"Mr. Jounouchi, I just don't understand. You're not having problems understanding the basics of the material as far as I can tell. So explain to me why you haven't handed in a single piece of homework since January?" The teacher's face was unreadable to his student. Jounouchi found himself staring apathetically at the wrinkles of age and wisdom that licked up the corners of the middle-aged man's eyes and pressed shadows into his brow between his glasses. "Hm? Well? Are you having problems with your personal life?"

"I just don't get it. So I don't do it." He cast his gaze away, at the chalkboard, feeling a tight, angry clench in his chest at the list of assignments written neatly in white strokes. Resent in his expression, his eyes dropped to the line of dirt pressed up in the corner of the room, examining a crumpled up piece of paper to avoid making eye-contact.

"I'm here every day to offer help to those that need it. That's what I'm here for, Mr. Jounouchi."

"Yeah, I know."

There was a sigh. Maybe he did feel a little guilty for pissing off his teachers like this, but it only frustrated him to sit down to schoolwork. It wasn't like he had other things to do, but he didn't see a point. He'd never be really good at it, so what did it matter if he ever handed stuff in or not? If someone actually smart like Yugi or Kaiba stopped working for no reason, people would actually care. They had good marks to lose, and applications to higher education to worry about. No school would take Jounouchi, no matter how hard he worked his ass off trying to understand these bullshit concepts and formulas and grammatical rules. He looked at his teacher.

"Don't waste your time on me. I know even if I try I'll fail, so there's no point in me trying. Less for you to mark. Focus on the people that're actually going places." Without leave, he stood up, grabbed his bag, and left the classroom. Nobody tried to stop him.

The returned test-paper felt like hot iron against his hand, mocking him and stinging his integrity, so Jounouchi stopped in the hallway to shove it angrily into his bag. He didn't even know why he was keeping it; maybe just to avoid the humiliation of somebody seeing it in a garbage can somewhere. His mood grew more sullen still as, arriving at the bike-rack, he saw nobody had bothered to wait for him. Not even Yugi. He felt disgusted that his best friend was so oblivious to the nightmarish depression that had begun to engulf his life. It was Yugi's fault for not noticing how unhappy he was, Yugi's fault for not being able to see past the false smiles and untrue reassurances.

It wasn't Yugi's fault, Jounouchi rationalized. It was his own for not reaching out – but why burden them with his own problems? It wasn't as though something were actually wrong. He had a part-time job and an apartment of his own. He'd stopped wasting money on duel cards. They held no appeal to him now... they were childish, pointless, and they'd get him nowhere because he wasn't anything special. That was how it always went, as far as Jou could tell: everything in life was pointless unless you were good at it. Why do homework if you know you'll fail? Why play cards if you know you'll lose? Only the best had any reason to push themselves.

He got on his bike, and the ride home seemed forever. Like a zombie, he pedalled without thinking, and crossed streets and avoided pedestrians automatically while his mind attempted to absorb just how impossible it was for him to accomplish anything impressive. He wanted to get home and sleep. He hoped nobody would call.

When he unlocked the door of his apartment, his keys stuck and, as he struggled to free them from the lock, Jounouchi found his frustrations roaring inside his torso which unexplainably began to shake with sobs. Ripping the keys out and throwing himself inside, he cried with a fervent shame and self-loathing. He knew his failure in life had to be his own fault, somehow. He couldn't even stop himself from weeping like a girl, clutching at his hair in a bid to claw away the gaping hole of loneliness that gripped his emotions mercilessly. Front door ajar still, he staggered down the hall to the bathroom, groping for the white bottle on the edge of the sink.

Take two, sleep through the night, wake up the next morning and do it all over again. Shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping himself from curling up into a ball on the floor, he clutched the bottle. He knew what they could do. It wasn't uncommon for him to wonder if he had the courage to do it. What effect would it have on the world? Who would mourn him? Yugi? He'd be upset for a bit, sure, but he had Yami to get him through it. Honda? He never bottled up his feelings. He'd be miserable for a while and then forget him and move on.

