Chapter 1: Don't Forget to Smile

What lied beyond the brink of despair was the possibility of hope… if only for a moment.

And every year, when the calendar landed on August eighth, Misaki would devote spending majority of the day—aside from school—isolated in his red pajamas, contemplating if all that Takahiro sacrificed had been worth it. Starting the morning by unplugging the house phone's cord from the white socket on beige wall was his usual objective on what was supposed to be a celebratory day: his seventeenth birthday. His other norm this time of year was sporting darkened bags under his eyes from the daunting memories of the hellish… accident that he'd caused, which took the lives of both of his parents, and his brother, Takahiro.

After that, lonely, green eyes would scan the over the empty home in which he dwelled. Most of the blue furniture—the sofa and the recliner specifically—had been unused since his family's death, and like every morning, Misaki would pace down the carpeted, green hall and creep into what used to be his parents room. The intrusion of dust made him cough, but the seventeen-year-old simply forced out a strained, "Ohayou."

No one called back and he expected as much. The same occurrence happened when he repeated the action upon opening Takahiro's old bedroom.

"Nii-san," he called, flashing an exhausted smile towards the abandoned blue-sheeted bed. "Ohayou…" I miss you, he thought, shutting the door.

Neither of the two rooms had been touched in exactly two years since his aunt and uncle moved out—which had been on the eve of his fifteenth birthday—after they were sure he was capable of taking care of himself. He didn't miss them, of course. They hadn't been particularly interested in raising him, either; they'd only been keen on consuming the insurance money that his parents left them in case...

In case they perished due to unforgiving circumstances, like the one Misaki had caused.

They did manage to visit once a week and drop off groceries and funds so that Misaki could spend it as he pleased. The necessary bills were paid for while Misaki lived alone, but they made it known that once he turned eighteen—one year from now—that he'd have to fend for himself. He often wondered if they'd give him the remaining funds meant for he and Takahiro when that time arrived, but he doubted it.

When a sudden reminder intruded upon his thoughts, Misaki snapped his fingers. "Oh, right. Almost forgot…" He hurried to the hallway closet and retrieved a round, purple bottle of vanilla and jasmine perfume from the middle shelf. On the opposite side, there were two other containers—one a square shape and the other a rectangle. The rectangular one was filled with golden cologne, and it had a heavy musk scent fit for the average adult male. The square container was less strong, and Misaki knew it had been Takahiro's favorite. It was blue in color and he'd always use the spare change his aunt and uncle gave him to purchase these three scents in bulk.

Grabbing all three, he headed back to the living room. On the right side of the couch, he sprayed the cushion with his mother's familiar scent, like he did every week. In the middle, he dabbed a little of Takahiro's cologne on the back of the couch, and he ignored the left side of the area which was his usual spot to sit... "Haven't forgotten about you, dad," he murmured, pacing over to his father's favorite recliner.

It was after he'd made sure his family's favorite aromas lingered around the living room that he glanced at the black clock on the farthest wall of the vicinity. "Gotta get ready for school," he said to himself. He didn't sound the least bit excited, and he was mentally preparing himself to smile throughout the day as he headed to his bedroom.

Later, once he'd showered, and opted to skip breakfast, he pulled his green hoodie over his white shirt and stuffed his wallet into the pocket of his denim jeans. As he rushed to the front door, he grabbed his brown backpack he'd left on the white kitchen counter, along with his house keys, and he exited his home.

Here we go, he mused, frowning as he locked his front door.

"Ohayou, Misaki!" an elderly woman greeted across the small stone wall. "Happy birthday!"

The one thing that Misaki hated about growing up in the same lower-middle class neighborhood his entire life was that everyone knew his business and they went out of their way to be extra nice to him on his birthday, knowing how saddening the day must've been after such a traumatic experience—one that he blamed himself for entirely.

Before Misaki turned around, he took in a deep breath. Don't cry, he warned himself. Don't you dare cry, not here… A forced grin inched its way onto his lips as he turned and offered the kind woman a quick wave. "Ah!" He bowed, closing his eyes in the movement. "Arigato!"

Feeling a familiar stinging at his eyes, he swiftly righted himself and hurried down the sidewalk to prevent any further unwanted conversation. "Don't forget to smile," he reminded himself, blinking back tears. "Even when you're about break, don't forget to smile…"

These were words that he lived by, words spoken to him by Takahiro.


On the other side of the city, Akihiko was sitting on his red sofa watching Aikawa edit his latest novel from where she sat on the opposite matching furniture. His violet eyes were observing her blue ones as they read over his material with no indication of intrigue, and a cigarette rested between his lips.

As he leaned back, he tugged his yellow tie off and thought that perhaps it'd be better to change into another shirt, besides the white collared one he was currently donning with a navy-blue vest and some grey slacks. He'd worn it yesterday and he hadn't the opportunity to shower due to finishing his deadline. He always made it a point to finish his deadlines on August eighth… Every other day, though, he'd never be on time.

