So I'm back with another new fanfiction...I'm not dead, I swear. This one's a bit of a far cry from my usual stuff, but it's just something I've been feeling lately/a sign that I've searched DeviantArt too much for reference material for Reborn art. Oh, and don't be too intimidated by the length of this chapter; it all evens out in the end.

Disclaimer #1: I don't think it actually needs to be rated M, as there's a minimum of swearing and violence and stuff, but thematically it might fall under M. Just in case, it's M.

Disclaimer #2: I don't own this show or any of its characters.

Disclaimer #3: I don't do shipping, ever. But see the above note on DeviantArt searching.

My name is Hayato Gokudera. I'm the right-hand man of the Vongola's 10th boss. Or so I keep telling everybody. The truth of the matter is that I feel like I'm not up for the task. I'm highly concerned for his safety, yes, but...I'm weak. I've lost so many fights for the 10th; I just keep failing him. I don't understand why I'm still so weak. Hasn't growing up in a world that hates me made me strong? Wouldn't being a bastard in the underworld prepare me for such a task? That's what I thought...I guess I was wrong.

This fear of mine has manifested itself over the course of the weeks following the Ring Conflict. Watching everybody else win...while I couldn't...it was devastating. I was so weak, despite all the training I had done with Shamal; I still am. The only difference is that now my weakness is coupled with an unholy self-loathing. I don't think anybody has noticed; I put on a good show in front of the 10th--I wouldn't want to worry him. I think he suspects that something is amiss; after all, it was the middle of our science class, and I was missing.

Well, I wasn't "missing," per say. I left the class for a smoke on the roof, and I never did that. Today, I needed it. He and Yamamoto were just too damn cheery--not that they shouldn't be, of course; I just couldn't handle all the happiness around me when inside I was empty. I didn't want to spoil the 10th's day.

I removed the cigarette from my lips, blowing smoke into the crisp morning air, slightly blurring my view of the city. That morning was unseasonably cool, but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything except my own hatred of myself and my weakness. So lost within my thoughts, I took no notice of the door opening and closing somewhere behind me. It was a surprise to me when somebody grabbed my shoulder and forcefully turned me around; I nearly stumbled and fell off the roof.

"What are you doing up here, Hayato Gokudera?" I wasn't shocked that the person up here with me was Hibari; he never seemed to be in class, but was always around when you even considered breaking a rule. I was breaking at least two.

"Smoking," I replied blandly, blowing some smoke in his face. It wasn't necessarily for any added effect; I still had some in my lungs when he turned me around, and it needed to be expelled.

Needless to say, he was irritated. "That's against the rules. You can't smoke on school grounds."

I should've just stopped there, but there was no point in doing that. "And what are you going to do about it?"

His eyes narrowed hatefully, and he growled, "I'll bite you to death."

I rolled my eyes.

He punched me in the face.

My hands flew to where his fist had impacted, checking for blood. Yep, I was bleeding; he might even have broken my nose. I didn't have any time to inspect for structural damage, however, as he grabbed me by my hair and slammed me into the rooftop. To be honest, I think I was lucky, in a way, to remain conscious. I could have been dead.

There was a moment where Hibari paused. I wasn't sure if he was debating on how to continue kicking the crap out of me, or if he was thinking about something else. Then again, I didn't particularly care what he was thinking about; I was more concerned with how much blood I was losing.

Hibari appeared particularly pissed when he picked me up by the front of my shirt and slammed me against the door. I had a fraction of a thought about how this was going to damage a multitude of my brain cells before his hiss distracted me.

"Why aren't you fighting back, Hayato Gokudera?" I don't know if he was more irritated or confused.

The worst part was that I didn't have an answer. I just spat blood in his face. A malevolent grin came to his face; that certainly wasn't a good sign.

"You're different today," he stated, moving slightly closer. "What's wrong with you?"

"You interrupted my smoke," I lied, having difficulty seeing through the blood pouring over my left eye. I was hoping he'd just knock me unconscious so I could leave.

"That's not it," he informed, again narrowing his eyes, but in a more inspecting manner this time. "Something's not right."

