The lights were off; the dark, blue glow emanating through the woven fabric of the shut curtains was the only real source of light in the living area as Takeru trudged from the bathroom to the kitchen space. It wasn't even night-time, but light was low - maybe it was a dreary, cloudy day?

Takeru hadn't even looked outside. Being totally honest, he wasn't actually sure of the time anyway. The little television was still on, flickering between static and nothing - something had shorted inside it yesterday (the fizz and subsequent bang had been proof enough for him), and he daren't attempt to fix it or touch it at all.

The whole apartment was cold - the flat breeze that ventilated the room was chilly, pricking his skin. But Takeru didn't feel it so much.

Takeru didn't think he'd really felt anything in a long time.

The pill-bottle in his pocket shook loosely as he poured himself a glass of water that was neither hot nor cold, and the sink gurgled for a minute before all sound in the apartment petered out. Takeru brought the glass of water to the coffee table, before setting it down and slumping onto the sofa. And then out it came, the little plastic bottle. His latest best friend. For a split second, he thought he saw a jeering smile amid the bands of dull colour and text. The prescription - Yamato's prescription - was in Takeru's bin, slightly torn and hidden beneath shredded envelopes and a tea-stained essay and several crumpled balls of lined paper. Takeru didn't even know what the prescription said; he had read it, sure, but he couldn't quite remember, not that he was really trying. He was… self-medicating.

Takeru quickly popped the bottle open, and downed five pills with a few desperate gulps of water, resting another two on the table as a top-up for later on. There were still a few in the bottle. He purposely didn't think about the numbers so much. He knew that if he kept a proper tally, he'd never truly feel guilt-free. They were helping him, so why not take lots of them?

Just taking them, he felt better, as if knowing that the pills would soon be in his system was accelerating their effects. He had been playing doctor for a while - and he had quickly diagnosed himself as seriously depressed. Or had he decided that after his first dosage? And what about the ones that had followed? Takeru had, not that he was particularly bothered, lost count of how many pills he'd taken. Conscious of the lack of number on his mind he sat back, smiling to himself. Maybe, he thought to himself, he would finally be anti-depressed.

He absent-mindedly rubbed the itchiness from the back of his left hand with the television remote, pressing the on button by mistake, and suddenly the screen flashed blindingly before settling completely on static - the low buzz building on top of the dynamic humming that had both lulled him to sleep last night and woken him up that morning.

Frowning, he said to himself (for there was no one around), 'Aw what, no sitcoms?'

And then he burst out laughing, at himself. Not that there was really anything funny to laugh about. He wasn't even that much of a joker these days.

Takeru thought of himself as a great actor. He acted all the time, more often than he knew was healthy. So often had Takeru been acting, that he had given up trying to remember who he really was.

He was a better actor than Yamato, who Takeru knew still felt down from time to time but never said anything. Yamato was better at forgetting than Takeru, though, and didn't really have to say anything because he was strong enough to deal with his internal crises. Takeru needed the pills to help him forget. Yamato didn't need them anymore, so presumably no one would mind Takeru having them – he needed them more than anyone else now. He knew that he'd feel all the darkness and upset that he strove to forget all over again if he stopped taking them, and it would be doubly hard to ignore his demons if he quit.

For some reason, he felt pretty indifferent about the pills - it would be more prudent, Takeru believed, to enjoy whatever calm and jollity he could muster before he went insane and the real happiness kicked in – the one where he couldn't think for himself. By shovelling the pills down, he thought he could suppress his suffering - the idea had held promise after the first pill had mollified his shaking hands and aching eyes.

Takeru knew he was a good actor - he'd been a golden child to an over-worked single mother, an image of strength to a distant father and a faithful younger brother to an equally-mistreated older brother. He had other roles too; confidant, best friend, acquaintance, advisor, protector, back-up, defender, leader even...

Don't forget the big one – the guardian angel.

Angel. He wasn't. He was an actor, a liar - and he was pretty sure everyone else knew as much inside. No one feigns interest in an angel, like they'd feign an interest in him. No one believed that he could hurt – at least, that was what Takeru believed. He must have been convincing enough an actor, though, if everyone felt confident enough that he could carry their burdens as well as his own. He'd done little to dissuade them of it despite wanting comfort; Takeru hadn't shirked any of his responsibilities, ever.

