Well, I figured you'd get to the end of the previous chapter and go, "All that waiting and this is the little thing we get?" So here's Chapter 7. (On that note, I hope that wasn't too difficult for you to read, but it may be that this won't be much better.)

This... I've probably spent the most actual writing time on this chapter, out of all the others thus far. It was difficult to write, and there were several partial rewrites and additions and deletions. Some parts and elements of it just didn't sit right with me for a long time, and a couple months ago I realized why it wasn't quite giving me that feeling that I wanted from it. So I changed some things until I was satisfied, and now here you are.

Enough useless writer-talk that the audience doesn't care about, now. Onward!

Digimon still doesn't belong to me. In case you've forgotten.


When you cut, you never think about what will happen afterward. All that will stay in your mind is that you're hurting, and there's no one you can turn to, and making yourself bleed is the only thing that will help you now.

If you cut once, you can't turn back. Not completely. Because that nasty little thing called memory will take note of that high, that little rush of endorphins that dulls your emotional pain just enough to let you think that maybe you can recover from this, live through one more day. So the next time your emotions are raging, there's a spark of recognition that you can make the pain better just like that. No matter how strongly you believe after the one time that you won't ever do it again, you might not be strong enough to walk away the next time.

You never think about the aftermath. You never remember in time that every cut you make is a cut that you'll have to hide from prying eyes. Every cut is another potential scar that you'll have to carry for the rest of your life, long after the scabs rub away, long after you stop.

If you ever stop.

I sat, motionless, against my bed when Dad came up to let me know dinner was ready. I could smell it, the savory aroma of meat and cloudy smell of steamed vegetables. I didn't move. My wrist was unbandaged, the blood dried darkly over the skin of my hand. He saw it, and I couldn't find it in me to try to hide it, or to explain it.

"Kouji," he exhaled, hand still hanging on the doorknob. I winced at the pain in his voice. With an effort I kept my breath even, but I doubted I could do so for much longer. I still shook from it. There came the sound of my door closing, and Dad stood in front of it, hands loose at his sides. I couldn't look at him beyond tracking him from my peripheral vision. I just stared at my updrawn knees, arms crossed loosely around them. I heard Dad taking a steadying breath and braced myself. "What happened?" he asked. I blinked and tried to remember, staring hard at the floor in front of me.

Finally, in answer, I shook my head.

"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"

I knew. I took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky sigh. I was afraid I'd start crying if he stayed in the room much longer. Hell, I was certain I would start crying anyway, but I didn't want my father to be there when I did. "I don't know how much I can tell you," I said finally, pushing my hands into my hair, "There's... Oh, it's all so screwed up." I didn't want to betray Takuya's trust, and I didn't want to bring up complicated subjects like Kouichi and his death, or sound like a lunatic for talking about communing with his ghost. I couldn't tell him about anything without having to talk about everything. "I'm fine, Dad," I said quietly, not moving any further, "I'll be okay." He shifted on his feet and I cautiously glanced up at his face. Worry lines creased his forehead, and his mouth set in a grim line. He didn't look angry. But the way his knuckles stood white as his fist gripped the doorknob showed how hard he was fighting against any kind of outburst with all his will.

"Kouji, as your father, you know I can't just take that and be happy with it."

Sighing, I stared at my knees, loosening my grip on my hair. "I know." Sounds of him taking the chair from my desk and sitting in it let me know that he planned to talk this out. Whether I wanted to right now or not. Yet the silence stretched for a long, rigid moment. I wrapped my arms around my knees and rested my chin on them.

Finally, with a weary sigh, Dad gestured toward my wrist. "You really should clean that up. It could get infected." I lifted it a couple inches to get a better look, then dropped it back down, limp. The blood had already dried; the razor had been mine. Nothing to worry about, really. I shrugged. "Kouji," he said firmly, and my gaze slid to him, "What's on your mind?"

With a sigh bordering on a growl, I answered, "I told you, Dad; I don't know what I can say that will be enough for you. There's so much, and it's all interconnected, and..." I buried my face in my arms, "Honestly, sometimes I can't make sense of it, either."

Silence again, growing tense as I tried to organize everything into a summary that would satisfy his concerns without giving anything away. "Did something happen when you went out today?" I froze completely. Don't make me face it... "Anything you can tell me about?"

I couldn't tell him about anything without having to talk about everything.

"I'm sorry. I can't... I'm trying to find my own way through this. I just got overwhelmed."

"By what?"

I shrugged hopelessly again. "Everything. Things I can't tell you about. I'm sorry, but I really can't, Dad," I insisted when he seemed about to ask me what sort of things.