"Is it the blood? I bet it's the blood."

He kicked me in the shin. Apparently antagonizing him wasn't working as well as it usually would. "Don't fuck with me, Hayato Gokudera. What's wrong with you?"

Now I was starting to get irritated. "What are you talking about? Everything was great until you attacked me."

I think the subtle hint of rage in my voice appeased whatever qualms he had--or, at least, allayed them sufficiently--which allowed him to continue uninhibited. He leaned in more, putting his face uncomfortably close to mine; I would have thought something obscene would happen if not for two things: that malicious glint in his eye, and the fact that it was Hibari. "That's more like you," he murmured evilly, moving even closer.

I assumed that he would punctuate that statement with another attack, probably in my unprotected midsection. I was wrong. He got as close to me as he could without touching me, and then, after a fraction of a moment, he did, pressing his lips against mine. I was surprised--no, that doesn't even begin to cover it; shocked and terrified hardly began to cover the strange, paralyzing sensation that overtook my mind and body when he kissed me. I couldn't even begin to process what was happening.

This paralysis lasted only ten, maybe fifteen seconds, but it felt like time had stopped. I finally shoved him off, unintentionally knocking my already-throbbing head against the door. Confusion and disgust comingled on my expression, and Hibari seemed to take that poorly. Great.

Shockingly, his face turned a little red as he averted his attention momentarily. He stepped back over to me, grabbing me by the front of my shirt again. This time, I didn't know what to think was going to happen, and I prepared myself for the worst.

"You are to tell nobody of this," he instructed lethally, glaring at me despite the fact that his face still burned red.

I blinked. "Who the fuck would I tell about this--?"

"That's what I suspected," Hibari interrupted, punching me in the stomach. I think that hit, which left me breathless and gasping for air, was meant to distract me from the hit I was to receive moments later from his tonfa; it hit hard enough to break the door's hinges and knock me down the stairs. I lost count, but I think my head hit four stairs before nailing the tile floor.

Classes must have changed while I was getting my ass kicked. There were no footsteps or sounds of life in the hallway. For a few moments, I laid on the floor, moving in and out of consciousness. Eventually, I heard the sound of footsteps; it sounded like two people to me.

"Gokudera!"

"Is he okay?"

"Look, he's bleeding TO THE EXTREME!"

"We need to get him to the clinic."

"Come on, Yamamoto, help me carry him."

I was wrong, there were three. I don't know exactly what happened next because I finally passed out.

When I awoke again, I immediately recognized that I was in the clinic based on the whiteness of the room. At first, I thought I was alone; I soon discovered that I was wrong again.

"Oh, Gokudera! You're awake!"

What was that baseball-nut doing in here? "How long was I out?" I asked, my hand reaching instinctively to where there had been blood earlier. The wounds were cleaned and bandaged; something told me that it wasn't Shamal's doing.

"About half an hour," Yamamoto replied hurriedly. "What happened to you?"

What the fuck kind of idiotic question was that? "Hibari kicked the crap out of me."

"Hibari? Why?"

Was he serious? "Because I was skipping class and smoking."

"Why didn't you fight back?" He seemed way too concerned about the situation.

I wasn't going to answer him truthfully. No chance. "I didn't need to be in any more trouble."

He didn't seem moved. "Gokudera, how are you feeling?"

How the fuck did he think I felt? "I ache."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

I couldn't help it; I had to ask. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Oh." He scratched the back of his head and laughed nervously in his signature fashion. "I was worried about you, so I decided to wait until you woke up."

That's a lie. "Well, I'm up. You can leave now."

"I want to make sure you're okay before I go."

"My ass."

"What?"

Shit. What should have remained a thought apparently didn't. "I want to know what you're doing here. You can't be concerned about me."

Yamamoto blinked stupidly, like he didn't understand. "What are you talking about? You're my friend and I like you; why wouldn't I be concerned?"

"Friend, huh?" I snorted in contempt. There was no way.

"Yeah, I'm your friend! Gokudera, I'm worried about you. You're acting strange, and now you're hurt. I want to know what's going on," he demanded, trying to glare at me. Of course, it was the baseball-nut, so it had no effect.

