wondering about suicide-attempters patient?"

"It was none of your business."

He smiled at her, pushing the boundaries of her insanity because that was what he'd done best. "You don't want your papers then?"

"I want it." The smile made him look like a little boy, one capable of all sorts of shenanigans and mischief. She didn't know what she preferred, his serious stare or his disarming smile. "I've come a long way to get that piece of thing. I want that and badly and right now."

His smile tilted a few degrees into something closer to a sneer. Impatient little woman, he thought. The kind of woman he liked to played pranks to. "What if I don't want to give it to you?" The question gave anger in her eyes and gave him mirth. "Doesn't writers believe in the sayings? Finders, keepers."

"I don't believe in such sayings."

"Oh?"

"And I don't believe you have the right to hold on to my paper either." Though she would have preferred to sit since her legs were tired from running, she kept her ground. "It would be stealing."

"Do you like accusing people their thieves on daily basis?"

"Only if I have proof." She stepped over this time and snatched her papers away from his hands. He didn't do anything but his eyes glistened with amusement. Damn him to hell.

She started walking away when he called on to her. "Are you here to interview one of those suicide-attempt's patient?"

"Yes." Despite her anger, the politeness in her forced her to reply. "I need it for my book so if you'll excuse me, I still need to find—"

"I'm a suicide-attempt patient."

By instinct she let out a snort of disbelief. The guy gave her a surprised look. "You don't believe me." Somehow, the idea didn't insult him instead gave him pure unadulterated pleasure he hadn't known for a long time.

"Are you kidding me?" The guy was wearing rough jeans, a black collared shirt and his pink colored hair is messy, waxed. He look carefree and cool. He doesn't look like a patient at all.

"You do realize that you should ask that question before laughing at me. That might hurt my feelings if I'm really a suicide-attempt's patient."

"Perhaps I don't see you as one."

Delight, Lucy see, flushed on his face. He stood. He was taller than she'd expected—though she wasn't altogether sure just what she'd expected. He smelled like something soft and silky you wanted to touch in a dark room.

Casually, she took a step back. His muffler was reminding her that she was sweating buckets. "That scarf is ridiculous."

He watched her, unamused this time. "You've got a smart mouth, lady."

"Lucy," she corrected. "Lucy Heartfilia." Turning she offered her hand formally. She had this immense gut feeling she'd regret this later.

His lips curved. "Dragneel, Natsu Dragneel."

"Hello, Natsu. Now, I know it was fun messing with me," The expected mischievous grin broke on his face and she rolled her eyes. "But I really need to get on with my business. I can't really say it's a pleasure knowing you, and I know I won't be seeing you again, so . . . bye."

"Lucy."

The way he said her name made her looked back. He has his left hand on his pocket and the other wrapped around tightly on his cat. She froze. The way he said her name was . . . It's bothering her. Why does it seem she heard it before somewhere? This feeling she have now, why does it seem like she already felt it a long time ago? The feeling was . . . familiar? Wistful? Melancholic? Longing? No . . . it was something else. Something way deeper. . .

Nostalgic.

The word was so accurate it taken her aback. Who is he? Have they seen each other before? She stared at his soulful green eyes. It wasn't burning with mirth anymore. His eyes changed. It became empty—a black deep abyss of emptiness. Void of anything. Blank.

Then he grinned and the looked vanished. "I hope we see each other again." Then he waved, walked away, leaving her wondering what the hell that was.

After a while, Lucy inhaled sharply and get out of—um whatever it was. That was nothing, she told herself. It was just her writer's mind. Her imagination. Part of her mind disagrees but she ignored it. She had work to do.

Lucy went directly to Levy's office. Levy's assistant, Jet let her entered the room. Impressive, Lucy thought as she studied Levy's office. The carpet was so thick and soft she could be happy sleeping on it. She knew enough to recognize the French influence in her furnishings, but not enough to pin down the period. She'd used deep sapphire blue and mustard yellow to offset the stunning white of the carpet. She could spot an antique when she saw one, and she spotted quite a few in this room. Her romantic taste was as obvious to her as the Monet seascape on the wall. The place changed enormously during three years. Levy was sipping her orange juice as she entered the room.

