Shiro hated this. Just because the people in his class were jerks, just because they wrote mean shit on his text book, didn't give him an excuse to be this... weak.

His sobs echoed around the deserted bathroom, all the other, more motivated students were listening to their teachers and preparing for exams. He was safe. He was... pathetic. His teeth dug into his lip with a blunt sting as he let his notebook sit on his lap, looking over the scrawled kanji on the cover.

Crazy.

Freak.

Kill yourself.

And what if he did? He'd bet they'd all be so fucking sorry when they found out they were responsible. That they were murderers. Or they'd laugh and say about how he was always messed in the head. Probably the last one, thinking about it; he wasn't likeable or sweet enough for a martyr's death, nowhere near. It almost made him jealous of the bullying victims who were picked off for being "weak", for showing kindness and never hurting a fly.

He screamed and kicked, not that it did him any good. It didn't matter if they'd told him to jump off the roof, if he yelled, it was his own damn fault, apparently. Fuck. Middle school was just so depressing. He remembered when kids only ran from him while playing those silly games, and they were laughing because they were all having fun. Now, they laughed as they ran away, yelling "psycho!" as he screamed at their backs.

He wanted to be a kid again. He was always so impatient to grow up, wishing away days, hours, years... He'd taken it for granted, and now all he wanted was to sit at the piano with his little childhood sweetheart, who he couldn't even remember the name of now.

The guy's bathroom was always kind of gross; toilet roll on the floor (wet), dingy tile, and graffiti on the stall walls. Witty remarks such as "Shoto's gay" and other scrawling. However, amongst the other obscenities and insults, something caught his eye.

In handwriting that was actually somewhat neat, someone had written something very odd for a middle school bathroom, and his brow furrowed, the last few tears falling from his lashes.

Delivery God Tamaki, open 24/7! Any problems, solved!

The mysterious Tamaki's number was there below, and Shiro felt the odd want to... actually call it. Any problem solved, huh? He really was grasping at straws - no, less than that. The number could be for anyone, any kind of person, and he was really going to do it?

The phone intermittently let out it's small beep! as he dialled the number. He was hesitant, and it was all tortuously slow. He really was being a dumbass. He was just... tired. Tired of school, tired of those jerks, tired of dragging himself through life; it wasn't going to change unless he tried. If you could call this trying. It was action though, despite it being questionable.

He held the phone to his ear, and it took less than two rings for the call to be picked up. Eager, then. Or useless and just as desperate as he was. They were kind of a match then, at least.

"Hello, delivery God Tamaki, at your service!" An overly cheery, male voice greeted. Ugh, this was so suspect; like he'd be hauled into a windowless van as soon as he stepped foot outside, "Hello? Are you still there?"

Despite it all, the man sounded... kind, and really, that was all he was asking for at this point. "Y-yeah," He stammered, swallowing hard, "I just... I..."

"You need help, right?" The voice said, and it sounded so soft, almost like he was smiling encouragingly. If he thought about it, he'd probably find it plain depressing that he was getting warm fuzzies over something so painfully benign, "I can tell. No one sees my number otherwise."

Shiro was about to hang up, or throw his phone at the cubicle door, when the man said something so genuine, it stopped him.

"I want to help you, don't worry. Asking is the most difficult step to take, but it really is brave."

Brave. No one ever called him that. He went from a brat to a psycho, no one turning to look at him, to see the damage. It wasn't like he was bleeding or bruised, after all. Still, they still told stories of that one student who used to cut his wrists - laughing like it was funny. Worked himself to death, they said, followed by good riddance.

How could they be so heartless, anyway? He might not have been a nice person, but he'd never do that; he'd rather be dead than that twisted.

Before he knew it, he was sniffling once more, tears dropping onto his lap and darkening little spots on his trousers. "Please..." He began, voice quiet and weak, "Please help me, Tamaki-san..."

The phone hung up, and there was the awful drop of disappointment in Shiro's gut, before a knock at the stall door caught his attention. "I'll happily help, not to worry!" A cheery voice announced, the same as the one that had been on the other end of his call. What the hell?!

He bolted forward, unlocking the door and slamming open, teeth bared. "How the fuck are you here, already?!" He demanded, "I just called!"

"It's called good customer service," The man muttered, and Shiro was surprised to see someone so... young. The guy looked like he could be some kind of model; his blonde hair that was in perfect place, not a flyaway or split end to be seen, and those eyes seemed almost violet in the clinical lighting of the school bathroom.

"You put your number here? Of all places?"

Shiro jumped and whipped his head around to the side, gaze landing on some other pretty-boy teenager with red hair. The other guy pulled a face as he surveyed the mystery stains on the wall, obviously disgusted with the state of the bathroom; Shiro didn't blame him.

"It's called advertisement, Hikaru," Tamaki huffed, cheeks flushed and a little flustered, "If you're going to be this negative, then you can stick to the other jobs. Why'd I even bring you?"

"Because everyone else was busy," Hikaru scoffed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. They were just going to keep bickering by the looks of things, if Shiro didn't get their attention. How professional.

He cleared his throat, the other two in the room actually shutting up and turning to him. Shiro fiddled with the tattered cuff of his school jumper, suddenly feeling rather awkward. "Actually, I don't know why I called your number," He lied, not interested in having the two morons help with a problem that even the teachers couldn't solve, "I'm fine, so you can just go."

"Yeah, because people who are fine cry alone in the bathroom," Hikaru snorted, and Shiro felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He scrubbed his sleeves over his face, drying the tear tracks but still leaving that red puffiness around his eyes, lips pulled back in a snarl.

"Be nice to the customers!" Tamaki scolded, succinct and authoritative, surprisingly, and placed a comforting hand on Shiro's shoulder, "It's alright. Like I said, you're brave for seeking help, no matter where it comes from. It's a bullying problem, right?"

Shiro lifted his head, staring into those purple tinted eyes for a moment. He didn't answer. "Who even are you?" He asked instead, "How did you know?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tamaki grinned, seeming to be genuinely happy at the question. It wasn't cruel, or obnoxious; it was that same softness the man had in his tone. Shiro almost felt… at ease. So, of course, the universe had to bite him in the ass once more, "I'm a God."

Scratch kind and gentle, this guy was crazy.