"Nothing's going on," I informed flatly, averting my attention elsewhere.

"Gokudera! I want to know what's wrong. I'm really worried. I wish you would tell me what was wrong."

"It's nothing. What do you care, anyway?"

"We're friends and I care about you." I stopped listening after that, but I was sure that he kept talking. The rant continued for a short while, and I could tell by the intonation of his voice that it was coming to an end. I tuned back in just in time to hear something that I wish I hadn't. "And I love you."

Surprise didn't even remotely begin to cover the emotion and expression I had when I turned back to him; hell, shock and horror hardly began to cover it. That baseball-nut turned bright red and scratched the back of his head while laughing nervously. I didn't say anything to him; I just stared uncomfortably.

"That just kind of slipped out," he murmured awkwardly. "Well, can't take it back now."

Oh, how I wish he could. "You've got to be kidding."

He shook his head, his blush intensifying slightly. "No, Gokudera...I'm not."

Somehow, a part of me knew he wasn't. And it was so disgusted that it didn't even gloat. "I need to get out of here," I stated flatly, sitting up a little too quickly. After recovering from my momentary vertigo, I swung my feet over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Yamamoto immediately asked, flying to his feet. "You're injured!"

"I'm going home," I grumbled, getting to my feet.

"But Gokudera--" Too late. I had already shut the door with significantly more force than was necessary. There was a part of me that realized that I had probably hurt that baseball-nut, but that part of me had been stifled by some secondary part that had come to dominate my persona lately, and I didn't give a fuck about his feelings.

I don't really know what happened that evening. I got home in the early afternoon, I assume, after stumbling around the city for at least half an hour, and I went directly to bed. For a while, I simply lay there, trying to silence my brain. I tossed and turned restlessly, my mind racing, attempting to process my life. Stressful enough a prospect when things are going well, the same task was phenomenally more difficult in my current mental and physical state. My thoughts shot from one topic to another in an incomprehensible pattern. What was Yamamoto's plan, saying those things to me? I don't think all of my wounds were properly attended to. How was it that I was so weak that I couldn't even defend myself against Hibari? Hibari...why did he kiss me? Just what the fuck was going on?

These and a thousand other unnecessary thoughts plagued me as I slipped between sleep and consciousness. My mind hadn't rested at all, and my body was impatient, unable to remain in bed any longer. As I rose from bed, I glanced at the clock. 2:34. It was late, but my restless body refused to let me lay any longer. I made my way into the main living room of my apartment, I happened to glance at the answering machine on the table. The red light was blinking, meaning that there was a message. Curious, I made my way over to the machine. Seven messages. Why did I have seven messages? Nobody ever called me...nobody cared enough to try and contact me. I pressed the button.

"Hey Gokudera, it's Yamamoto. I just called to make sure you got home alright. Nobody's heard from you in a while--" Delete.

"Gokudera, it's Yamamoto--" Delete.

"Hey Gokudera, it's Tsuna." The 10th? I hope I hadn't worried him too much. "I hope you're feeling alright; Yamamoto said you'd gone home to rest. I guess I'll call back when you're up; you're probably napping. I'll talk to you later."

Beep.

"Gokudera, it's Tsuna again. I guess you're still sleeping. I'll try again later."

Beep.

"Gokudera! We're worried TO THE EXTREME! You need to pick up the phone!"

Beep.

What an idiot.

"Gokudera, it's Yamamoto. I'm really worried--" Delete.

"Gokudera, it's Tsuna. I just wanted to know how you were doing--"

"Did he answer it?"

"No, it's the answering machine again. Did you get him before, Yamamoto?"

"No, it was the answering machine then, too."

"Why won't he pick up?"

"We should go to his house and see if he's okay."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No."

I stared blankly at the answering machine as I groped around the table for my cigarettes and matchbook. I guess they never did see my apartment...not that I'd want them to...

"We have to find him TO THE EXTREME!"

"Can't we just look him up in the phonebook, right Tsuna?"

"I don't see why not--Ow! Reborn!"

"Why are you tying up the phone line so late at night?"