"Well, son, I can't help you if I don't know what's bothering you."

"I know-"

"Do you even want help of any kind, or am I just wasting my time here?" I looked up, a little shocked at the sudden change. He pointed at my wrist again. "Is this what is going to happen every time you try to find your own way through something?"

I bristled, hurt. "That's not fair."

"No, Kouji, what isn't fair is that my own son would rather do this to himself than talk to me about his problems."

"Dad," I pleaded, heat crawling behind my eyes. I looked away, unable to face him any longer as he stood and towered over me without even coming any closer. I hated having to keep things like this from him, but I only wished he could just understand that sometimes there were things I could not talk to him about. "I'm fine," I muttered in a choked voice, though his aggravated sigh stung my whole body, "It's a one-time thing, I promise," I insisted, even as I heard his footsteps reach the door. "I'll be okay tomorrow." I always would be...

"It won't be okay, Kouji. And that's something you'll have to accept."

The door shut too quietly and I bit hard into my knuckles to keep from crying out as the tears spilled over down my face.

I could wash the blood off. I could wrap bandages around my wrist. I could wear a wrist brace to cover it. I could wear long sleeves.

I could lie to the whole world and they would never know.

And I knew in my mind that I would never do this again. Never.

But I needed to be allowed to believe that.

Instead, everyone yelled at me. Takuya, Dad. Kouichi.

I gripped at my hair again and tried to push Kouichi's furious, tear-stained face out of my mind. I had never seen him like that before. Even when I'd first cleansed his Dark Spirits and he'd tried to walk away, he'd been more irritated and frustrated with himself than angry at anyone else in particular. This time all his rage had been directed at me, and more than ever I felt so sorry that I'd sunk so low.

"God," I murmured, closing my eyes and leaning more heavily against my bed, fingernails digging into my scalp. "God, what is wrong with me?" I said in a harsh whisper as more tears fell faster, hissing as weaker scabs on my wrist pulled apart and the cuts bled anew. The blood disgusted me. I wanted to wash it all off, or throw up, but I also didn't want to move. If I moved, it would break whatever fragile illusion of order I still had left, make me realize the true gravity of what I had done, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened. "What the hell is wrong with me?" All I wanted to do was scream it, beg the world to tell me what was so wrong with me that I deserved everything bad that had ever happened to me, that was happening to me now. But I couldn't do that, either. I couldn't let the world know where I was and what I was going through. It would be too much to take; all the questions, concerned looks, wary glances at the hidden scars that they knew were there.

I stared at the blood – my blood – all over my hand and shuddered, wanted to look anywhere but at my hand. I glanced at my door, considered going to the bathroom to wash the blood away. But I knew the razor was in there, too, and I knew I couldn't be trusted anywhere near it.

The blood itched. I flexed my hand, wrist, fingers, waved it around, brushed it lightly across my pants, anything to avoid having to go to the bathroom where that razor sat to wash it off. But the itching only got worse.

Finally, I gave up, slowly rising to my feet and twisting the doorknob with my clean hand. I brushed through the resulting gap and tread down the hall and didn't shut the bathroom door behind me. The water felt too warm on my frigid hand, but this time it felt strangely welcome, too. Almost cleansing... Once I gently toweled my injured wrist dry and looked at what was left of the cuts, I decided maybe the situation was bad, but not so bad. I hadn't been stupid about it; it took only a few cuts to bring me to my senses...

"What is wrong with me," I said dully as the last tears fell, unable to believe what I was thinking. Throwing the blood-stained washcloth in the hamper, I turned my attentions to the medicine cabinet and located the gauze, cotton pads, and disinfectant. I hated the familiarity of the routine.

I knew I didn't have many long-sleeved shirts that wouldn't be hell in the hot sun, but I looked anyway. I didn't want to face it – after coming so far, here I was, right at the beginning again: scrounging for cover-ups, lies, and excuses.

You never remember in time all the actions that you're forced to take if you don't want anyone to find out what you did to yourself.

A shrill ring made me jump a foot before I realized it was my cell phone, still in my pocket. I hastily took it out and flipped it open. Takuya. Suddenly apprehensive, I pressed the answer button.

"Takuya?" I said, trying to sound as calm as when I left him.

"Kouji?" his voice came into my ear, sounding panicked.

"What's up?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Shinya's not home yet. I never saw him after the park. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"I live across town, Takuya," I reminded him quietly, letting the rest of it hang – what reason would Shinya have to come all the way over here?

