A/N: Thank you so much, Krikanalo, your review and follow. I'll try to be less spotty with my updates from now on. By the way, there is no smut in this. Or yaoi.

Fourteen days, Rin thought tiredly. Two weeks since he was moved from the security of his strictly no-visitors hospital room (his parents paid heftily for him to have his own room, hand-pick his doctors, and keep everything from the news to prevent soiling of the good Fujimoto name) to this hell called True Cross.

Two weeks in, and he was still Level 1.

Meals brought to his room at nine, noon, and five. Appointment at two with bulldog-faced Ms. Watsuki (no wonder she wasn't married. If her face didn't scare her man off, the Pit Bull personality sure as hell would). His brother knew he had a thing for a lot of older women, Rin called them more mature, but not even he would even think about sleeping with her. No group rehab. No eating with other inmates… ahem, patients. None of that came until Level 3. Level 2 granted him television and solid food, trusting him enough not to intentionally choke on his meal or stab himself with his spork. Gratefully, that was what he was supposed to be bumped up to today. For now, he simply had to content himself with the pills assigned to him every four hours, along with sleeping pills before bed.

He'd learned a lot about TCRC from the pamphlets (the only allotted reading material in his cell… room). It was government-owned and operated. Any poor kid fresh out of the hospital could stay at the halfway house for fuck-ups. It wasn't just psychos why tried to off themselves. No. it was for twenty breeds of crazy. Junkies. Sluts. Pregnant sluts. Whores. Kids who tried to kill themselves. Schizos. Even kids who tried to kill other people. He wasn't sure who was on the patient list at the moment, however, so he didn't know the official tally.

Rin suddenly found himself wishing he had his phone. TCRC staff took it away from him. He could have it back when he reached Level 4, and even then, he could only contact approved people. Ayame? Nope. Prison. Shiemi? She probably—no, definitely—hated him for cheating on her with their married English teacher. Yukio? When was the last time he even had a proper conversation with his own twin brother? Looking back, he regretted it. They stopped talking since their parents shoved their hopes of a professional athlete on Rin and a high-class lawyer on Yukio. They tried to fight it, but if there was anything they learned, it was that arguing with Mother only left them with a bruised ego and a slap on the face. Well, he thought, no one to text. Might as well count town 'til they give him those wonderful little pills.

XXXXX

Izumo found herself boredly playing with the gauze around her left wrist, covering the massive scar that had almost ended her life, and several, smaller ones that soared her into the white. Stitches were placed there in the hospital and the doctor said, with gossamer layered disgust in his voice and eyes, that her wrist would scar. She didn't care. She was trying to kill herself. Why would she stop and think, Not this deep. I don't want to have a scar at my funeral.

Gran had sent her here after she was sewn up and the five-day hospital observation period was over. Probably so she didn't end up like her mother, sitting in a chair, only halfway aware of her surroundings. A wave of empathy hit her for her grandmother. She had raised her mother, never noticed anything wrong with her. Out of place. But still, Mother wasn't truly 'Mother' since she deliriously started rambling about angels, heaven, and redemption.

Izumo was drowning in the blue, however. Everything felt like she was swimming in thick syrup. Sounds were muted. The world slowed to a stop. She knew how to fix this, like she had so many dozen times before. But the staff doctors cut her nails to the quick, and she didn't see anything she could cut with. She looked at the clock. 10:30. Almost time for her first group therapy session. Don't say 'therapy'. Too much like Mom. She wondered who would be there with her. Kids who only cut for attention? Girls who got knocked up? Teens with eating disorders? Her last thought hit her hardest. Kindred spirits who didn't want to live anymore, but messed up somewhere on the road?

XXXXX

Shima felt ten curious pairs of eyes on him and the other new girl. Despite the fact this place was designed for assorted screw-ups, he decided it was still like high school—all he heard was speculation on why he and the other girl were there. He let his eyes drift to the left, to the other new girl. Hair so dark it was violet fell to her waist. Her eyes were a breathtaking crimson, skin a flawless ivory. He wondered what a girl so beautiful was doing here. And why he couldn't tear his eyes from her hypnotizing form. He somehow gathered the courage to introduce himself. "I'm Renzou."

The girl rolled those enchanting eyes, but replied, "Izumo."

"So how does a pretty girl like you end up here?"

From the back of the room, he heard a snort. "Pretty? I was sure you only thought other boys were pretty." Renzo shot a glare Ryuuji's way. Nobody knew anything about him, but the word was that he tried to drown his kid brother in the bathtub. Looking the muscular boy up and down, Shima didn't doubt it for a second. He felt the blood rush to his face from the embarrassment. Instead of Izumo looking at him like a freak or just ignoring him, she piped up.

"Well then, shit for brains, what's it to you?"

"Hey, Gorgeous, I don't want any trouble. How's about you sit next to me and I show you?"

She responded to this by flipping him off.

The doctor chose that opportune time to walk into the room. She had pink hair with blond tips pulled back into a ponytail, and she was practically falling out of the suit she was wearing. "Hello! I'm doctor Kirigakure! We have two new patients here. Renzou, Izumo, why don't you introduce yourselves?"

Renzou decided to be the first to introduce himself. "I'm Renzou Shima. I'm from Kyoto."

"And how did you get here?"

"Isn't there a doctor-patient confidentiality issue?"

Glaring at him, she moved on to Izumo.

"My name is Izumo Kamiki. That's pretty much all you fuck faces need to know about me." She chose a seat beside him.

"Hey, Izumo, do you want to eat with me for lunch today?"

She shrugged. "I guess. Not like I have anyone else to talk with."

Just as they sat down, they saw a blue-haired boy in the hold of Dr. Watsuki.

A/N: Please review! They help me write faster!