"We're trying to get a hold of octopus-head."

"Oh no! Is the answering machine still recording?!" Click.

Beep.

That was the last message. I pressed another button, and all of the messages were erased. Like they had never been there. Like they had never been...

I walked out to my small balcony, shutting the door behind me. I wasn't concerned if the phone rang; after all, it was nearly three in the morning; the others should have been sleeping. I removed a cigarette from the carton, shoving the rest into my pocket, and struck a match. Lighting the cancer stick, I shook out the match and tossed it off the balcony. Taking that first long drag, my thoughts returned to myself. Self-centered, yes, but entirely true; I couldn't stop obsessing over my own weaknesses. How was it that I wasn't able to beat that narcissistic "prince" with the trip wires? Was I really that weak?

I blew the smoke from that first inhalation from my lungs, staring at the haze it created over the lights of the city. Was my weakness physical, or mental? Emotional, maybe? I didn't know; I was so confused. What was it that kept preventing me from fulfilling my duties as the 10th's right-hand man? Unfortunately, I had no answers. Nobody had any answers--so I assumed; it wasn't like I was going to ask anybody else why I sucked so much. I wasn't about to admit my weakness to anybody else. Naturally, that was a self-deluded scheme to keep myself mildly saner than I was; if I noticed that I was weak, surely the 10th did.

Throughout my mental ravings, convoluted though they were to begin with, disjointed, irrelevant thoughts permeated my brain. What the fuck was wrong with Hibari and Yamamoto? Had those two occurrences merely been a figment of my overly-stressed imagination? If so, why was I having homoerotic fantasies? If not, then just what was going on?

I took another drag from my cigarette, expelling the smoke in front of me again. Looking through the carcinogenic haze, it felt like I was trying to look into my own psyche: it was foggy, difficult to discern what I was seeing, and unhealthy for me and anybody around me. It was incredibly sudden, how my exhaustion came over me; I nearly collapsed right there on the balcony. I flicked my cigarette butt off into the empty street before returning inside, sliding the glass door shut behind me. As I trudged back to the hateful resting place, my thoughts became quieter and quieter, more and more convoluted, and less and less frequent. I collapsed into my bed in total silence.

A shrieking siren pierced that silence, momentarily stopping my heart. As a reaction, I slammed my fist into the alarm clock on my nightstand, ending the offensive noise. Slowly, my groggy eyes opened, glancing about to check the time. I don't know entirely why I was checking it; the alarm went off at the same hour every day, giving me just enough time to shower and dress before meeting the 10th outside his house. Out of sheer habit, my body picked itself up off my bed and moved me toward the bathroom.

Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure what happened after that; darkness overtook my vision again. I must have fallen asleep again; I woke up some time later, confused about why I was laying on the bathroom floor. I thought about it for a few moments before determining what had passed, slowly getting to a sitting position in the meanwhile. A moment passed before I realized that I was late. I shot to my feet, stumbling back to my bedroom to check the time. I had five minutes before class began. Fuck me.

Even I don't entirely know how I did it, but I managed to dress myself and get out of the house in those five minutes, forgetting both breakfast and lunch as I slammed the door shut. I tore through the streets, dragging my school bag behind me and running over more than my fair share of small children, old ladies, and stray animals on my way to Namimori Middle. Thankfully, I didn't run into Hibari as I sprinted into the building, darting past the Disciplinary Committee to get to my homeroom. Finally, I got to the room, threw the door open, and stumbled in. I can't quite say how else I felt, ignoring the sheer relief of arriving.

"Mr. Gokudera, would you kindly take your seat?" I was having difficulty hearing over the blood rushing through my ears, but I assumed that the teacher said something to that effect. Staggering to my feet, I trudged over to the empty seat next to the 10th and collapsed into the chair. I sighed in relief, throwing my bag onto the desk and began searching for my notebook in a zombie-like manner.

"Gokudera, are you alright?" the 10th inquired quietly, leaning over ever so slightly.

"I'm fine, 10th," I answered happily, waving the question off before returning to my bag. I was having immense difficulty figuring out what was where in my bag, and I'd been looking for my notebook for a good five minutes at that point.