A noise from Aikawa's end caused his brows to rise, and he positioned his left arm along the back of the couch while propping his right leg onto his right. "Something wrong?" he asked. His quiet, raspy voice sounded tantalizing to most ears, although the redhead was a different breed of woman, and she looked at him with an expression that revealed she was entirely immune to the striking silver-haired author.

"I don't think everything you write should end in angst," she advised, briefly lifting the document for emphasis. "I'm starting to see a pattern in your writing and they all involve this theme..." They were similar to what Akihiko had went through when losing Takahiro.

He regarded the statements with a nod, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth to rest between his middle and index finger. "I can't write anything else." He'd spoken this as he turned away, huffing out smoke through his nostrils.

"Can't, or won't?" Aikawa asked as she patted down a wrinkle on her white blouse. Her eyes witnessed the dismaying way his shut and she lowered the manuscript, resting it on her black skirt. "…It's been nine years, hasn't it?"

He made a small hum of acknowledgement, gazing towards the large paneled windows of his penthouse. "It should've been him." He'd spoken the sentence simply, but the scorn behind it was enough to make Aikawa's lips part and her eyes widened.

"You don't mean that," she said softly. "No one could've predicted…" She left the sentence to trail once he glanced her way. After swallowing the collected saliva in her throat, she said, "Maybe you should reach out to him."

He scoffed. "I wouldn't know how to react," he admitted. "I'd probably do something that I'd regret." He was sure of it, although he'd said 'probably' to prevent a slap across the face from the woman. He'd experienced her wrath before; she was brutal when upset.

Aikawa stood and grabbed her nearby black satchel, placing the manuscript inside. "But it could be the closure you need." With that said, she headed to the door of his home.

"What if meeting him has reverse effects?" he asked.

The sound of her retreating heels didn't pause. "Then that's a risk you'll have to decide if you're willing to take, but at least if it doesn't work out, you can still say you tried." She'd made it to the door, and her right hand was resting on the knob. As she pressed her lips together, she lowered her head. "I think you'll be more inclined to visit Misaki once you get over how it happened and realize that the best thing you loved about Takahiro is still perfectly alive and well."

He almost scoffed at the idea. "Really?" His right brow arched. "Where is it then?"

"It's with his little brother, right in his chest."

A surprised gasp emitted from Akihiko, and violet eyes darted towards the entrance as she left. What she spoke had been the truth. Takahiro had entrusted Misaki with the one organ that made Akihiko fall in love with him: his heart.

It should've been that brat, he thought bitterly. Everything that happened all those years ago had been because of Misaki, after all. He'd never even met the child back then, but Takahiro had been adamant to avoid not bragging about his kid brother every chance he received. Because of this, even when Takahiro had been alive, Akihiko resented Misaki—and the youngest Takahashi was the prime reason why the man grew to hate children.

Bothersome little things…

He rose, taking a drag from his cigarette as his feet paced over the light-brown wooden floor. On his way up the stairs, he saw a slip of paper on the white end table, where the black house phone was located. Picking it up, he read over the contents.

"Aikawa," he said, rolling his eyes as he crumbled the item and tossed it on the floor. He wasn't keen on meeting the teen… However, the further he walked up the stairs, the longer he thought of the address scrawled on the note Aikawa had written. He recognized it, knowing that he used to drop Takahiro off there often. He'd even visited a few times after school, but with as many pictures that he'd seen of Misaki, he'd never met the child.

He's seventeen today, Takahiro, he mused absently. That's nine years since you've… He made a 'tch' sound, wincing from the thought. Even at the funeral, he'd only seen the child in passing, refusing to give the boy his condolences for fear that he'd make a scene. When visiting Takahiro while the doting big brother was still alive, he had never seen the child around, and he was never told where Misaki was. Now that he remembered, he'd never bothered to ask. Misaki didn't matter in his eyes.

"Probably staying late at school," he said to himself. And now he's probably going to the same high school that Takahiro attended... I don't have to meet him; I could just see how he's faring… In truth, he was hoping that he'd see the teen sporting the same frown he'd been sporting since the accident—the same feelings of regret and depression that he was experiencing. Not even God could help Misaki if Akihiko saw the teen enjoying himself on his birthday, and something as simple as a smile wouldn't be acceptable for Misaki to be displaying in Akihiko's eyes on the anniversary of Takahiro's death.

Hopefully Misaki would forget to smile by the afternoon, when the last bell at school ended and the author decided to pay him a visit.

A/N: I've been thinking about this idea for a while, but I hadn't decided to post it until now. I haven't written in third person for a few months so writing this felt a little off. Misaki's also OOC unless in the presence of people so there's that… I'm not sure if I should continue this, since I do have a lot to update, but I did want to at least post this first chapter.

As always, thanks to anyone who's read this and you're welcome to share your opinions, or hit a button. I don't mind either. :)

-AJ