But sacrifices were tall orders.

Inhibitions lowered a little more. 'I'm not an angel.' He assured himself, sounding childishly insistent as he picked up his glass and considered the gleam of the television light through its curves. And then, he threw the glass and it smashed against the wall. Water and chunky shards of poorly-tempered glass landed across the wall and wooden floor, but were immediately ignored and forgotten.

Takeru could be bad too, he could prove it. Feeling a heat rising up his chest, Takeru sat up again and stood up before making his way to the sink for another drink. Water might cool down his hot head.

When he saw his fleeting reflection in the microwave door, he didn't expect to see Yamato's eyes. The eyes he'd seen definitely weren't his. He stepped backwards and peered at the face in the glass, inspecting closer; yes, he really had become Yamato. His eyes were of a darker blue than Takeru's own, and deeper, and sharper…

… And honest…

'Are you actually going to put up a fight this time, or what?' Yamato had teased with an airy laugh, flicking the joysticks of his controller as Takeru struggled horribly with his own.

'Shut up, Yamato. It's not my fault I only learned the controls ten minutes ago. Maybe you taught me wrong.'

'Maybe if you weren't in such a crappy mood, you'd have concentrated more when I was teaching you.' Yamato laughed, eyes focused only on the screen.

Takeru grit his teeth, and muttered dejectedly, 'But I was concentrating!'

When Yamato finally stopped playing around with him and won swiftly, Takeru leant back against the sofa cushions. The older blonde chuckled, before sliding up onto the sofa and setting his controller down on the table. He asked, 'Are you gonna be ok by yourself for a while?'

Takeru's face fell further, and he concentrated on the television screen. 'I thought you were hanging out here today...with me.'

'Well, I am,' the other said hesitantly, 'or, at least that's what I've told mom. The band wants to meet, and I've already promised to be there. You know how it is, right?'

'Right... When'll you be back?'

'Well, when does mom get home?'

'About a quarter to ten.'

'Half-nine then. Latest, though, I swear.'

'I guess. But don't you-'

Takeru's voice was meek, and Yamato barely acknowledged it as he ruffled his younger's brother's hair and grabbed his jacket. Not even looking back as he slipped his trainers on and adjusted the laces, Yamato clarified, 'You'll open the door for me when I get back, yeah?'

'Ok, Yamato.'

Takeru glumly wondered whether he should've gotten a written, contract-style promise from Yamato that stated that he'd actually be a brother to him from time to time, all those years ago. They were hardly even friends nowadays.

He regretted not having a go at Yamato back then, and hiding his burnt hands when his mother came home that night, a mere ten minutes after Yamato had come back. Takeru remembered when his hands slipped around the pan of hot water as he tried to make some dinner, and he clearly remembered the exact moment the scalding liquid caught his fingers and the searing pain as he bathed his hands under the cold tap. He'd worn gloves for weeks afterwards, and convinced everyone he was going through a phase.

He may have been a child, but he wasn't an idiot. His hands had since healed, and very well at that. Wasn't he lucky? Just remembering what had happened way back when sent shivers running across his palms.

Feeling his hands, the back of his left one felt rougher. Or maybe his senses were kidding themselves. Closer inspection revealed little numbers of black ink. Takeru had no idea what they were doing there, on the back of his hand. He looked at the tap for a moment, cradling his hand, before acting in the negative and fishing another glass from the cupboard. Washing his hands had not gotten rid of the marks the last time he'd tried, he recalled.

Why couldn't he remember what they meant, though? His forehead felt that bit heavier and he really regretted ditching his first glass of water now.

Wait, hang on- the meaning of the elusive numbers hit him out of nowhere. Hikari's new mobile number. Takeru looked at the numbers with a frown. Hadn't he told Hikari how much he hated when she carved into his skin with her ball-points like he was her own giant sketchbook? Sure, he let her play with his hair sometimes, but that was completely different.

He didn't even specifically remember meeting Hikari recently. Had it been yesterday? Or the day before? Either way, Takeru didn't want to see her again for a while. He needed to sort himself out - to be her angel again.