"You look like hell," Yamamoto stated in a manner that would have sounded like concern if I were listening (I wasn't). The 10th nodded in agreement, looking worried. Great, I'd gone and worried the 10th.

"It's nothing," I informed quickly, again waving off the comment. "I just had a rough night, that's all."

"What happened?"

I glared at that baseball-nut, wishing I could hit him without agitating the 10th even more. "I didn't sleep much," I curtly responded, turning away from the two of them. Did I really look like I'd had that bad of a night? Probably; my clothes weren't ironed, my hair wasn't brushed, and I was fairly certain that my shoes didn't match.

"Gokudera's a mess today," I overheard somebody grumble. It took me a moment, but I realized that it was that irritable broad, the friend of the 10th's crush--Hana? Maybe; I didn't care particularly--making the comment. Unfortunately, I had to let it go.

"I hope he's alright," the 10th's crush, Kyoko, responded in her irritatingly soft tone.

"He was probably out haranguing some other punks and got his ass kicked. I don't think you should spend so much time with them, Kyoko; they're bad news."

I tapped out of the conversation at that point; there wasn't a need to feel worse about myself. I wouldn't be able to handle it if the 10th's heart was broken because of me. Instead, I focused on the teacher's lecture--rather, I intended to, before the bell rang.

Irritated at the noise (it was too similar to my alarm clock), I staggered to my feet, grabbed my bag, and followed the 10th and the baseball-nut out of the room. It was lunchtime, so we headed toward the stairs to the roof.

I think it was because I hadn't eaten breakfast and hadn't slept, but I was feeling weak, and I hardly could make it up the stairs with the others. Luckily, I managed to make it to the top, only to collapse a few feet from the door.

"Are you sure you're alright, Gokudera?" If that fucking baseball-nut asked that again, I was going to punch him in the nose.

"Shut up, Yamamoto, just shut up." I wish that had come out more angry than exasperated; I couldn't even roll over to glare at him.

"Gokudera, Yamamoto, stop it," Tsuna chided, looking between the two of us in vexation. "Can't we just have lunch in peace for once?"

"Fine," I grumbled, sighing heavily. I couldn't do anything to upset the 10th more than I had already.

There was a pause while the 10th and Yamamoto took out their lunches; it was just long enough for me to begin to fall asleep again. As my eyes closed, the baseball-nut decided that it was the opportune moment to disrupt my slumber.

"Gokudera, aren't you going to have lunch?" he asked through whatever he was eating. That's classy right there, talking with your mouth full of food; he better not do that if he's out with the 10th.

"I'm not hungry," I lied unsuccessfully; my stomach rumbled as soon as I got the words out of my mouth. Whining slightly under my breath, I wrapped my hands around my midsection, putting some pressure on my stomach to alleviate the hunger pangs. It didn't help much, although I did discover that I could feel something other than nothing in that moment.

"Didn't you bring a lunch?" the 10th questioned, leaning over so I could see him. He seemed concerned. Great; I went and bothered him even more.

"No." The concern grew on his face. Could today get any worse?

"I've got something in my locker; Haru gave it to me on the way to school this morning. Let me go get it for you," the 10th offered, getting to his feet and walking out of my line of vision.

"No, 10th, you don't--" Too late. The door already shut. Now I was stuck immobile on the roof with the baseball-nut. I wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend like I didn't exist, but that wasn't happening.

"Gokudera, what's wrong?" he murmured, leaning over me so I could see him. It would have been so easy to punch him in the face right then, if only I could move. Fate was a cruel bitch.

"Nothing," I grumbled, furrowing my brow. "I just didn't sleep well last night...or eat...or anything..."

"Where were you? We called like 5 times--"

"Seven--"

"Did you even get home last night?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you answer the phone?"

"I was trying to sleep." That was more or less the truth. Aside, did it matter if I lied to him? It was just the baseball-nut.

He sighed heavily. "Gokudera, I'm really worried about you."

Hm, I feel like we've had this conversation before.

"I just want to know what's going on in your head. You're acting funny, and you're avoiding everybody. Hell, you were late to school this morning, and you look like you spent the night on the street. Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is." He seemed determined to know exactly what was wrong; unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen.

