Breathe

by Sandfire Kat

Loss is defined as the sensation of grief one feels when they have lost something or someone of great value. But grief can mutate and transform into something deadly, something much more toxic. It can grow in size and swallow someone whole, changing them from the person they once were into someone of a polar body. How can you help someone move on when they don't even want to live?

4. Chapter 4

It became something of a routine. Lies, once having left a bitter taste on the back of Hiro's tongue whenever they were forced out, now came across as simple and even commonplace. Half of his vocabulary consisted of deception and falsehood; yet, in severe contrast to his character before, Hiro didn't mind the fact; he didn't care in the slightest. Far more evenings than not he was out of the house, Aunt Cass under the pretense that he was out with friends or going off to look at the college again. The fourteen-year-old had told his guardian that, since registration was far overdue by now, he would consider signing up during the second semester. Such a promise, though reliably empty on his part, naturally thrilled his aunt. So she did not raise an eyebrow on the boy's frequent 'visits' to the campus. As long as the boy provided fabricated details of his supposed trips down there, she could swallow the idea wholeheartedly.

However the boy's nights were not filled with long hallways of students, or scientific laboratories that provoked interest and wonder. They were instead replaced with an array of things, quite unlike something that could be found inside of a classroom or a library. The boy would flip up the hood of his sweatshirt, bent over against the frigid weather as he made the necessary call. Redhead would always pick up at least by the third ring, and then it would play out from there. That was the only end of the routine that could ever end up changing. He could be given the things that he needed — always the same request for alcohol, and now the pills that had been added to the list — or Redhead would offer other options. She would volunteer places to go or other things to fill their time and money with. And it wasn't like Hiro cared what they did in the first place; he had thought it many times over when such a thing transpired: he didn't necessarily mind what he did, as long as the same goal was achieved in the end.

So he was obedient. When Redhead offered him other types of pills — such as capsules of particularly strong painkillers that, if taken the correct dosage, would induce a sleepy, peaceful haze — he accepted with minimal, if not nonexistent, hesitation. And when Redhead steered him instead into the deeper parts of town, and ushered him into shady hang-outs, he barely batted an eye. How could he? Because either roundabout way he took, it eventually led him to the same ending. The pills that the girl had given him initially provided him with a wrapped, oddly tranquil lapse of the mind as his body was forced to deal with the foreign chemicals. Sometimes the effects would last more than an hour; and the boy would relish in the drawn-out episodes of paralyzed peace, his mind left insensible and foggy. The alcohol would serve a similar purpose, yet at least with the drinks, he was also given the sense of warmth that he's begun to associate with security.

The problems left in the wake of the substances were not nearly at the forefront of his mind. He could deal with the nausea left after his mind was dragged back up into motion again. He could deal with the headaches left from swallowing down the alcohol, and he could deal with the aftereffects that the 'medicine' brought with it. Thanks to the sickness that usually resulted in the boy hunching himself over the toilet, Hiro had been losing more weight than normal. Since Tadashi's death, he had refused to each much in the first place, though now that his body was struggling to force the foul things back up and out of his system, the loss had nearly doubled. Aunt Cass had voiced concern over this aspect multiple times with the boy's clothes being much baggier than they had been on him two weeks ago; not to mention that his overall appearance in general accentuated his newfound pallor quite obviously.

But Hiro disregarded the questions that were shot his way. He was dismissive of most things when it came to Aunt Cass by now, and as a result, the two of them hardly talked. Most of the time it wasn't on purpose— Hiro had just taken to becoming despondent and silent, staring off into space with just the smallest hint of a frown whenever he was stuck back at home. But sometimes it was intended, the teenager pointedly avoiding his aunt and refusing to acknowledge her whenever she tried to approach him. Such a relationship was now bridging between the two of them, and Aunt Cass, who had learned her lesson from multiple failed attempts at trying to wriggle out conversation from her nephew, was left just standing off to the side, an extremely sad expression hanging over her features. It was clear that she was upset, and that with the way Hiro was acting, he wasn't helping in the slightest. But, yet again…he couldn't find any more reason to care.

He just wanted the oblivion, and so far this was just the only way to get it. Any consequences were unimportant.

It had been a few weeks since his first meeting with Redhead down at the pier. And it had only taken a week after that night to establish their routine of calls and exchanges. Upon the first call that he had made to Redhead, Hiro had almost been stopped by the anxiety that came with the mere idea of all of this. The young boy had been wary in the idea of handing over money in exchange for illegal substances; but now it was second nature to him. It was simple. He either got the money from winning bot fights, or he stole some from the cash register whenever Aunt Cass wasn't looking. He would then proceed to call Redhead, and walk downtown to meet her. There wasn't much to it anymore to Hiro— he was fully desensitized in every aspect of the word.

Now, the boy was waiting on the side of the street, seated on the curb as he tucked his nose down underneath the collar of his sweatshirt. It had gotten progressively colder with each passing day— just a reminder that pretty soon there would be snow on the ground instead of rain. For the past week it seemed like the rain wouldn't stop, and now that it finally did, there was a layering of fog hanging over the ground. The mist was unnaturally thick, and it made seeing a foot in front of your nose difficult. All the same though, Hiro had made the decision to meet up with Redhead. Aunt Cass had mentioned something about going out to dinner, and that was the last thing that Hiro wanted. If such a thing were to occur, not only would he be forced to sit directly across from Aunt Cass for the absolute minimum of an hour, but he would also be forced to eat. So Hiro had excused himself directly, more or less stating that he would go out by himself instead— not that tactful in the way that he rejected his guardian.

That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The boy had walked downtown, which had taken up the majority of his time, and then he had found someplace out-of-the-way to wait for the tattooed girl. She had asked him to meet in a very specific spot that was at least somewhat familiar to the boy; Hiro realized that with this meeting spot, Redhead was probably having the idea of going someplace rather than just handing over what he needed. He looked down, checking the time on his phone as the thought crossed his mind. It was only turning 7:00 now— he would have enough time. At least five hours of it.

No sooner did Hiro look down at his phone did the small thing start vibrating in his hand. The teenager stiffened slightly at the sudden call, though once the initial shock of it wore off, his eyes narrowed into slits instead. He'd memorized the calling number in the past two weeks; mostly because the only contact in his phone was Aunt Cass, and this set of numbers was much different. But he knew without even thinking who it was; it wasn't a stretch to know considering Wasabi called him nearly every day now. Though Hiro's thought process tended to be blurred and fuzzy when he thought back to instances when he was under the influence, he distantly remembered how Tadashi's old friend had driven him home from the pier— or wherever he had wandered to from there, he still wasn't really sure how far he had walked on his own. He remembered not saying much, just asking Wasabi to let him go home. He really only remembered snatches— things were difficult for him to recall up until he had woken up the next day with Aunt Cass hovering over him worriedly. Yet it was obvious that he had done something to make the other concerned. Concerned or suspicious. Otherwise he wouldn't be calling every single chance he could get.

Unnerved, Hiro felt anger curl in the back of his stomach as a scowl crossed over his features. Why wouldn't Wasabi just leave him alone? You'd think after fifty rejected calls, someone would give up. As the barbed thought crossed his mind, he hung up without even answering, tucking the phone away and giving out a short sigh that ruffled the cloth of his hoodie. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone— was that really such a difficult concept for other people to grasp? It seemed to be; because everywhere he turned people were demanding his obviously-unwilling attention. Even customers at the cafe wouldn't let him walk out of the building without trying to hold him up.

Stewing in his own self-pity and misery, Hiro glared into space. He didn't pay attention to what was going on around him, and in effect, he didn't notice as Redhead came into view through the fog. Her appearance went unnoticed until she spoke up, raising her voice into a small yell that caused the fourteen-year-old to jerk back into the present. "Hey Grumpy! You ready?" she greeted, Hiro not even bothering to correct her on the name she used as he merely stood up from the side of the walkway. Starting to wish that he had brought a heavier coat, he pulled his sweatshirt tighter to himself, trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering. He didn't reply as Redhead came closer, and she raised her eyebrows at him skeptically. "…Well don't answer me all at once," she said tartly.