On one hand, he didn't want to break - for Hikari's sake. On the other, Takeru was kind of already broken. What Hikari saw in him, he wasn't sure… he didn't think he really saw anything worthwhile in himself. She was good like that, but sometimes she just felt like a lie…

'Takeru, I was thinking about our future.'

'We have futures? Hmm, I'd never have thought it. I figured we'd be fighting Digimon one day, and then romancing into the sunset and then repeating the next day and-'

'Takeru!'

It wasn't very late, but late enough that Takeru had had to beg his mother to let him out. As soon as he'd mentioned Hikari, however, she'd relented. Everyone seemed to have a soft spot for the two of them - especially when they were together. He liked Hikari more than anyone else. One of his weaknesses was that he couldn't really deny her anything, ever. And yet, he wasn't sure that he was even ready for such conversations – what had happened to living in the now? Takeru still had a family to fix…

His jokey tone hid his uneasiness. Hikari took his arm, wrapping her around his, and he fell easily into the stroll. 'I was thinking about after high school.'

'What, now?' Takeru asked, sounding nonchalant.

'Yes, now. We need to be prepared.' She said, slowing their pace.

Takeru said, more surely, 'I thought we'd already decided. You were going to apply to great schools and pick suitable back-ups and all the rest of it, and I was just going to apply to the same places and hope for the best.'

'Isn't there more to that? Don't you want to do something?'

No one would be there to protect her if he abandoned her. No way. Takeru, once again, had to be the responsible one. Not even Taichi could do as much for her as Takeru did.

'You know me... I'm more of a following kinda guy. Plus, I like where we're heading. All of your schools do my course too. We'll be together.'

'Hmm, if we get good grades, that is.'

'Hikari, we'll get good grades. Stop panicking.'

She sighed, and let herself calm down. 'I guess I'll leave you to do the worrying, huh?'

'Sounds about right.' Takeru laughed, though his eyes weren't sparkling with any mirth.

'You're always watching out for me. I've told you to stop, you know. Onii-chan only made you promise because we were eight-'

'Hikari, I don't take orders from you, or Taichi-san - come on, you know that.'

'Ooh, someone's being a sassy angel for me tonight, huh?'

'Shut up!'

They'd chuckled, and Hikari had swung their arms between them to burn her spare energy. They were both quiet - Takeru quite enjoyed the silence. And then, when he'd felt most at peace, a light bulb had seemingly lit in her head.

'Oh, Takeru! I just remembered something really important. My mobile number has changed. Dad found a pay-as-you-go tariff that has plenty of data and texts so-'

Those numbers. Her phone number. Takeru didn't think that he'd be calling her anytime soon. He wanted to, sure, but he didn't think that Hikari would be of help at the moment. Maybe later, once he doesn't feel so unaware of himself, Takeru would call her.

As it was, he definitely felt different this time. Takeru didn't think he felt better or worse after ingesting the medicine, though. Deeper, maybe. Transcendent. Yeah, transcendent. No, was he dying? No, he couldn't be. At least, he felt tired and nevermore so alive. Takeru didn't even think his thoughts were making any sense anymore. He couldn't explain what he was doing – to feel again, he was making himself less responsive? On paper, it didn't sound right but it was working well enough for him so far.

There was an odd numbness in his head. The lack of stimulation was almost... pleasurable. The pair of pills on the coffee table would come in handy once the calming numbness fades, Takeru had figured. The feeling didn't last very long - hence the desire, no, the necessity, to keep himself topped up. He knew his attention-span was taking the brunt of the damage - he wasn't an idiot.

Just the other day, he was sure he'd been talking, in person, to Yamato for at least a full hour, before his mother had asked him to put his phone down and come for dinner. But, there was no phone in his hand, only a mirror in front of him – and Yamato had disappeared. Hadn't Yamato been there, with him? Scratching his head now instead of his hand, Takeru went to take the two pills he'd set out, before running back to the sink and filling a glass - how many glasses had he taken out? He downed the pills quickly, so quickly that he thought he heard a slosh in his stomach.

There… Much better.

Hikari hadn't meant to run into Yamato. She hadn't really given him any thought that day. She was more occupied with the other brother. Sure, they still hung out, but it was never just the two of them. She knew Yamato was taking some time off from college while his band enjoyed a little bit of success - their feature on some radio show had landed them a live show, and Yamato had apparently convinced the university to allow him to put his studies on hiatus for a while in the hopes that this gig leads to another.

