A/N: I'm really very sorry about having to take so long to churn this stupid little thing out—thank you for encouraging me, cherryblossomroses, ye mecca of patience and cheer. So, if you want to blame this on something—blame it on my laziness, and pistachios. Yes, pistachios. My mom went on an epic hunt for organic, unsalted pistachios, and either relentlessly dragged me along with her, or made me stay at home, and kept calling to check to see if I was fine—ie: not using the computer—so, yeah. Well. Welcome to the prologue. Bara-bara-chan is your fine narrator today, please pay the delightful thing due attention.

Note-I have made Suigintou and Souseiseki male, in order to make some of the things work. Shippings will be Suigintou/Megu, Souseiseki/Suiseiseki (with Sui and Sou very distant cousins), Shinku/Jun, Tomoe/Jun (though, not a lot), and former one-sided Suigintou/Shinku. If you're confused, I'll explain in next chapter.

PROLOGUE

We all pay attention to what's happening right now. We know everything about the latest movies to hit the theatres, the newest celebrities to step onto the shiny, golden plate of fame, the hottest fashion trends, straight off of the runaway—basically, we scrutinize, analyze, and study everything in the now. And occasionally, we pay attention to the future. You know, on those lazy weekend nights, where you just flop on the couch and surf the channels, when you pause for a second at the show that's called something like, How Global Warming Will Affect Your Future, or, What Will the USA Do After Iraq, and you listen to the harried-looking, blonde lady rattle on about how harmful landfills can be, or other things like that, before you get bored, and turn to something more amusing.

But do any of us pay attention to what happened before—yes, those crummy history classes, the boring-as-mud lessons about World War II, and the complex-looking diagrams of soldiers advancing toward a lake, a river, a hill, or something. It's obvious—we don't listen to our teachers talk on about battles that were fought before we were even born, wars that were lost centuries ago, and diseases that belong far before you on the timeline. And no, I'm not advocating history lessons. I'm telling you to listen, to pay attention sometimes, to the befores.

And just as fate could have it, I'm here to tell you what happened before. Before this story I'm about to tell, in, oh, a few pages, about a boy, an intrepid local rock band, a girl scorned, and one wicked bass guitar. It won't be the sort of long-winded, tiring before that spans chapters and history books. Rather, it's a selection of three scenes, from exactly one year ago, and the only thing that all three have in common is that they both happen on the third, and all cause one heck of a story.

So, lie back, pop open a nice drink, and just listen. Because you know you want to, and because it's just that interesting.

5:30 AM, March 3

It was like a math problem, only it didn't make any sense at all. One plus one didn't equal one, but yet it did, because there was one person on the bridge, soon followed by another, so briefly, there were two. And then, after the scream and the splash, there was only one.

The other one was flailing in the water, her pretty pink curls making a floating corona around her head. The first one was still sitting on the bridge, and after fumbling with his cell phone with frozen fingers, he managed to cough out something coherent, as the police bombarded him with frantic questions about his location and what happened.

When the police and ambulance arrived five minutes later, they found the boy rocking back and forth on the bridge, and the girl, limp and unconscious, in the bay. She would be alright, the paramedics said, as long as they got her to a hospital and gave her proper care.

Three days later, an article in the newspaper appeared, with the headline, 'LOCAL GIRL ATTEMPTED SUICIDE.'

Suzuki Kirakishou, aged 15, attempted suicide three days ago, by jumping off of the Fujiwara Bridge, at roughly 5:31 AM in the morning. She was accompanied by Tanaka Souseiseki, a 16 year-old male student at her school, and according to Tanaka-san, was in great distress over her recent breakup with her boyfriend. When she jumped, her companion was alarmed, and immediately dialed 119 for an ambulance. When the ambulance, arrived five minutes later, the girl was still alive, but was unconscious, and when later awake, seemed to be delirious. "That girl kept shrieking for someone, and nothing we did…could make her be quiet. Seemed like she was crazy," said Kobayashi Chiharu, a nurse at the International Medical Center of Japan, who came in contact with Suzuki-san. Suzuki-san stayed at the hospital, recuperating, for two days, before her worried parents, Suzuki Atsushi and Chie, picked her up from the hospital. She will be sent to an institution near Osaka, in the fall.

"Oh, how horrid," all the girls whispered, as they crowded around the smudgy pages of a newspaper, as their boyfriends would pat their backs, and hope fervently that it wouldn't be the name of their girlfriends on the newspaper anytime soon.