He sighed. "I've been ready for more than an hour now," he said, a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice. But he quickly shook his head free of the emotion, sticking his hands in his pockets and clearing his throat briefly as he ducked out from underneath his jacket to speak properly. "You took your time in getting here," he pointed out instead, forcing himself to indulge in at least a little conversation. If he didn't, the process of getting his things took longer than he liked.

As he noted this, Redhead rolled her eyes, lifting up her arm and extending the bag she held over to Hiro. "Whatever," she chirped, sounding not in the least bit offended by the words. Hiro took the offering, looking inside to see yet another pack of alcohol. There weren't any more pills— he had purchased a whole bottle of them last time he had met up with the girl. So, as required, he handed over the payment, which the girl with the star tattoo accepted quickly. And as she tucked away the money, she cleared her throat, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to point back the way she had come. "I've gotta get going— I've got a group to meet twenty blocks down." But not long after the words escaped her mouth did she stop, a small hint of a smirk curling at the corners of her mouth. "Unless you wanna join me?"

Hiro was already opening his mouth to reject the offer. An extended night of 'socialization' wasn't on his list of priorities. He had already been planning on tucking himself away in the garage for the rest of the night— a much more isolated plan that frankly appealed to him a lot more than anything else. However he stopped himself short, hesitating briefly. If he went home, he always ran the risk of having Aunt Cass spot him and possibly find out what he was doing. Now that they rarely ever spoke, her worry had increased so much that it was almost like another entity entirely, a dark cloud that would always steer Hiro's way whenever it found something odd or out of place. And as he looked at Redhead from the lip of the plastic bag he held, and as he judged the mischievous look that was on her face, he figured that the group she was meeting didn't convene to discuss biblical passages.

So, after a brief pause, he shrugged. "Sure." He said with a small nod. "I don't care."

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Hiro sat against the wall reclusively, his knees drawn up into his chest in what was apparently the new habit for the teenager. Overhead, the sound of cars going to and fro created a roar in the background of the events unfolding around him, though if the boy were to be honest he would realize that he wasn't really paying attention to anything anymore. When Redhead had said 'group', Hiro had been under the impression that such a thing entitled the inclusion of maybe five or six other people. He hadn't been expecting a group of fifty of more, all clustered together and mingling underneath one of the overhanging highway bridges. Conversation was just as droning as the engines that were driving over them, and everybody here seemed to know at least ten other people, which left Hiro out, since he only knew one other person— and even then, he didn't know her real name.

So he had found a corner, which wasn't as hard as he had expected it to be. And he started to delve into the bag that had been handed to him. Most of the people here were going at least something similar. There was a group near the front of the opening that spent their time passing cigarettes from person to person— that or something like cigarettes that Hiro couldn't remember the name for. There were three people sitting against the wall as well a few feet away from Hiro who seemed to be organizing syringes on the ground. And a fairly large amount of people were busy cheering along a drinking contest that was taking place near the head of the party. At least Hiro could only decide to label it as a party— what else could it be, really?

He observed the goings-on around him and tried to find interest in it, but recently everything seemed as interesting to him as paint drying on a wall. He couldn't even bring himself to wonder where Redhead had gotten off to, or wonder why she had been so quick to leave him behind and not drag him along. He just sat and drank, wishing in the back of his mind that he had brought some of the pills that were currently tucked underneath his pillow. They acted much faster than the alcohol did— it seemed like every time that he drank, it took more of the liquid to produce the reaction that he wanted. Even now, when he was deep into his second bottle, he was only just now starting to turn off.

So he started into another, going quickly through the pack that had been provided to him a little more than two hours ago. He would have to go bot fighting tomorrow, and he would have to raise the stakes high enough to be able to get more to replace this one— preferably as soon as he could. Or if he couldn't manage to get away for that long, he could take from the register again. Aunt Cass was usually busy around the lunch and dinner rush— he could do it during those. Or when she was busy wiping down the tables. As long as he did it quickly, she wouldn't notice, he was sure of it. And until the woman started to notice that they were losing money, what was the harm in it? What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, would it? No, he told himself firmly, it wouldn't; not at all. If she didn't notice, then she obviously didn't care enough about it. And if she tried to stop him from leaving, he would just tell her that he was off to the college again. She got ecstatic whenever he even mentioned that place— she wouldn't dare stop him once he pulled that excuse. He took another deep inhale from the bottle he held, the plans growing steadily in his slightly warped mind just as the warm feeling in his chest was.

The thoughts accumulated into stacks, falling into place right next to one another as he looked through unfocused eyes at the events around him. At the drinking contests, at the people gathered together in groups, at the smoke that was rising up into the air and camouflaging into the fog, at the people next to him that were now voluntarily injecting needles into their arms and breaking through their skin. And all of a sudden another thought, one that was unwarranted, unexpected, rose out among the others.

Tadashi would be so disappointed in you.

The thought was unprovoked, and it hit the young boy like a punch to the gut. As if he really had been struck, his eyes rounded out in shock and something that closely resembled pain. The thought came across as vehement and cold, having a spitting edge to it that left Hiro feeling a sort stinging pain, as if slapped. His lungs seemed to freeze, the breaths that the boy managed to choke down not seeming to quell the burning sensation that was coming to replace the peaceful one that he had just started to establish. His jaw went slightly slack and his grip on the glass bottle increased tenfold. His mind, so fogged-over and relaxed a few moments before, stuttered, as if it was just as caught off-guard by the thought as Hiro was. And then the phrase came again, sharper than it had been before.

Tadashi would be so disappointed in you.

The fourteen-year-old's hands were shaking now, the fact coming across as he looked down to see that the liquid left inside of the bottle was wrought with ripples and small waves. He gasped sharply through the pain that was starting to squeeze around him, and, rashly, he tried to replace the sensation with the other. He raised the lip of the bottle up to his mouth and choked down as much as he could of the liquor in one take. In a newfound, almost urgent sense, he struggled down every drop. The alcohol burned his nose and throat, his stomach clenching even tighter at the sudden chug. His mind whirled, confused with all it had been handed as it spun like a top. And when every bit was drained, when the glass was reduced to an empty shell, Hiro doubled over, a small noise of pain working out through his throat as he ducked down into his legs.

He let go of the bottle carelessly to raise his arms up to fold over his head. If the thought, which was slowly starting to fester in the back of his mind, was an earthquake, then he was trying to shield his head from the debris that was raining down. His shoulders started to shake in time with his hands, and whatever breath he managed to take in was scraped pathetically through his burning throat. His drunken mind pieced together images and thoughts, the boy able to picture his brother as clearly as if he were standing in front of him: arms crossed over his chest and a judgmental stare burning a hole straight through the younger. 'Tadashi would expect better of you. He wouldn't want this.' Hiro shook his throbbing head, as if to try and shoo away the sudden assault.

The dark-haired boy suddenly clenched his fingers, digging his nails into his skull painfully as he straightened. His unfocused eyes went down to the bag, and as the plastic seemed to bounce and wave in his unsteady vision, he tried to pinpoint its location effectively. He just needed more— more would make everything stop. It would clear his mind of Tadashi, of the awful idea that was now stabbing every inch of him. But it was clear as he choked down the next that it wouldn't be enough. He should have brought the pills. He should have gotten more alcohol. He should have done more than this, because it wasn't working. He needed something else. Anything else to block out the thoughts.

As the boy choked down mouthful after mouthful, Redhead was making her way haphazardly back to him. She was accompanied with a few other friends who trailed behind her, and every so often the tattooed girl would give out a laugh or two as a product of the conversation they were holding. However she cut herself short as her eyes landed on the form of Hiro against the wall, and she smiled crookedly at the sight of the younger. It was clear by the way that she walked and spoke that she had had her fair share of alcohol as well. But she came to a stop in font of Hiro anyway, leaning down and quickly getting the other to his feet with a cheerful bubble of laughter, despite the sight that the boy looked.