They'd walked straight into each other, too - it would have been quite comical had jars of sauces not been spilt. Had they not been angrily chased out of the convenience store and threatened with a rough-looking broom, they both would have offered to pay for the broken items and clean up the resulted mess. Hikari had been distraught.

They were two roads away when Yamato started to laugh at the situation.

Blue eyes amused, he laughed, 'And here I was thinking that Taichi was the only Yagami that would ever get me into trouble.'

Hikari slapped his arm, but it came out as more of a punch.

'Ow!'

'Seriously? Because of you, I have to start my shop all over again! That store is the only one around here that has the brand of soy I like, and now I'm going to have to settle for second best because you can't watch where you're going!'

She punctuated her rant with a swing at Yamato with her trusty purse.

'Hey- look! I'm sorry, ok? Not that you were looking at where you were going either, 'Kari.'

She huffed, clearly not having it. Yamato tried not to smile - Taichi usually did the exact same thing.

'Look,' he consented, 'we'll just go to another place now. We can shop together.'

She hesitated (she might have still been catching her breath) before relenting, 'Fine. You can carry my basket-'

'I didn't say that I wou-'

'Yes, you did.'

The two walked to a different shop - the local superstore. Hikari hated going there, but she had no choice – not only was it further away from her place, it was also massive. The shelves were too high. The freezers were too deep. The trolleys were banged up-

'Yamato-san, I swear if you hit me with that trolley one more time-!'

'Hey, calm down 'Kari, it's not my fault the bloody wheels on this thing are jammed.'

Yamato had ended up doing most of the shopping, the reason being that Hikari was just shy in height of most of the shelves. She probably could have survived on her own, but why exert herself when there was a strapping guy who could do it all for her? At the till, they decided to just pay fifty-fifty. Their shops were already combined in the trolley, and they really couldn't be bothered to tally up what they'd bought individually. They bagged their separate things carefully before leaving, though.

It was three roads away from the shop when Yamato decided it was weird that they'd been taking the same way home. 'Hey, don't you live that way?' Yamato asked, indicating behind them.

'I'm going Takeru's. Surprise visit.'

'Seriously? I was going there too.'

Hikari's suspicion that the Yamato-fest her day had become wasn't going to end anytime soon now ultimately realised, her irritation gave way to exhaustion. She had planned to spend the day alone with Takeru - the younger blonde had yet to call her or message her via her new number. They'd basically been out of contact for the past three days. Just her luck, that Yamato would choose to hang out with Takeru at the exact same time.

'Did you call him?' she asked. She wondered if she should have called Takeru, not that he'd responded to any of her prior messages.

Yamato shrugged - he might've forgotten, but if he had, he didn't seem too mindful. Unconcerned, he told her, 'Takeru will welcome the company. I was planning to just waltz in and hang around. Maybe make a little dinner-'

'I was going to do that too.' Hikari said pleasantly.

'We still can - God knows we have enough ingredients.'

'Sounds like a plan.' She said, adding cheekily, 'A completely green-fuzz-free meal.'

'Sure thing. Why do you think I wanted to make sure the kitchen was stocked this time?' Yamato asked with a contagious grin, nudging Hikari with one of his bags.

Everything had been moving so fast. He hadn't meant to pull the entire cutlery drawer out of the cupboard as he slumped to the floor. Takeru figured - hey, he was always figuring things - that lying on a flat surface would feel remotely steadying.

He still felt dizzy. Everything was still spinning. It didn't make any sense.

He felt sick, but he knew he wasn't going to be sick. He wasn't sick, sick. Just... he was ill. He was burdened. Stressed? No, his mother was stressed. His dad was stressed. Takeru still thought that those stresses were partially his fault. Wholly his fault. He wasn't supposed to make people worry, right? He was the angel. But being an angel wasn't really his thing anymore - it was too hard, and too unrelenting.

The angel was inside him. He wanted it gone. He wanted his real happiness.