"It's nothing--"

"Don't lie to me," he interrupted, looking stern. If it wasn't Yamamoto, the expression would have been intimidating. I averted my attention, not wanting to look into his simultaneously pleading and irritated eyes: I didn't even have that much emotion in my entire being; it was just wrong that he could have so much in just his eyes.

"Look, it doesn't concern you," I finally informed, narrowing my glance into a rather pathetic glare. "I'm fine; don't worry about it."

He almost seemed sad as he sat back, sighing heavily again. I didn't know what his problem was, nor did I care. I closed my eyes to both block out the sun and rest them; it was getting hard to keep them open (having not slept much). I didn't know how long I lay there, but all too soon, I felt his presence over my head again.

"What--?" My attempt was to complain to him, asking what he wanted this time, but that didn't happen. Maybe I would have seen it coming if I had bothered to open my eyes. I guess it wouldn't have mattered; I wouldn't have been able to move anyway. While I laid unaware, that baseball-nut leaned over and kissed me. It wasn't as intensive as when Hibari kissed me the day before, but still, the soft tough of his lips against mine was unnerving, unnatural. The worst part was that I wasn't able to do anything about it.

Finally, he drew back, looking somewhere between self-gratified and concerned; my expression was somewhere between disturbed and disgusted. I don't care if he took it well.

"I won't bother you about whatever's bothering you any more, Hayato," he murmured, still leaning over me with that somber look on his face. "I'll only interfere if I think you're getting hurt. I just want you to know that I'm here for you and I care about you."

That was not reassuring in the slightest. Like with Hibari, I had no response; all I could do was stare in disbelief. Yamamoto smiled at me with that dopey, goofy smirk that he always had, and he sat back for the second time.

Luckily for me, the 10th returned at that moment; I could tell by the sound of the door shutting. My stomach gurgled again; I'd already forgotten that I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday.

"Here, Gokudera," the 10th announced, placing a bento box at my side. "Haru made it for me, but I already had a lunch. I hope it's good."

"Thank you, 10th," I replied, forcing myself to sit up. Needless to say that eating lunch was a difficult task. The 10th offered to assist, but that baseball-nut took the task upon himself. I wasn't pleased.

Luckily, the door flew open again. Unfortunately, this time it was Hibari. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see him.

"Are you three crowding?" he interrogated, not bothering to pretend like he was going to greet us.

The 10th cowered, as per usual. It always bothered me that he did that. "H-Hibari! N-no, we're not crowding! I swear!"

Hibari simply glared. I was growing to dislike that stare more and more every day. "Class is starting," he informed begrudgingly. "I suggest you leave."

"R-right away, Hibari!" The 10th flew to his feet, preceding Yamamoto. I didn't think I would be able to get to my feet very easily, but I didn't have long to ponder on that. Hibari grabbed the front of my shirt, picking me up in an all-too-familiar manner.

"You were late this morning," he stated, not quite factually. "And your wrinkled clothes are in violation of the dress code."

For a moment, I thought he was kidding. But then I remembered that it was Hibari. "Seriously?" I groaned, having more or less resigned myself to getting my ass kicked again. I suppose it was the only thing that assured me that I was still alive.

An unreadable look came to Hibari's face. "This is your only warning," he decided, putting me back on my feet. "Don't let it happen again." Confused, I lifted my eyebrow, looking over him, trying to figure out just what was going through his head. I realized that he wasn't staring necessarily at my face while he spoke; he had been staring at the bandages from the damage he'd caused the day before. If it weren't Hibari, I would have thought that he felt guilty.

Still unsure of what just happened, I cautiously followed behind the 10th, watching my footing to ensure that I didn't fall; a part of me felt like he wouldn't be pleased if I caused the both of us to crash down the stairs. The weird thing was that the majority of me wouldn't have minded hurtling down those stairs, no matter who else it hurt; it was the first link in the chain of unfortunate events that would dominate the next few days of my life.