Hiro stumbled slightly as he was forced up to stand, his knees taking a spastic moment before locking in order to hold him up properly. Beckoning to her friends, Redhead cleared her throat importantly, wrapping an arm around the small boy as she spoke loudly over the other conversations that were filling up the space. "This is Hiro," she introduced the boy to the others. She nodded for a moment before adding on: "He's my sad little puppy." As she made this comparison, she hugged the boy tightly to her side, that sloppy smirk splayed fully on her face. Hiro didn't react at the title— he didn't react to the tight embrace, either. He remained quiet, looking almost lost as he blinked rapidly, trying to discern what was going on and who was standing in front of him. "Isn't he adorable?" Redhead snickered.

"I've been wondering where you've gotten off to recently," one of them sneered, a guy sporting a pair of jeans that looked about two sizes too small for him. "What? Is he your newest project?" The words were intended to be humorous and the boy gave out a small laugh before shaking his head. He instead waved off the attempt at comedy, reaching over and balling his hand into a fist. He let his arm hang there for a moment, and Hiro stared down at the gesture as if it were something alien to him. As if the thought had occurred to the older boy as well, he accentuated the offer by explaining: "It's a fist bump, kid. You're supposed to tap it."

There was a lump in the boy's throat the size of a melon. It made it difficult to breathe, and he was sure that if he tried to speak, words would not come out properly. However, the action causing him physical pain, Hiro complied and reached out, fisting his hand and tapping it lightly against the others. The newcomer did not react like Tadashi would have— he did not smile widely and yank his arm backwards, ending the exchange by mimicking the sound of an explosion. Hiro, by force of habit, almost succumbed to doing such a thing. However he didn't get a chance to as the other just turned back over to Redhead, and Hiro was stopped short, left looking down at his fist as if it had just morphed into a fruit.

"So the night's still young," the guy with the tight pants declared, though by now it had to be at least somewhere around eleven. "I say that we skip this place and go back to mine." The other people behind him —those that seemed more acquainted with Redhead than Hiro was— nodded in a group agreement. Surprisingly, most of them didn't seem as fuzzy as Hiro was, the boy having to focus painstakingly just to narrow down his vision and stop it from shaking back and forth. Either they hadn't had their share of drinks, or they were just more tolerant than the boy; most likely it was the latter, considering not only was Hiro younger, but he was much smaller than anyone else as well. The boy who had bumped Hiro's fist raised his eyebrows at Redhead, turning then to point over his way. "What do you say? You can bring him along if you want."

Redhead started to answer, bringing up her finger as if she were preparing to launch into something important. However Hiro spoke up before she could, shaking his head and wincing at the pain that the movement caused. "No, I've got to— I've got to go home," he mumbled weakly, glancing back over at the bag left on the ground behind him as he remembered that he still had one beer left. "You go on ahead, it's fine…"

"Aw, c'mon, Hiro," Redhead snorted, sounding exasperated. "I thought you wanted to have fun." There was a pause, Hiro reaching up with shaking hands to press them against his forehead, ducking his head low as he flinched. The noise of the cars above them was getting too loud— the combining smells of alcohol and smoke was making his stomach clench and turn over. He was tired; every inch of him ached and he just wanted to lie down. Could he not just lie down? Curl up and turn everything else off?

"…don't you…me?" Redhead was talking, but Hiro's hearing seemed to be going in and out, his mind spluttering as it couldn't manage to gather up enough intelligence in order to take in what was going on. Darkness splotched over his vision and when Hiro attempted to speak, he couldn't make out what he said. He tried to get his mind to focus— any other time and he would have relished in the state of delayed confusion. But he couldn't do it here; he had to get home. He had to get home before Aunt Cass started to miss him. Right?

He felt pressure around his wrist, felt his legs move on their own. The teenager tried to figure out what was going on, struggling to comprehend things as he attempted to clear his vision. There was the sound of muffled conversation, words playing on the edge of his consciousness that sounded garbled and messy. Each step that he took brought more blackness down over him, and he was left wandering in the direction that he was being pulled, limp and uncoordinated as he couldn't fend for himself.

And eventually that was all the young boy could fathom. Everything became blurred— a haze of confused scenes that didn't really click together in the way that they appeared. He picked up barely tangible ideas— that he was walking, that he was attempting to go down stairs though he could have sworn he had just walked up some, he felt like he was standing in one place but then he was sitting a moment later— even if he was under the impression he had been walking half a second ago. Voices managed to meet his ears, though what their words held, he'd no idea. He only got snatches of phrases, some of them making sense such as: "Want some?", yet there were others that just faded in and out instead, like: "I never…but…." Those were lost to the boy, and whatever muffled reply he seemed to give in response was just as clear to him.

He heard something like sounded like music, and he thought he could feel thick fabric underneath him— was it a couch? His head was spinning on an axis, and his stomach was seized with cramps that came in waves— the boy was growing sick and nauseas the longer that time stretched on. Yet, as time did elapse, he stopped trying so hard to sort through things, instead deciding to embrace the fact that such an effort was pointless and futile. This way he wouldn't have to look at what he was doing, he wouldn't have to suffer the preliminary struggles before this all took over. He could relax in the senselessness and feel unbridled. Incoherent and intoxicated, the teenager let go of his conscious and his morals— or at least the parts of them that he hadn't already lost.

"Okay okay okay!" the guy with the skinny jeans said, seated with the rest of the group in a circle on the floor. They had travelled to his apartment from the highway bridge, and after turning on some music and set up the needed materials, they were now deep into a typical drinking game. Hiro was seated close beside Redhead, not knowing anybody else. He sat slack against the couch, his eyes foggy and unfocused as they dragged themselves over to whoever was speaking. Redhead seemed amused by the way the boy was holding himself now, grinning over in his direction before turning away as well to face her friend. "Never have I ever…had sex in a public place more than twice," Skinny Jeans declared with the hint of a snicker.

A couple of the other people let loose laughs at this, as if there were some hidden punchline in the boy's words. A girl with her hair dyed purple leaned over to take a swig of her drink, rolling her eyes unabashedly at the chorus of 'Ooooh's that rose up once she did. Nearby, an older-looking gentleman also grabbed hold of his cup and took a drink. Hiro huffed into his knees, slightly disappointed. Through the turns, he'd only had the chance to take a few gulps from his own cup. And though once the chance came, he took far more than necessary for the game, and it took him about five tries to actually take hold of the cup, the fact that he was unable to take any drinks was more than frustrating at this point. Why couldn't he just drink the whole thing whenever he wanted to? He was so upset over the game and its stupid rules that he didn't even notice when Redhead leaned over to take a drink from her own plastic cup.

Skinny Jeans clucked his tongue mockingly at those who had confessed, his facade of disappointment slipping away quicker than it came as he dissolved into laughter instead. Then, shaking his head, he turned and looked over at Hiro, who was now staring vacantly into space. "Hey kid!" He called, rousing the boy from whatever mental reverie he had fallen into as the teenager straightened. The older boy gestured to him invitingly as the younger boy perked. "Take it away, Champ," he drawled, the boy having to make the slow connection that that meant it was his turn again.

He looked down fuzzily at his own cup, which was less than halfway empty now. His mind was sluggish and groggy— he couldn't seem to pin down one thought long enough to figure out what to say. It wasn't like there was a lack of things he could turn to— he was more than sure that he hadn't done half of what these people probably had. But his mind refused to work for a second, and so there was a small beat of silence that rested over those gathered as the teenager hesitated.

But after a moment, his dead eyes flashed with a little bit of life, and a sudden smile crawled its way over his face. His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter that eventually wormed its way out of his mouth as the boy dissolved into a quick stupor of giggles. The group around him, unhinged themselves by the amount of alcohol that was being consumed in the course of this game, started up laughing as well, as if Hiro had said something humorous. Yet when the boy finally managed to speak through his sniggers, his voice conveyed the same kind of idea: that he had said something wildly hilarious.

"I've never been to college," Hiro laughed with a wide grin plastered on his face.

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It was freezing outside, but it was better than being in. As of right now anyway. Coming off from whatever had clouded his brain so thickly was difficult and slow-going, but he found that being out in the cold air was more soothing than anything else. Behind him, he could hear the muffled sounds of music and conversation— those inside wouldn't miss him. Still having difficulty in the simplest of thought processes, Hiro figured that he should be getting home. He looked down, wriggling his phone out from his pocket with mass difficulty and checking the time. It was one in the morning. He had missed three calls from Aunt Cass.