"Poor, poor thing. She must have been so angry, actually trying to take her life. It must be terrible for Suzuki-san." The matronly, plump housewives all around the neighborhood said, clucking their tongues, and whispering in gossipy voices saturated with mock sympathy.

And Souseiseki thought, Kirakishou hated having anyone feel sorry for her. She would have rather cut her throat from ear to ear than have to endure all the sympathy and pitying looks.

3:45 PM, April 3

The dining room was decorated with helium balloons straining at their positions on the floor and multicolored, wispy streamers that waved listlessly. A clunky, fattening chocolate cake sitting on top of the table dominated the scene, sixteen pink candles poking out of the sea of frosting. On top of the chocolate monstrosity was written 'Happy 16, Jun!' in squiggly, red candies.

"Well…er, that's nice, Nori. Thanks." A teenage boy, with his black hair sticking up all over the place, stood uncertainly in the doorway, sticking his hands into the pocket of his jacket. His older sister, addressed as Nori, didn't seem to notice her younger brother's lack of euthusiasm, and tugged him in by his wrist, talking joyfully as she went.

"Look, here're your presents—the blue one's sent over from England by mom and dad. That red one's from Tomoe; she brought it over to our place a week ago. There's something that looks like a CD or a book from Isamu. And the yellow one is from me." She gestured toward what Jun thought must have been the most pitiful-looking pile of presents he'd ever seen.

Still, he mustered up some excitement and pasting a smile on his face, started through the motions of what Nori deemed was a proper birthday party. Sing 'Happy Birthday', blow out candles, cut the cake, and then present opening…

What was the point anyway? His parents hadn't been around to celebrate his birthday in eleven years—the last time they'd attended his birthday, he'd turned five. And right after that, they'd each swallowed a mouthful of cake, kissed their children on the cheek, handed a list to the live-in nanny, and run off to the airport for their next flight to Dubrovnik or Madrid or Venice. Yet, Nori still sang 'Happy Birthday' with her usual exuberance, as if trying to fill in the gap where two other voices should have been, and there were still four slices of cake laid out on the table, even though only two would be eaten.

She was trying too hard, he thought, as he meticulously opened his gifts, cutting the sides carefully with a razor, and folding the gift wrapping paper after he was done. His first present was a collection of CDs from Isamu—the usual alt-rock stuff—he'd check it out later. The second one was a black notebook and a matching pen, from Tomoe. A safe, guy-friend gift—too bad he'd never use it. He really wasn't ever one for recording things. The one from Nori was a music player, as thin as a wafer and metallic green; one of the newest models of some big electronics company. It was alright gift, coming from Nori, anyway. She'd used to give him socks and puzzles, until he turned fourteen, and told her, rather rudely, to get him something for his next birthday that actually befitted his age.

The last one was from his parents, and he took his time with it. They never really got him anything useful, really. It was either some sort of useless charm that cost gobs of money, or some big old heavy book with thick, cream-colored pages that gave you a hell of a paper cut.

This time, it was a heavy, rectangular, navy-colored case. For a few moments, he squatted down, and stared at the mysterious thing, trying to figure out what it was and what it contained. An instrument, perhaps? With the size, it could be a guitar, or a violin…He hoped it was a guitar, because to him, violins sounded like the screeching of a deranged cat with rabies, and once he'd been required to take it at school. It had been horrible—the teacher kept slapping his hands, the stupid violin loaned to him from the school had strings that never were quite tuned right, and he couldn't read any of the notes. Finally, the teacher had told him just to get out, for his own good, and he'd returned home in absolute relief.

Well, if it was a violin, then he'd sell it on eBay and use that money to buy something else.

With trepidation, he undid the clasps of the case, and lifted up the top. Damn.Damn. It wasn't just a guitar—it was an electric Gibson bass, with a shining mahogany body, tightly tuned strings, and an ebony finish. It was beautiful, and it was all his. Giddy from sudden joy, he took out the rest of the contents of the case—a beginners' guide to playing the bass guitar, a handful of picks in neon colors, an carrying strap, and a note from his parents, which read—Given to us by friend. Hope you have a wonderful time. Love you, Mom and Dad.

A wonderful time, indeed.

"Thanks, Nori," he called, from over his head, as he headed back to his room to try out his new bass guitar.