Was that really the entire list of people who'd care? Anger and misery flooded through him as he turned on the tap and leaned over to drink, splashing his hot face with the water's cold gush. Jounouchi pulled away, and sat on the edge of his tub. He took off the cap and poured the little white capsules out in his rough palm. One, two, three. Three would make him late for class and give him a headache the next day. Four, five, six. Six would put him in bed for the next week puking and feeling like an idiot. Seven, eight, nine. Maybe ten. Ten would be a nice, round number. He had never tried more than seven at once. He wasn't sure if it would kill him. Maybe he could just take whatever was left in the bottle. Wouldn't that be dramatic for whatever poor sucker found him in a few days?

One. His throat felt dry.

Two. Easier that time.

Three. Couldn't slow down, or he'd never get there.

Four. A group of teenagers was walking below the open window.

Five. They're being loud. They're laughing.

Six. He can hear them from the doorway.

Seven. Shit – he left the front door open. Oh well.

Eight. Something funny was going on in his stomach. He couldn't stop.

Nine. Only one mo-

"Jou?"

"Hey Jouno!"

"Jou, you left your door open."

"How the talk with Takeshi go?"

The bottle clattered against the floor as Jounouchi doubled up, fat, ugly pills rolling across the floor. He allowed himself one fraction of a second to laugh at it internally – at least he had something slightly dramatic and clichéd about his passing. Then he had to put his head between his knees and try not to be afraid of what would happen next.

"Holy shit. Someone call an ambulance!"

o o o o o

"Jounouchi." No answer. "Jounouchi Katsuya."

"He won't be in school for the next little while, sir." Honda hadn't had a chance to go to the teacher before class started to make him aware of the situation. Instead, now, he'd have to explain briefly in front of the class somehow without actually telling everyone what the poor guy had nearly done to himself. He found himself wilting under the weight of this duty. All it took was a brief look at Yami, who had agreed to take over control of Yugi's body to help him get through the day, to communicate his distress, and his friend took over.

"He had an accident, Mr. Takeshi. He's in the hospital for a few weeks, but he'll be back eventually."

"I see. Well, let's all hope he heals quickly so that he doesn't completely miss the new unit."

And that was the only visible stir created in the classroom by the rough-and-tumble blonde's disappearance. At lunch when Honda found himself cornered in the washrooms by Seto Kaiba, it was completely unexpected. He'd undone his zipper and set about the mundane task of emptying his bladder when the door opened and then closed. This was a normal sound, but the click of a lock immediately following it was not. There he was, leaning against the door with his hands in his pockets, his smirk uncaring and his eyes unyielding.

"What's this about Jounouchi getting into an accident? He forget to tie his shoes and fall down some stairs?"

Honda was staggered. This was hardly a day to have to tolerate Kaiba's taunting.

"What's it to you?" He hissed, quickly shaking off and tucking himself back in without looking at the other man.

"I'm curious, that's all," Kaiba replied, cruelty-lined sarcasm flowing from his mouth like blood from a wound. "How long do I get the pleasure of a classroom that doesn't smell like second-class citizen?"

"Fuck you, man," Honda muttered, doing up his zipper and turning to leave. "Out of my way."

"You forgot to wash your hands. I think you'd still got a few seconds to chat, if only in the name of hygiene."

"Go see him yourself, if you care so much. Just don't go while he's awake – we're trying to give him reasons to stay alive, not the other way around." He pushed past Kaiba and unlocked the door, stopping only to turn his head and say: "On second thought, stay the fuck away from him altogether. It's people like you who drove him to where he is now. In fact, next time I see you goading him on and trying to make him feel like shit I promise you I'll break your fucking nose. That's a promise, dipshit."

He left, and Kaiba stood just inside the door, absorbing the information he'd just been given.