Normally such a detail would mortify him— if not for his own failure to answer, but in the idea that his guardian would be more than furious the next day. But now he didn't even bat an eye as he stuffed the small device away again. Oh well, he told himself wearily. She would just have to deal with it. Instead of at least attempting to call her back, the boy ducked his head down, cradling it in his hands as he gave a shaky sigh. He felt midway between keeling over from cramps and puking out the awful sensation in the pit of his stomach. But instead he just looked down at the ground instead, wondering how high up he was and whether or not he could jump from here and not be hurt.

His thoughts were cut short as another person came out onto the balcony— the purple-haired girl that had taken the drink before. She seemed surprised at the sight of the boy already standing there— which only affirmed his idea that nobody had missed him or even seen him go out of the room. In her hands, the older girl held a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and after a moment of hesitation, she turned and leaned up against the wall, shaking out one of the white sticks and lighting it deftly. She stuck it in her mouth, and in Hiro's selective thought process he just cursed the idea that the fresh air would have to leave.

Once the girl caught Hiro glancing her way, she looked up a bit, blinking a few times before asking: "Oh, did you want one?" The way she said this made it seem as though she had severely fouled up in her manners— like someone would start drinking water in desert and then turn to their dying friend to exclaim: "Oh, did you want some?" Hiro hesitated a moment, his brain wheezing like an exhausted motor as he forced it to make sense of the rather simplistic question. The girl, looking at him earnestly, leaned over and held out the box. "Go ahead, you can take one; I don't care. I've got more at home."

She was nice. She seemed really nice. Not only in the way that she spoke, but also how she looked at him in this weirdly sincere way. That was the only thought that crossed Hiro's mind as he accepted the offer, taking one of the sticks from her that had been shaken out of the cardboard container. He wasn't even thinking of what it would do to him— when he was in third grade he did an entire report on how bad smoking was and how it affected the human body. Its title was something along the lines of: "Don't Smoke It's a Joke" (his teacher had been so enthralled with the name, yet Hiro had gotten it from something he'd seen online). But then again, he had also been in the D.A.R.E. program right alongside Tadashi. That wasn't holding up so well either.

But she was nice. So he took the stick, and when she offered to light it for him, though his hands were still shaking, he held it out for her to ignite. Then became the complicated part, as Hiro didn't know what to do from here. He had watched television shows and especially movies where people smoked, and in concept it seemed effortless. But suddenly it seemed like there had to be more to it— it couldn't be that simple. Yet as he glanced at the girl who'd given him the light, she seemed to be almost careless in the way that she did it; and as Hiro's mind weighed the consequences, he figured that it wouldn't hurt to just try it and see what happened. Why not?

Immediately, just like what he had done with his first taste of alcohol, he doubled over and coughed, gagging on the ashy taste that immediately entered his lungs. His mind immediately kicked up into overdrive, the boy rushing with a hot surprise as he forced the smoke back out. The girl with purple hair straightened, looking confused for a second before realization dawned on her. She stuttered for a moment, looking surprised. "Oh no way— I thought you'd already smoked before! I wouldn't have…aw, man, if I would have known…." She glanced back into the room that she had left, through the sliding glass door at the people inside. "Here, just give it back to me, you don't have to—"

"I'm fine," Hiro wheezed, managing to straighten as he cut off his hacking. "No, I'm fine," he slurred, his words still mushed together. He put the stick back in between his lips, and he took another puff, which, unlike the girl whose exhale was relaxed, came back out in another rough cough. He winced slightly, feeling as if all the wetness in his mouth had been sucked out. The thing tasted awful, and it didn't get any better the longer he did it. It tasted like what Hiro could only assume the sidewalk would taste if he got down and licked it. But now that even more chemicals were entering his body, his mind was at least starting to kick back into gear a little bit faster than it would have otherwise.

"Hey…" the girl spoke up, and as he made the slow connection that it was him that was being addressed, Hiro looked up, trying to blink away the fuzziness that was clouding not only his vision, but his thought processes well. The girl looked awkward suddenly, and she paused as she looked the younger up and down. "…You look like a pretty sweet kid," she began, a small crease coming over Hiro's forehead at the odd change in pace. "I mean, I don't know much about you, but…maybe you should go home…? It's getting late, and I don't think someone like you should be here." Her words were slow, as if she were choosing them carefully. That, or Hiro was just taking longer in order to process them in the first place. "…Do you get what I'm trying to tell you?" she pressed when he didn't reply.

She was nice. So Hiro offered her a nod. This seemed to be the right thing to do as the girl's slight concern seemed to drop off from her face. She nodded as well, offering him a little smile before turning to look out to the street, taking another drag of her cigarette. She made it seem simplistic— why couldn't he accomplish it as easily as she did? The boy turned alongside her, looking down blankly at the street below. Predictably, it was pretty dead— it was technically tomorrow, after all. Hiro raised up the cigarette to his mouth and breathed in, forcing down the inhale of smoke now, and then forcing it out slowly, in a breath, not a cough or a wheeze. It was getting easier, he realized.

But as his mind woke up bit by bit, he remembered what he had been trying to forget. That voice started up in the back of his mind, scathing and disappointed as it slammed into his stomach once more. 'I can't believe you.' It growled. Despite Hiro having lost it in the swarm of alcohol, it seemed to have returned; and it was just as furious. 'You're so stupid. You're absolutely pathetic. If Tadashi were here, he would be so disappointed. How can you even call yourself his brother?' Hiro raised his free hand up, pressing the heel of his palm against one of his eyes as he grimaced deeply.

The girl perked at the sudden change, looking over and titling her head to the side. "You okay?"

He shook his head, his mind dragging up pictures of flames, of fire reaching all the way up to scrape the stars, of smoke replacing the moon as it filled up the sky. He looked down at the thing he held in between two fingers, at the miniature blaze that was fostering itself on the other end of the stick. And then, his hands trembling and his stomach curling backwards in disgust, Hiro placed it back in between his teeth and sucked back the longest drag he could take. It burned his throat on the way down, and his nose stung from the sheer amount, but the boy refused to stop until his lungs were unable to hold anything more. And when his lungs were filled with the acrid substance, Hiro held it back.

Rather than releasing it all in the exhale that was bottled in the back of his throat, Hiro gritted his teeth like prison bars. He held in the smoke and tar, feeling a searing hot start to burn his lungs. His eyes watered in the effort, and he ducked his head, grimacing at the more than just the suffocating sensation. Behind his closed eyelids, he could see Tadashi running into the burning Showcase, hear the explosion that ripped his brother away from him, and most of all now, he could feel the smoke that must have constricted his airway, must have snatched away his brother's breath and filled up his body until there was nothing left.

"Hey, whoa, what're you doing?" the girl said, pushing off of the wall and bending over to look at him in confusion. "You aren't supposed to hold it in— let it out!" Hiro only responded by bringing the cigarette stick back up to his lips, gasping out shortly before forcing down even more. A fresh wave of heat washed through him, and the child pictured himself being burned from the inside out, just like Tadashi had been. The thought caused the knife in his chest to twist sharply, a stifled noise of pain escaping him as he bit down hard on his tongue. Associating the noise with whatever the young teenager was doing, the purple-haired girl jerked forward quickly, reaching over and clapping a hand down hard on the small of the boy's back.

The force was unexpected and surprisingly violent. Hiro pitched forward, a gag being forced out from his throat and it turned into a hacking cough. He flinched, trembling as he hacked into the crook of his elbow. As he heaved and jerked forward, he lost hold of the cigarette stick, the small thing tumbling silently out of his grasp, abandoned onto the stone. He tried to catch it before it hit the ground, but by the time he recovered, wheezing and rasping in choked breaths, it was too late. "What were you thinking?" the girl with the dyed hair exclaimed. "That's not how you smoke, kid!"

'You're so pathetic. You're a miserable piece of crap, do you know that? Tadashi wouldn't have wanted this. If he were still here, he would hate you.'