"It was not surprising to see you here," she told her as she handed her a can of coke and sat behind her wooden desk. "So what's the deal this time?"

Lucy took a sip. "How come you know I have a favor?"

"You usually have."

"That's a nice thing to say."

She shrugged. "It's the truth, though to be fair, I like having you here. Whenever you visit, there was something exciting that would happened."

"Well I don't know about that." She set the papers down the table for her to see. "I'm trying to write a book about the mind of a person who attempts suicide. It was not something but this interest me."

"I see." Levy read the papers then clucked her tongue at the mud at the side of the paper. "Lucy, I thought you had OCD. Or did you overcome it? This paper is filthy."

"That's a long story." One she wanted to forget, she added in her mind but didn't dare to utter it, since she know Levy would be begging for more information. She wasn't in the mood to gossip. "Can you help me? I've been a psychiatrist myself but this wasn't my specialty. And I want to hear the emotions through the victim's mouth not, from my point of view or my better judgement."

"So you want to interview a suicide-attempt patient?" She asked. Lucy nodded.

"Yes, though I know it would be troublesome."

"No. Of course not. Though we should find someone who was almost healed and was about to get discharged." Levy stood and opened the cabinets behind her. Lucy watched her root through envelopes of folders and papers. "Just to be safe for the both of you."

"Thanks." Lucy remembered Natsu Dragneel suddenly and asked Levy about him. "You know the patients name here by heart, right Levy?"

"Yes. Mostly. Almost all of them. Why?"

"Do you know a patient named Natsu Dragneel? Is he a suicide attempt patient?"

"Natsu?" Amazed, Levy twisted her head and stared at her. "You know Natsu Dragneel?"

"I just met him," Lucy nibbled on her bottom lip as answer. Levy knew she did this whenever she tried to hide something. She wasn't aware of this habit of hers. "So? Is he?"

This time Levy leaned in her desk to stare right at her eyes. She was surprised she found curiosity in them. "You're interested in him." She uttered in pure amazement. It takes much to make Lucy Heartfilia interested on people, let alone male people.

"What do you mean, interested? I was just asking."

"Yep. You're interested. No, don't deny it." Lucy closed her mouth and swallowed her protest. Levy smiled at her. "It's not going to work and you know it. The question is, are you interested enough?"

Lucy debated this for a while, then curiosity gets the best of pride. "Okay. I am. Happy?"

Levy grinned. With a satisfied nod, she took a folder from the cabinet.

"He really was interesting," Levy mumbled, she browse the papers for a second, read one and hand the whole folder to her. "Don't worry. It's not just you. Almost fifty percent of the psychology world begged to know what goes on his mind."

Lucy opened the folder and read. It surprises her to see it almost empty. There was his name. He was twenty-eight years old. We have the same age, Lucy thought. There was nothing written where he came from, who is his family or just about anything about his background.

"No family." Lucy mumbled under her breath. No one was there to visit him. That must be sorrowful.

"Yes. He was alone when the police get him here. They found him wandering around the streets," Levy explained. She sighed at the memory. "They told me he was a filthy boy and he was violent and fierce but still he was just a little boy."

"A boy?" Lucy looked up to gape at Levy. How long had he'd been here?

Levy tapped the folder. "It's written there, see? He'd been here since he's eight."

"Eight?" Twenty years? He's been here for that long? Lucy stare at her in curiosity. "Who is his Doctor?"

"It's Dr. Igneel. He was an excellent doctor. I'm told he didn't give up Natsu's situation even though they labeled him as the lost case. I'm told they grew closer together and have an amazing bond, they are often mistaken as father and son since their relationship was equal to someone you have relation with blood with."

"The lost case?" Her eyebrow rose at that.

Levy gestured the folder. She get back to reading once again. Levy didn't cringed when she shrieked in bewilderment. It was the expected reaction.

"39 attempts to suicide?!"