To think, people usually came to him for help. The very idea, looking at him now, was so laughable that he was actually laughing. But how could he be crying at the same time? He rolled over, onto his chest, onto his back, and again onto his chest. Takeru managed to fish an offending spoon from underneath his ribs and with careless aim he flung it out of his way. Here he was, the group psychiatrist, chucking spoons around his mother's apartment like his usually-level-head wasn't exactly all level. He didn't think anyone would want his advice if they saw him like this. This might even be the real him. Maybe they would finally offer him some advice for a change...

Angel. Angel. Where was that even coming from? He hated that word so much right now. He didn't want to be an angel, even if everyone would hate him if he wasn't. Takeru was so fed up with the title. How could he even be an angel? He wasn't perfect, though he had certainly tried in his time. He was just Takeru. Wasn't he? What did he really know about being good? People asked him his opinion, but overrode him when it really came down to it. He was just a sympathetic ear, a shoulder to cry on.

Whose shoulder could he cry on? Not Mom's, or Dad's - certainly not Yamato's, and definitely not Hikari's. He couldn't do that to her.

His sweatshirt felt strangling, so he pulled it off - his t-shirt came off with it, by accident. As the clothes went over his head, it felt like darkness had taken over - the few seconds it took felt like a complete hour, and when his head was free again, hair ruffled, he was enveloped in light. It was so bright; his eyes almost began to ache; his perception was vague, the light was intense; he didn't even mind so much.

Takeru felt like he was carrying the world on his back - he felt so heavy, so heavy that he couldn't even get up off the floor. His body was pressed down, and when he twisted to have a look, he could see nothing but the bright light. He patted the floor behind him - his hands looked like they were bending at odd angles, but they felt fine. Huh. He pawed at his back, and pulled his hand away, staring wide-eyed at the handful he had so suddenly acquired.

He had a handful of long, soft feathers. Completely white, so pure and elegant. It was so wrong.

He couldn't be an angel. He didn't want to. Why was this happening? He wasn't having it. A knife on the floor, beside him, caught his attention and though he struggled to pick it up, he held it deftly. He could feel the protrusions near his shoulders - his wings. He could get rid of them. That, Takeru figured, was the only solution. Tear his wings off, tear them apart. He refused to be perfect for anyone anymore. He would cut them away.

And so, he slashed.

It didn't even hurt at first. Four rough lines - two for each wing - down from his shoulder to the small of his back. The first pair of cuts had been the most difficult, and though he couldn't quite see it, he knew there was blood everywhere. Sacrifices are tall orders, but they had to be made. Once one was gone, he could see feathers flying everywhere. Little white spots everywhere, floating both in the distance and right in front of his face. It was like he could feel them ticking his nose and landing in his hair. The second sets of cuts were cleaner - he'd managed to sit up and used his reflection in the fridge door to remove the wing.

Why were his ears ringing?

Once he was done, he felt proud for having actually finished the job. Takeru dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor - the noise reverberated, and the ringing didn't stop. The weight was gone though, making Takeru relieved above all else. His head ached, and now his back was on fire, but he couldn't close his eyes. He was so awake. Maybe he was still dying, he didn't know, but for the first time in a long time, Takeru didn't feel hollow. He could feel everything. This was what anti-depressed was. He thought he might cry in relief.

'You got keys?' Yamato asked her, his hands full with shopping bags.

Hikari fumbled for a second, fishing her keys out of her pocket. 'Yeah. Takeru's- your mom gave me one of the spares.'

The spare set was the same one that he himself had given back to his mother when he moved into the city for university. It still had the little picture keychain on it - a picture of Yamato and his mother. Hikari hadn't replaced it, or taken it off at all - that was nice of her.

When Hikari had got the door open, they stepped in; the lights were off and the curtains were drawn completely - was Takeru asleep? It was so dark. He might not even be home. They slipped off their shoes, and Yamato was about to lock the door when Hikari asked him, 'Did you break something in one of your bags?'

'What? Why?' He asked quickly, checking his bags.

'Can't you smell that?'

At first he didn't. But when he concentrated, he picked up the irony, rusty smell. He knew what it was, and that was no grocery item. 'What the hell?'

The light of the television was the only thing illuminating the hallway before Hikari flicked the light switch on. They trod forward with the shopping.

And then they saw Takeru on the floor.