He ducked his head down, shutting his eyes and feeling the distinct — regrettably familiar — sting of tears that started in his eyes and then spread down his face. The girl made a startled noise in the back of her throat, going on to try and say something. It must have been something like an apology, but Hiro wasn't listening, and whatever she was saying was cut off as the boy said flatly: "I have to go." His words were blunt and all but spit out, the boy's voice now rendered hoarse and scratchy from the smoke. The girl drew back, still looking bemused, however her feelings were the last thing on Hiro's clouded mind. He just shook his head, stumbling backwards and repeating: "I have to go."

"…Are you okay?" the girl asked, looking a little lost.

Hiro turned, shaking his head as he retraced his steps towards the room. He would go back in and slip out the door. He would go down some steps and get outside. From there it was a mystery. The young boy had no idea where he was— he didn't know how to get home. But anything was better than here— he just wanted to leave. He didn't necessarily want to return to the cafe, but he knew that the pills were in his room, under the pillowcase like he had left them. The thought sickened him. 'That's what you're going to do, then. Just make it worse.' The thoughts felt like acid burning through him. But it was all he could do. It was all that would help, and he couldn't manage to stop himself.

He stumbled back in from the balcony, the music sounding far too loud as it blasted against his eardrums. He staggered towards the door, his arms wrapped around his midsection as if he were holding himself together. Redhead had been leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking from the plastic cup in her hand, when she caught sight of the boy heading out. Standing upright and walking over a little sloppily herself, the girl gave out a loud shout as she neared the dark-haired teenager. "Hiro! 'Ve been wondering where you've run off to! Don't tell me you're leaving already! Stay! Have a little more fun— you could 'eally use it!" She snickered with this, as if she had made a joke. She swooped forward once she got close enough, wrapping an arm around Hiro's bony shoulders and bringing him uncomfortably close. Yet, limp as a doll, he didn't react to the pull as she squeezed him. "C'mon, pal. You gotta stay! Stay and party wi' me."

"No," Hiro rasped, suppressing another series of coughs before: "No, I have to go home."

Redhead didn't let go. "C'mon," she egged, swaying a little bit on her feet. "I promise that we could have some fun."

Hollowly, he reiterated: "I have to go." And before he could give Redhead the chance to say anything else, he ducked away, wriggling out from the girl's grasp as he slouched out of the apartment. Hiro left behind the music and conversation, as well as the group of friends that seemed to be much happier than he was. They wouldn't even miss him with the way they were going, he told himself fuzzily. And as he shut the door behind him, he tried to get his buzzed mind to function, struggling to remember if he had walked up stairs or down a set, and if he had turned left from the bridge, or if he had turned right instead.

Redhead dropped her arm once Hiro left from its hold, the limb falling down to her side with a small slap as she frowned, looking oddly disappointed as she watched the teenager leave.

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The apartment was silent and nearly pitch-black. Given the time — it was around 1:30 now — it wasn't anything unusual. There was a small lump on the bed, burrowed deep under the blankets and curled up to resemble the shape of a small ball. The sound of snoring was coming up from the mound, and the light snuffles from under the sheets made up most of the excess noise in the room. That, and the small motorized fan that was whirring softly in the corner of the bedroom. However, as uninvited and unprovoked as a snowball hitting the back of your neck in the middle of summer, there was a sudden burst of noise.

A series of beeps and music notes came from the bedside table, effectively slicing through the peace that had settled over the bedroom like a warm knife would through butter. The form underneath the covers spasmed, the blankets thrown up and off of the person as they shot into an upright position. Black hair, though short and cropped up to the ears, was wild and flyaway, the person sloppily brushing it out of their face as they looked with squinted eyes towards the dresser nearest them. Sure enough their phone was ringing wildly, the caller ID not helping douse the anger and irritation that was slowly building inside of the person with the unwanted disturbance. Growling in the back of their throat, the person jerked forward, snatching the phone up from the bedside table a little violently and all but stabbing the 'Answer' button.

At once they hissed into the receiver, not even pausing to wait for the other to say 'Hello.' "What on earth do you want, Wasabi?" GoGo growled through clenched teeth, bringing the device away from her ear only to check the time before snapping: "It is 1:35; unless you called me because the world is currently coming to an end, then I suggest you hang up and let me go back to sleep." In the back of her mind, the girl made a solemn vow to herself that if Wasabi was just calling to tell her that the painting in his bathroom was two centimeters off-scale and he needed help in fixing it again, she was going to throw her phone against the wall.

"I called him again." Wasabi sounded wide-awake considering the time, yet as the words met the raven-haired girl's ear, she too lost some of the grogginess that was holding her down. Instead she sighed through her nose, curling her knees in so that they were pressed to her chest as she sat up a little straighter. "Just now, I called him and he didn't answer. Just like he hasn't been answering me for weeks. I don't know what to do, GoGo; I'm seriously starting to get worried now."

She reached up, rubbing at her forehead and sighing. "You are aware of the fact that it is past midnight, right?" she asked softly, the words coming out in a single exhale. She paused briefly, pursing her lips before shaking her head. "He might just be sleeping, Wasabi. And you know how he's been. Ever since Tadashi…" The girl glanced down, rubbing her blanket in between her thumb and forefinger as a small frown crossed over her face. "Ever since the Showcase he's been upset. And you can't really blame him— if he cared as much for Tadashi and Tadashi did for him…it's gotta be pretty awful for him."

Sadly, she recalled how much her old friend used to rant and rave about his little brother. He always talked about Hiro with that dorky little grin on his face— when he wasn't groaning over how much the boy went out to waste his time bot fighting. It had almost gotten annoying sometimes— the way that Tadashi would dole out stories ranging from the last weekend to all the way to five or six years ago. Stories like how when it was Hiro's sixth Christmas, the boy had asked for Tadashi to go ice skating, and as soon as the kid stepped foot on the ice, he fell flat on his face, started crying, and quit. Or how Hiro had cried when Tadashi left for his first sleepover and had to be held back by a rather exasperated Aunt Cass to keep him from racing after his older brother. Tadashi's eyes would always get soft and affectionate when he spoke about his brother…GoGo couldn't imagine what Hiro must be feeling.

"He's not sleeping through my calls, GoGo, the phone rang three times before it cut me off. He declined it," Wasabi objected, sounding strained. "I mean— maybe he was just trying to sleep and wanted his phone to stop going off, but that last time I found him it was later than this! What if he's….?" His words trailed off for a moment and a frown started to hang over GoGo's face as she sobered. Wasabi tried again. "Of course, I don't know what he's doing, but to be honest that just makes it worse. All I know that for the past two weeks straight he's either declined my calls by the second ring, or he just hasn't picked up at all."

"He hasn't answered any of our emails, either," the girl pointed out, though she was obviously hesitant as she spoke. She paused, rubbing at her eyes before clearing her throat and moving on. "So you want to do something about it?" she asked. Two weeks ago, Wasabi had made a point to gather everyone together, confused and somewhat frantic as he told the story of how the night before, he had found Hiro collapsed and senseless in an alleyway downtown. "I admit— it isn't the most relaxing situation to be in."

It was as if her friend had been waiting for her to say this. "Yeah. Yeah we should," he agreed quickly.

GoGo raised her eyebrows, waiting expectantly for the other to launch into some kind of plan of action that he'd already formulated. But when the other end was just as silent, she heaved yet another huff of frustration. "Okay, how about this?" she asked. "Tomorrow can get the others together— Honey Lemon is always anxious to cook dinner for us, so maybe we can go there sometime tomorrow night. If they agree that something should be done, then we can go down to his house after school on Monday."

There was a beat of silence, before: "And then what?"

"I don't know," GoGo mumbled, her brain still half-asleep as it hindered her thinking process. "We can check to see if Hiro is there, and if he is then we can try and see if we can talk to him. If he isn't, then we can try to talk to Aunt Cass. We can tell her that we haven't seen Hiro in months and that we're starting to get worried about him. The worst that could happen is she tells us not to worry so much, right? Maybe we can find some answers that way. Or at least know that nothing is wrong." Still, Wasabi didn't answer, and GoGo tried again. "You know I'm just as worried as you are about him," she elaborated. "But we have to be careful about how we do this, you know? If we make a mistake we could end up doing more harm than good."