Afternoon classes were just as difficult as morning classes, if not more so. My head was pounding again, and I couldn't focus on the teacher's lecture. Yamamoto, who sat behind me, was also a distraction, occasionally touching me, gripping my shoulder. I couldn't muster enough energy to care enough to snap at him; I think he noticed. Another distraction was Hibari, who was actually in class that day; he sat a few desks away, continually flicking his attention my way as I struggled to stay awake. After class ended, the 10th suggested that I head home to rest; I had no choice but to concede.

Like the day before, I collapsed upon entering my apartment, not even making it past the entryway before falling. For a few hours, I slept restlessly, my mind still uneasy; apparently my sleep was deep enough, as I managed to sleep through five more phone calls from the 10th, Yamamoto, and Ryohei; I deleted them all without listening.

I shuffled past the kitchen, ignoring the pangs in my stomach, having yet to satiate its appetite. On my way to the balcony, I grabbed my carton of cigarettes and the lighter. Before sliding the door opened, I chanced a glance at the clock: 12:27. Still apathetic, I stepped outside, shutting the door behind me, for another of my pensive smokes.

That night, my foremost thought was the sudden apathy that had taken over me. It would have been worrisome, if I could feel anything other than the crushing emptiness. It was like I had been divided inside: one part of me, despite being unfeeling, thought in the same manner that I always have, wanting me to act out of consideration for the 10th; the other part, a significantly greater part, simply didn't care enough to consider anybody or anything, or, hell, to even act. Even at that time, I sensed that this apathetic part of me was dominating my usual persona; it was as though that part of me was smothered by a thick pillow, slowly suffocating, and, one day, would die. I didn't want that, but I couldn't muster up enough energy to care.

I took a long drag from my cigarette, slowly expelling the smoke from my lungs. Sighing, I tapped the ash from the end of my cancer stick, feeling even more apathetic than when I lit up a few minutes ago. At that moment, my thoughts strayed again to Yamamoto and Hibari, but the notion died quickly; I couldn't even bring myself to care what their schemes were.

To be honest, it bothered me, this apathy. Why couldn't I feel anything, other than this abominable utter emptiness? Hadn't I been full of hate just twenty-four hours ago? What was wrong with me? My eyes lowered, unable to form themselves into even the weakest of glares, landing on the smoldering cigarette butt between my fingers. I had heard of kids putting their death sticks out with their own flesh; perhaps that was where I'd gotten the idea. At the time, I acted without thought; I instinctively turned the carcinogenic embers on myself, burning the flesh of my weaker arm.

Pain, hot and sharp, seared through the layers of tissue on my arm around the cigarette butt. I gasped, surprised more at the fact that I felt the pain than at the pain itself. The sheer sensation of that burn invigorated me; my whole being went into an ecstasy, reveling in the pain. That rapture was short-lived, as the burning ebbed away, returning my flesh to its normal temperature.

Immediately, I felt the effects of withdrawal. That searing, burning sensation...it was the only thing I had felt all day; the soul-deadening emptiness was too much for my weak spirit--I needed that pain. Quickly, I lit another cigarette; not bothering to even take a drag, I put it out against my arm, near where I had put out the last one. Once the ecstasy died away again, I lit the cigarette again, repeating the process over and over again until the entire cancer stick was gone.

Breathing heavily, I glanced down at my arms. They were covered in dark, roundish splotches, disfiguring the usual pale flesh. A twisted grin--something of a sadistic grimace--curled onto my lips; I couldn't help but recognize the twisted dementia in my reverie. I considered pulling out a third and continuing the process, but I was running low; in the past two days, I'd gone through half a pack--much more than usual. Sighing one last time, I returned inside, locking the door to the balcony behind me.

I trudged back toward my bed, tossing my cigarettes and the lighter onto the table with the answering machine along the way. Stripping out of my school clothes, letting them stay wherever they fell, I sauntered over to my bed, collapsing onto it and passing out almost immediately.

So that's the end of the first half. Yeah, half. This fic is longer than it was intended to be, by a lot; I wanted it to be done originally by page 7, but that's impossible for me to do. Anyway, hope you appreciated the change and could identify my smarminess that I'm so fond of. Review and all that jazz.