He was covered in long scratches and cuts and blood - why was there blood everywhere? A bloody handprint on the fridge, blood smears on the floor, on the kitchen cabinet. Hikari had dropped her grocery bag - the bottles inside had probably smashed, she dropped them with such force. Yamato rushed forward too, kicking stray cutlery on the floor out of their way.

Takeru was in fact conscious; his blue eyes shimmered with tears as he sobbed in a little puddle of his own blood. He was shaking and fidgeting and crying - what had happened? There were two massive cuts raking down his back and little cuts everywhere else.

Holding his head and forcing him to face her, Hikari shouted his name. But, she failed to get his complete attention. He barely acknowledged her presence – his eyes were focused on a space in front of her. She picked up the stray dishcloth and pressed it to the wounds, and Takeru immediately tried to shoo her away, flailing.

'Takeru, what happened?!' She cried, while Yamato quickly got up and grabbed the house phone to call an ambulance.

Takeru didn't answer her question. 'D-do you see 'em? So… so fucking pretty...'

Hikari asked, frightened, 'What? See what, Takeru?'

'You can't see 'em? The feathers… I- I refuse to- oh fuck...'

Takeru shifted and slumped against her, as if he had lost his balance, before regaining some kind of control and composing himself.

Hikari looked up at Yamato and repeated, as if he would correct her, 'Feathers?'

Looking back at Takeru, she asked desperately, 'Refuse to do what Takeru? What happened to you?'

'Hikari, don't. I've called an ambulance, but I don't know what they'll say about these...'

She looked up, and saw Yamato; in his hands, he held a little orange, cap-less bottle. He shook it, but there was barely a rattle. He told her, '…these are my- were my anti-depressants. From before.'

Yamato's before wasn't something they talked about – it had been rough, but they'd all made it through. That had been so long ago that Hikari didn't even click his meaning straight away. Yamato came up to Takeru, crouching down and resting the boys head in his lap to ask hurriedly, 'Takeru, bro, how many of these did you take? It's really important-'

'I don't... I don't remember, didn't count, so many days to count for... I'm sorry, Yamato-san, but I need them so much and I-'

He started to laugh - maybe he found his own desperation a little funny? Hikari was horrified by his malapropos behaviour. Through teary, choking sniggers, he said, 'I think I know what 'Knife of Day' means now, Onii-chan-'

'Takeru!' Yamato castigated, trying to still him as Hikari reached hurriedly for paper towels.

Trying to shuffle away, Takeru said blithely, 'I kinda made a mess, huh? Mom is not gonna be happy when she comes back.'

Yamato shushed him, and said to Hikari in a spillage of words, 'He's tripping, 'Kari. I don't... These pills are so old, like years old. I didn't even know they were still in the house!'

'Is he going to be ok?' She asked him softly, now trying to staunch the bleeding with wads of rolled tissue – the cuts were so long, it was a wonder how Takeru had even managed to make them.

'Angels are always fine, aren't they 'Kari?' Takeru mumbled, still crying. He sounded contently drunk, and sad and yet completely oblivious at the same time. He continued hazily, 'I refuse to be an angel. No one to look after angels. Angels always do the looking after.'

'Shh,' Hikari interrupted, looking at Yamato in horror. What was he saying? He sounded so sure, but he wasn't himself, was he?

Yamato couldn't believe his own assumption, he had to hear him say it - he dreaded hearing the answer he suspected would come from his little brother. 'Takeru, did you do this? To yourself?'

'I didn't... didn't want to be an angel anymore! Don't you see all the feathers? I- I cut 'em off. Got rid of them. So soft... it didn't hurt so I must have done good…'

Hikari cried at him in frustration as Takeru again began to laugh weakly; he was comparatively satisfied with his work. He sighed contently as his eyelids started to droop over his sore, bloodshot eyes - he was finally fully human, and now everyone would see. He let the darkness take him, wondering if he'd finally be soothed after years in the blinding light. Maybe Hikari would get rid of her wings too, and join him? He could hear her faint cries for him to keep his eyes open, but he was so far gone, and so tempted by sleep, and weary with relief and loss and hope for the future. There wasn't anything angelic about him anymore, he didn't think. It didn't feel like he'd ever have to think so hard about anything so confusing ever again.

He was free, wasn't he? So why, in the last milliseconds before he collapsed, unconscious, did it feel like he was falling instead of flying?