"I guess so," Wasabi said, sounding more resigned than he was satisfied. But then he seemed to recover a little bit, as if he realized the same thing that GoGo had: that really this was the best thing that they could do. Mainly because it was the only thing they had to go off of. "Yeah, we can do that. Should I call the rest of them now?" he asked, sounding as eager as if he were already dialing the numbers for their friends.

GoGo scowled, rolling her eyes as she glanced over at the clock. "How about we wait until after the sun comes up?" she growled.

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"…Hey….hey are you awake?" The room had been silent and peaceful, up until the small voice broke the tranquility with a small whisper. The person who had piped up was no bigger than a six-year-old, crouched on the ground and oddly wide-awake as they peered with round eyes into the dark. They were knelt down, their chin rested on the edge of a bed, in which there was a rumpled mess of blankets shielding someone from view. Biting on their lower lip, the little figure reached over to poke the top of the sheets, trying again, a little bit louder now. "Wake up!" they chirped in a slightly raised whisper. "Tadashi, wake up!"

There was a small moan, a grumble of irritation before the blankets were pulled back just a little bit. In the gloom of the bedroom, the little boy could see his older brother start to wake up, just the smallest hint coming in the form of gleaming eyes. Though squinted and fuzzy, as soon as the little boy realized that the other was awake, he was launching forward. "We have to go downstairs," he demanded, looking anxious as he glanced over his shoulder towards the staircase. "We have to go downstairs and make cookies!"

"Wha—" There was a series of muffled confusion before the older of the two propped up on one elbow, eyes narrowed with sleep as they looked over at the clock. "Hiro, do you have any idea what time it is? Why do always wake me up like this? Just because it says A.M. on the clock doesn't mean it's time to wake up." There was a small pause in which the boy sighed tiredly. "Or more importantly, that you can wake other people up."

Hiro scrambled up to his feet, already shaking his head before his older brother could finish. "I know exactly what time it is," he said flatly, an odd intensity to his voice as he pushed. "It is exactly 4:45 A.M. on Christmas morning and we haven't put out the cookies yet!" Apparently the older of the two was supposed to have a reaction similar to this— as if the world were on its final stretch of days. Because when his words were only followed up with silence and not frantic screaming, the six-year-old repeated the phrase, louder this time, into almost a yell. "It is exactly 4:45 A.M. on Christmas morning and we haven't put out the cookies yet! We have to put out cookies for Santa or he'll skip our house! Is that what you want, Tadashi?"

"Hiro, calm down," Tadashi sighed, ever patient as he sat up fully in his bed. "We put out a pie for Santa, don't you remember? Aunt Cass chose out one of the bakery— he won't mind what he eats. It's the thought that counts." He stifled a yawn before reaching over and giving a small pat on his baby brother's shoulder, who still looked wildly incredulous at the idea that his older brother wasn't grasping the concept he had brought to him. "You need to go back to bed, okay? Santa will skip our house if he sees that not everyone is asleep."

"But he needs cookies," Hiro pushed, stubborn as he wilted. The little boy's lower lip puckered out into a pout and it was clear how crestfallen he became as his pleas were rejected. "That's the entire point of Christmas. You gotta leave cookies out for Santa— they're his favorite. It doesn't say anywhere that he likes pies." The little boy flopped down onto the bed, ignoring Tadashi's repeated sigh of frustration as he looked up with an expression that demanded pity. "…We gotta make cookies, Tadashi," he whined. "We just have to make them. And we have to do it before Santa gets here." The elder gave a whine himself, deep in the back of his throat as he reached up to scrub at his face. And when he dropped his arms to look down at Hiro, he wore an appearance that screamed: 'I-really-wish-you-wouldn't-do-this-to-me.'

However when Hiro's expression only became more pleading, the older brother gave in. "Fine," he relented, the singular word barely escaping his mouth before the little one shot up to his feet, a beam coming over his face and lighting up the room a little bit more as he reached over and grabbed his brother's hand, pulling and yanking as he 'helped' him to his feet. And Tadashi did eventually get up, shepherded by his little brother who raced down the steps, displaying far more energy than anybody should have this early in the morning.

Aunt Cass was still asleep, and it was probably better to keep it that way. Tadashi, who had turned thirteen this year, was wiser than his baby brother and was fully aware of how much effort and work that Aunt Cass had put into Christmas. He'd realized the truth about Santa a long time ago, yet in no way did that mean that he was showing that outright. After all, Hiro still got that exhilarated smile on his face whenever the man in the big red suit was brought up— he wasn't about to change that at all. And so that must have been why, even when Hiro woke him up around five in the morning and dragged him in a stupor downstairs to rip out a baking sheet and a package of cookie dough, he only smiled and helped accordingly.

They turned on the light in the kitchen only halfway; Tadashi was trying his best to make it so that Aunt Cass wouldn't wake up. His aunt mentioned something along the lines of getting up around six to arrange the presents under the tree. She had asked Tadashi if he would keep his little brother inside of their room until then. Yet so far, looking over towards the living room, Aunt Cass hadn't gotten up yet to lay out the presents. So, technically, as long as Tadashi took Hiro back upstairs somewhere around 5:30, he was still doing the job given to him.

Hiro begged to work the oven, but Tadashi took the job himself. "You're not old enough to use the oven," he'd said. "And you're too short." So the thirteen-year-old took charge of the appliance, picking up the littler one once he set the oven to preheat and placing him down on the kitchen counter so that he could reach the cookie sheet. And together the two arranged the small balls of dough, spacing them out so that when they cooked they wouldn't mold together. As Hiro pulled apart bits of dough and placed them down on the pan, Tadashi offered a tired grin. "So…I never knew you cared this much. I know you liked Christmas, but I didn't know you liked it enough to get up at five in the morning."

"I was up at three, actually," the little boy corrected cheekily, popping a ball of dough into his mouth. "It took me a while to decide to get you up. And then you wouldn't budge— it took me ages to get you to stop sleeping."

"Don't eat raw cookie dough, Hiro," Tadashi chastised in response. "You'll get salmonella."

"It's like less than one percent of all eggs that contain salmonella," the boy retorted, popping another one into his mouth. "Besides— other people do it; it's fine."

Tadashi scoffed, taking what was left of the cookie dough and wrapping it back up to put into the freezer again. They had already made more than enough— they didn't have to waste the whole package. "And what if that cookie dough that you just ate was part of that less than one percent?" he questioned fairly, closing the refrigerator door just as the oven beeped, signaling that it was done preparing. "Just because everyone else does it doesn't mean you have to," he coached, only grinning when Hiro responded by rolling his eyes. "Next time everyone decides to jump off the nearest bridge, remind me to give you a parachute."

And once the cookies were in, once the oven was set, Hiro planted himself nearly in front of the baking goods, watching intently and checking the clock every so often as well. The cookies had to bake for 14 minutes, and it was turning 5:00 now. Tadashi monitored the time as well from where he stood— though his motives were more based on when Hiro would have to go back to sleep. And in between glances, the teenager was busying himself with getting out a mug for the milk and a plate for the cookies. The traditional things that Tadashi would have been happy replacing with Aunt Cass' pie. But Hiro would not have been happy — he would not have gone back to sleep, either — so Tadashi didn't mind making the switch.

Hiro piped up where he sat, his forehead creased as he watched the cookies slowly grow in size. "Why does it have to take so long?" he demanded hotly, frustrated as he looked to the clock over and over. "This is taking forever," the little child groaned, a tad dramatic.

Tadashi only smiled affectionately. "You have to give things time," he answered.

"Why?" Hiro demanded, getting up to his feet — not making much of a height difference at all — and pointing up to the differing temperature knobs on the oven. "You could just make it hotter and cook it for less time. Then it'll be over quicker. We wouldn't have to wait so long," he seemed proud of himself for the analysis, and Tadashi, ever supportive, tried not to squash the emotion.

His little brother might have a better knack for book smarts than most, — he had already skipped Kindergarten, and his first grade teacher was starting to ask Aunt Cass whether or not he could do the same with second grade — but he lacked the skills needed in order to be street smart. Or that is, he didn't have the same applicable knowledge he did for tests as he did for real life. Hiro let his heart rule over his head for the majority of the time, and although that was what most parents told their kids — "Listen to your heart, honey" — that was not the case in this situation. Hiro tended to be on the rash side of things, and this specific instance was only a small example of what he had grown to be. So Tadashi balanced his chin in the palm of his hand, offering him that patient smile he wished would rub off on his younger brother.