8:56 PM, May 3

Souseiseki's garage was dank, and lit only by four cheap yellow flashlights standing sentry at each corner of the room, and a dinky little light bulb hanging from the ceiling that didn't work half the time. There were exactly five human bodies there—Hinaichigo, Souseiseki, Suiseiseki, Shinku, and Suigintou—but it felt like there were six anyway. She was still there, somehow, in the room, engulfing the air with her choking presence, and casting an obvious gloom over all six people in the garage. The flashlights that she had so cheerfully bought for everyone still stood like miniscule lighthouses at each corner of the room, that purple cap that she'd left at the garage and kept forgetting to take back, the empty chair that she had sat in (until, they all thought, until it had happened) turned into depressing reminders of her and what had happened.

Hinaichigo was the most disaffected—after all, she hadn't really known Kirakishou that long, and because in her one-track mind, Kirakishou been regulated to status of snack-buyer, Suigintou's girlfriend, and nothing more. Why should she feel bad if the snack-buyer suddenly decided to throw herself off of a bridge, and not only that, utterly fail at suicide? It wasn't her fault, and it didn't have anything to do with her, anyway.

Selfish one, she is.

Suiseiseki was mad at Kirakishou—even if she wasn't here for her to properly throw a raging Sui-tantrum at—because ever since she'd attempted to kill herself, Sou-san had been all quiet, and he wouldn't ever laugh with her anymore. He'd just smile a queer little smile, and brush her off, looking wistful, as if he was imagining better times. He was her cousin and her best friend, goddammit! All because one of Suigintou's stupid temporary girlfriends decided to try and off herself, Sou wouldn't talk properly with her anymore. He wasn't her Souseiseki anymore—the old one smiled, laughed, and was occasionally cynical, but he loved her.
Or at least he showed it. It wasn't fair. All because of that dumbass pink-haired girl.

Didn't anyone tell you life isn't fair, darling? Maybe we should move on to some more sympathetic beings. Anyway.

By comparison, Souseiseki looked positively selfless—he was wishing that he hadn't introduced Kira-san to Suigintou, when he knew the guy left a trail of broken hearts behind him like discarded tissue, wished he hadn't replied in affirmative, when she had, eyes sparkling, asked him jokingly if there were any hot guys in his band, and if there were, he should introduce them to her. But it was too late for wishes—she'd fallen in love with him, like most warm-blooded, straight teenage girls he knew, he'd predictably become fascinated with her for a while, and even more predictably, when the short-lived fascination had worn off, he had dumped her, bluntly and rather cruelly. However, both of them hadn't accounted for the fact that Kirakishou was a) an aspiring actor, and b) a drama queen. And almost any good drama queen/amateur actor worth her salt would try and do something so very dramatic and elaborate after a break-up, especially in the vein of I'll-make-him-sorry, or that'll-show-him drama. Except she took it one step farther, and actually progressed into self-offing, instead of just the general doctored photos of the ex and every girl at school. Now she was gone, carted off to some mental hospital—the bright, smiling girl had departed from his life, turned into just another patient, dressed in a gown and lying on a hospital bed.

Shinku had kind of liked Kirakishou—after all, she'd always smiled at everyone and even tried to make conversation with her—and when she had been around, she hadn't seemed like a huge, imposing area of their lives, but now that she was gone—well, not dead, but she might as have been, anyway—it seemed like someone had gotten a jagged, uneven knife, and carved out a well-sized chunk out of their normal routines. Not an especially huge one, mind you, but something that would be missed later, something that would make you try and remember what it was, that niggling memory that hung off of the edge of your mind. Kirakishou, once a seemingly small implement before, had left, and with her, she had taken shards of their old days with them, leaving a strangely tender wound behind.

Suigintou looked and felt the worse. Even his hair was affected—it drooped around his head in untidy, grimy silver strands, and he was dressed in grungy-looking pants, and a graying shirt that had probably never seen the light of day before. But it all dulled in complete contrast, if you could take a look at his thoughts. The only thing that was important right now, the only thing that mattered was that it was his fault. It was his fault. He had almost caused the death of someone—a living human being. A person, a girl he'd known, and even loved, albeit for a short period of time. His fault all his fault—he was almost a killer, almost a murderer, almost had dirty blood on his hands.

"So what do we do now?" A voice, quiet and rather devoid of any emotion, echoed throughout the garage. It was Shinku, and she had just voiced the statement everyone was wondering—what do we do now, after this. This disaster. This catastrophe.

No one replied, because no one knew.

What do we do now?