"You just have to be patient," he coached. "Rome wasn't built in a day, little brother."

"Rome wasn't made of flour and sugar, either," Hiro huffed, sitting back down with a heavy thud.

"If you turned up the heat, then they wouldn't taste as good later," the teenager replied fairly, tilting his head to the side as he said this. "Sure, it would go by faster, but you would just be left with a bunch of burned cookies. Wouldn't you rather wait and end up with good cookies than rushing through it and ending up with bad ones?"

Hiro paused, as if he were considering the theory, but then he just slouched further down against the ground, blowing out his cheeks and staring dully over into the screen of the oven. "Yeah; but it's taking too long," he repeated in a huff.

Tadashi pursed his lips. Leaned back slightly. Cleared his throat. Offered that same warm grin. "Sometimes the thing that takes the longest time to get turns out to be the best, baby brother," he answered.

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His steps were mere shuffles, inaudible scrapes against the ground as he staggered wearily down the street. Hiro's hood was up against the freezing cold, his head hung down low, while every once and a while, a small noise of pain and discomfort managed to escape from his throat. The boy's head was swimming, and his stomach was twisted into horrible knots that seemed to get worse with each new step. A dark cloud hung over the teenager, a twisted expression of misery etched deep into his features. Every so often he would trip over his own feet, pitching forward and stumbling as he fell once or twice. He was forced to pick himself up each time, a hand going down to wrap tightly around his stomach in the attempt to curb the pain from knotting even more.

He had no idea where he was going. In his warped mindset he could only trust his feet, which were rendered just as, if not even more, inept. He walked for what seemed like ages— the real elapse of time coming as a mystery to the boy. As he walked he could have sworn that he felt small, pulsing vibrations from his pocket. His phone? Was his phone was ringing? He might have just let it ring out. He might have declined the call. But he might have answered it too. Hiro didn't know; he couldn't tell his thoughts from reality at this point. He had started to come out of his drunken reverie before, but now his physical exhaustion was starting to slow whatever progress he'd made before, if not reversing some part of it. The boy hadn't slept in a long time; now he was left feeling run-down and almost delirious. Limp and stricken, the boy pushed on, knowing that he had to be at least close by now.

His bagged eyes slid shut, the boy's head ducked as his lips moved unconsciously, unclear words playing on the tip of his tongue that never managed to pierce through the frosty air. 'Sometimes the thing…the thing that takes the…longest time to…to get turns up to…turns out to be…' He looked up, the effort of raising his head far greater than it should have been. And sure enough, he found that he recognized this street. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had grown up here, had memorized every brick, had run along these sidewalks, had spent days staring out of these windows, he would have kept going. But instinct led the battered boy onward, and he rounded the building of the cafe to go in through the back door. Once again— it had been left unlocked for him.

It took the boy a surplus of more than ten seconds to conquer the first step once he got inside. And every other after was only worse. He stumbled and staggered, one hand on the railing and the other holding himself together. But eventually he scaled the first set, and then moved on to the second, managing to finally make it up into his darkened room. But rather than going for his bed, either to collapse on top of it and fall asleep or to grab the pills that were underneath his pillow, he bypassed the space entirely. Instead he all but limped to the other end of the bedroom, falling down on his brother's bed.

Bleary, unfocused eyes managed to zero in on the thing that was sitting in front of his nose, as if it were waiting for him. The boy wriggled out his arms from underneath his stomach, twisting over and grabbing Tadashi's hat, sliding his arms back and pulling the thing close to his chest. Hiro curled forward, his eyes shut tightly as he froze there for a few minutes, merely hugging the material tightly into himself, the stabbing sensation seated in his stomach feeling as though someone had poured disinfectant on the open wound. It was an old saying — or maybe more of a philosophy — that great troubles weren't given to those who could not withstand them. That those riddled with challenges or obstacles had been destined for them, because they were more than strong or capable enough.

But that wasn't true. It couldn't be. Or if it was, it just meant that Hiro was the odd person out— the one that, among those braced under the weight of their burdens, was left crumbling under the pressure. Did that make him weak? Tadashi hadn't been weak— if Tadashi were here, he would be able to handle this. Aunt Cass wouldn't be upset; she wouldn't be walking around the cafe as if the floor was made of glass. If only Tadashi hadn't died…if Hiro had died in that fire in place of him…things would be so much better…

The thought caused his stomach to twist. Abruptly, keeping hold of Tadashi's hat in his shaking hands, the boy heaved himself up to his feet, a sickened feeling washing over him head to toe as he stumbled down the stairs in a haze. Quickly he blundered through the living room, finding the bathroom door and ripping it open violently. The teenager threw open the seat of toilet a millisecond before he hunched forward, the sickening sensation rising up from his stomach and out from his body. The young boy heaved, heat rushing through him as he curled forward in pain.

It dragged on forever. Once the waves subsided and once his stomach started to unclench, the boy would gag until it all picked up again. The young teenager vomited until he could not possibly focus on anything else. Until he could not hear the voice in the back of his mind telling him of his mistakes. Until he could not see the memory of his brother smiling kindly his way. Until he could not remember the way he had almost exploded the end of that stupid fist bump back underneath the bridge. Until everything inside of him — the parts that caused Aunt Cass to be so upset, the parts that had taken the cigarette with no hesitation, the parts that he despised but had managed to take up every inch of his being anyway — had been rejected and repulsed. He puked until he was burning from head to toe, and that was the only thing he could concentrate on.

By the time he was finished — by the time he could not possibly force out anything more — Hiro was trembling violently, disoriented and covered with a light sheen of sweat. Discombobulated and confused, whatever thoughts managed to enter his mind were awkward and almost contradictory. He needed to flush away the evidence. But his body was too tired; it was shutting down— moving right now seemed as possible as pushing a mountain. He needed to change his clothes, or at least something like that— he was more than sure that the stench of alcohol, smoke, and now bile was stuck to him like glue. But the longer he sat there, staring blankly ahead and gripping Tadashi's hat close to him still, the more that the ill heat festered inside of him, the more unbearable it became, and the more he couldn't seem to breathe under its scorching weight.

Movements stiff and robotic, Hiro turned away from the toilet to the shower. And, still shaking violently, forced himself up to his feet and used one free hand to reach over and grab at the shower handle. Limply he yanked the knob out into place, slipping in the process and falling forward. Too late he tried to catch himself, falling with a noisy slam into the tub and hitting his head against the floor. As he had slipped, he twisted the shower controls sharply, all the way to the right. And as he collapsed into a pile on the bottom of the tub, he immediately spasmed as a sheet of ice-cold water slammed down onto him.

It was as if all of his breath had been stolen from him upon contact. In reaction to the sudden swamp of cold, every single inch of the boy locked into place, paralyzed underneath the rain. He knew that he should scramble away, get out of the water's pointed range before he got hypothermia or something. But he couldn't get himself to move. His head pounded, keeping him in place. The pulsing injury wrapped him in a stabbing pain that centered itself in his forehead, making him feel as if he were going to vomit again, though he knew for a fact that he had nothing left to give. And as the water seeped quickly though the layers of his clothes, he felt as if a million little needles were pricking at his skin. Miniature syringes all over his body. Vaccinations for a sickness that could not be cured.

Hiro's head drooped down, his eyes sliding shut. The boy's limp frame was seized with shivers and spams as the ice-cold water streamed down relentlessly on him, his clothes acting as sponges that soaked up the water and made it easier for the cold claws to clamp down over his skin. Feeling escaped his toes, and his fingers become unable to feel the fabric of Tadashi's hat in their grip. He remained like that for countless minutes, prostrate on the floor as he lay limp, waiting as one by one, each of his senses were stripped away, taken with the water and flushed down the drain. He should have been scared; he should have at least attempted to get out. But he wasn't; he just…waited.

In the back of his mind, he thought that he could hear footsteps coming closer from the hallway. Thought he heard the door's slight creak as it opened. And then he was absolutely certain in what he felt next. The hands on his shoulders, twisting his body around forcibly so that he was on his back rather than his stomach. The frantic shouting of…of something…his name? Yes, it must have been his name. He tried to react to it, open his eyes and see what was going on. But he couldn't find the will— instead remaining numb as shouted pleas bounced against deaf eardrums.

The water was shut off, the freezing weights that slammed against Hiro and took away his breath coming to a sudden halt. There was still the faint sound of shouting, much too loud against the peaceful quiet he had experienced before. But he couldn't find irritation in the idea. Because as he lay against the ground, shaking and convulsing in the sensation that the water had left the boy wrapped in…he was freezing. The realization was simple and obvious. It shouldn't have meant anything. But the heat that had encased Hiro, the burning that he had kept in his lungs, the scorching sense of shame he had felt, the searing waves that had rushed through him when he was crouched on the ground…it was gone.

He was not burning. He was not charred or singed. He was not suffering under the weight.

Because now he was freezing.

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When his senses returned, little by little, Hiro made the slow connection that he was in his own bed. He was not wearing his street clothes— rather he was encompassed by the softer material of pajamas. The blankets had been tucked up to his chin, and as he gathered each piece of evidence, he also realized that he was curled up into a compact ball, a shiver wracking his body every so often. As the fact dawned over him slowly he bunched up a bit tighter to conserve warmth, and as if his slight movement had set off an alarm, there was immediately a voice.

"What happened."

It held finality to it. It was not a question of any sort.

Opening his eyes, Hiro saw that he was on his left side, facing towards Tadashi's end of the room. He had his back to whoever he was speaking, though he could not mistake their name. Refusing to move, Hiro ducked away instead, keeping his lips tightly compressed as he did not utter a sound in reply. However the voice only repeated itself. "What happened." A large expanse of silence, Hiro not speaking a phrase. "Hiro, what happened last night?" The voice was strained now that it was forced to reiterate herself over and over again.

Still, nothing.

Aunt Cass ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut briefly as she took in a shuddering breath. "Do you know how awful that was?" she questioned finally, her voice unnaturally worn as she looked at her nephew's form underneath the blankets. Hiro didn't react. So, taking in a short staccato of an inhale, she went on with difficulty. "I get up at who knows what time…hearing the shower running…and I go in to see you fully dressed under freezing water…struggling to breathe right! I just…what am I supposed to do? I turned the water off, I tried to get you to reply to me, but you were just so…you didn't wake up and I thought…"

There was a punctured sound then, as if Aunt Cass choked and hadn't been able to finish her words properly. Hiro paused for the briefest of seconds, merely staring emptily at the wall opposite of him. But then he rolled over, twisting onto his other side and turning his gaze over to Aunt Cass over the lip of the comforter. Worried, teary eyes, met desolate, blank ones, and Cass bit down on her lower lip, looking as if she was struggling to hold back a sob. But to her credit, she just reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, managing to clear the lump in her throat so that could speak clearly. "…Honey, I just can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong… you know?"

Still, Hiro's only response was so stare half-lidded her way.

"…Is it just me?" Cass asked hesitantly. "…Do you not want to talk to me?"

This time there was an answer. Yet as Hiro spoke, he even managed to surprise himself with how hollow and dead his voice sounded. "Nothing's wrong," he mumbled softly.

Aunt Cass winced, looking down at her hands which were wringing in front of her. She leveled off another deep inhale before pressing as she closed her eyes in a grimace. "I'm going to set up an appointment for you. With someone. To talk to them," she blurted out, not mistaking the fact that Hiro sat up quickly at this. "This way you can find help somewhere, because I have no idea how to help you, honey, and that's all I want to do." She looked up, her eyes glazed over in the light that was coming through the window. "I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it's all I can think of. I just want you to go and talk to someone…"

"There's nothing to talk about," Hiro snapped, his voice suddenly turning acidic. Cass opened her mouth to say something, but Hiro cut her off before she could. "I'm not talking to anyone," he said, allowing no room for objection. His voice was sharp and cutting— he could literally see it cut Aunt Cass in half as his guardian straightened. He was not aware of which was worse: the fact that he had reverted so easily and quickly into this tone, or that it did not faze him to see how much Aunt Cass wilted in the face of it. "I'm absolutely fine. So leave me alone."

Cass straightened, resembling a two-wheeled car struggling to finish its race. "Hiro, you need to get help from someone," she pleaded, the worry causing her words to lack firm stance. "If not from me, then—"

"I'm not talking to anybody!" Hiro yelled suddenly. Aunt Cass bit her words back, her eyes widening to be ten times their normal size at the biting shout. She took a small step backwards, looking unsure as she started to open her mouth again. "If you want to waste your money, then go ahead, but I'm not going to say a word to anyone! I don't need help!" Once again, his aunt tried to restate herself, but the effort was more than pointless. "I just want to be alone! You're always hanging over me!" This was not the issue. It wasn't even anywhere close. But once Hiro began, he could not stop, taking all his frustration and hurt and redirecting it to the woman standing three feet away from him. "Can't you see that you're— that you're suffocating me!? You're always asking me where I've been or what I'm doing or if I'm signing up for college! Just stop! I can't take it anymore, okay!? Is that what you wanted to hear!? Are you satisfied now!? Will you leave me alone!?"

There was silence. Aunt Cass stared at her nephew as if she were just meeting him, as if the person glaring hotly at her was someone she had never seen before a day in her life. The brunette's jaw was slack, and there was a small trail of water marking its way down her face. Hurriedly, she reached up to wipe away the tear, coughing in the back of her throat and taking in a few shaking breaths before managing to get out words. And even then they flimsy and weak— as stable as a sheet of paper. "…I just…I just worry about you," she murmured softly, her words barely a whisper.

"Then stop!" Hiro blustered, locking his jaw backwards as he yanked his comforter back over his head, turning to put his back to her. He curled close to himself once again and shut his eyes tightly. "Just stop." He mumbled. "If you really want to help me then you'll leave me alone. You'll stop bugging me."

"…okay," came the quiet response. Yet again, there was that suffocating blanket of quiet. But then Aunt Cass seemed to turn and leave, a set of footsteps fading down the stairs as Hiro listened intently. And once it became clear that she had gone, and that he was the only one left, he turned and glanced back to the entryway of the room, just the smallest hint of regret lingering in his eyes. But he turned away again, refusing to call out and bring Aunt Cass back. That was the last thing he wanted.

Upon turning back, he caught sight of something on his bedside table: Tadashi's hat. It must have been put there by Aunt Cass. The teenager leaned over, grabbing the cap and realizing that it was still damp from last night. He must have taken it into the shower with him— he honestly couldn't remember if he had left it on the ground or if he had kept it. Turning over onto his side, Hiro stared down at the thing for a few long minutes, feeling his throat swell shut and his eyes start to burn with heat that was openly contradictory to his body temperature.

Hiro curled away from everything else, wishing that the world could disappear with the simple action of covering his head with his blanket. The boy shut his eyes, feeling his own tears overflow and spill down the sides of his face as he clung to the scrap of material that his brother had used to wear nearly every day. If Hiro had died instead of Tadashi, things would be better. If Hiro had died, Aunt Cass wouldn't be crying right now. If Hiro had died, Tadashi would still be with his friends, the whole group laughing as if nothing was wrong, as if his not being there hadn't changed a thing. Because it wouldn't have. If Hiro had died, his brother would still be attending school and accomplishing more for people than Hiro ever could manage in any number of lifetimes.

And like a small little mantra in his head it started to cycle:

Why couldn't I have run into that building?

Why couldn't I have been the one to be ripped apart?

Why couldn't I have died instead?

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A/N: Merry Christmas! Day after, but it's always the thought that counts. For Christmas I've recently acquired a laptop, so the rate of updates can certainly increase. But I think this time before I update I'll wait for more reviews. It takes a lot of work in order to get out chapters this length, and there's been a lack of feedback in response! I want to hear what you guys think about this work and so far I haven't had much at all to go off of!

So the more reviews I get the faster that I'll update! And hopefully I'll be back sooner rather than later! :)