"Right, right," Takuya muttered hastily, and I could picture him shaking his head at himself, "Well, if you do... I mean, you probably wouldn't anyway, but-"

"Takuya," I interjected, and he cut himself off. "Breathe. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." The fact that the day's events had been enough to make me cut after being clean for two years glared me very obviously in the face and I cast for something more reassuring to say. "Maybe he found a friend, or something."

"I've called all his friends; they haven't seen him either."

Okay... "Did you try calling him?"

"He won't pick up, and he hasn't answered any of my texts."

I scratched my head worriedly, already feeling his panic seeping into my chest. "Look, if he doesn't show up in another half-hour or so, give me a call and I'll try to get out of the house to help you look for him, okay?"

"No, no, you don't have to; I think I could find him myself," Takuya said hurriedly. A sigh crackled over the line before he said, sounding regretful, "Look, man, I'm sorry I had to bother you, but..." A bit of that desperate whine I'd heard yesterday crept into his voice and I understood.

"It's okay," I told him.

"Normally I wouldn't be, but after hearing about... and today... but I don't know how long he's been doing it, so I don't know if I even should be worried that he's not home yet, because he's been staying out late a lot since he started middle school anyway, and..." he sighed again and I shifted on my feet. "Maybe he just went to a friend's house to cool off, huh. Told 'em not to say he was there or something."

There was a long pause as I tried to think of something to say.

"I guess I'll..." Takuya started awkwardly.

"Let me know when he comes home, all right?" I asked him, "Or if he doesn't. Just let me know." He muttered an affirmative and the call disconnected. As I put my phone back in my pocket I lifted my bandaged wrist in front of my eyes.

After a split-second decision I threw open my window and leapt to a sturdy pine limb four feet out. When I was younger, I used to get out of the house by jumping to the branch and climbing down in the mornings before school, so I wouldn't have to deal with Satomi. Now I was tall enough that from the branch I could just hang down and drop.

I landed catlike and froze for a moment to see whether I'd been noticed. Nothing; I then ran out onto the curb and took off toward the bus station. But after a few blocks I slowed suddenly to a stop, my sense finally catching up and overtaking my impulses. I didn't have the slightest idea where Shinya might be if not in the park, if not at home or at a friend's – I didn't know his friends – and getting lost on the other side of town wouldn't help anything.

And yet... I flexed my injured wrist and clenched my fists – I couldn't just sit around and wait for the red flags to be at the top of the mast if I could already see them being run up. Ignoring the stares, ignoring how hot it had already become, I continued running for the bus stop. Even if I couldn't know where to start, getting to his neighborhood in due time was at least a start – and there was no way to tell how much time I had left.

The air had only barely cooled, even though the sun had since begun lowering in the sky. All that seemed to do was make it harder to see; as the sun no longer glared from overhead but more to the side, it forced me to squint every time I happened to glance westward. The inconvenience didn't help my increasingly frantic mood. Takuya had called me just north of halfway across town to blurt that he didn't care what I or his mom or anyone said, he was going to look for Shinya until he found him. I'd tried to talk him down to at least waiting for me to meet him in the park to discuss a strategy, but he was too worried; he insisted sending each other text messages of our movements through town would be sufficient. He hung up and wouldn't pick up again when I redialed, so I'd leaned back in my seat hard enough to bang my skull against the headrest (I think I'd been hoping the action would wake me up). As I stepped off the bus, a glimpse of Takuya disappearing around the corner erased any immediate need for a first text message, and I took off after him. "Takuya! Wait up!" I shouted as I whipped around the corner. He broke his pace long enough to see it was me, then slowed to as quick a walk he could manage without it becoming a jog.

"What took you so long?" he panted, "I've already checked around my neighborhood. I'm heading for one of his friends' houses."

"Where do you want me to look?" I asked quickly before he could sprint off again. He glanced behind us.

"I don't know; the shops over there? Let me know if you find him." Then he was gone. I checked the time on my cell phone and groaned inwardly. Seven o'clock. And with the sky already changing color, I really hoped Shinya would be found before it got dark. I can't speak for Takuya, but I myself don't do well in the dark, even with streetlights and neon signs everywhere in town. It just... doesn't work. Plays too many tricks on my eyes.

So I turned on my heel and ran in the opposite direction.

There were innumerable cafes and shops and popular teen hangouts in the area, but everywhere I looked came up empty. I put myself in Shinya's shoes and tried to decide where he was most likely to go, but my thoughts were only guaranteed for immediately after the fact – either burning off my aggression at an arcade with a shooter game, or cooling down with an ice cream sundae. Once the game got boring or the ice cream was gone, I couldn't think of anything.

Honestly, though, after such an intense confrontation, I couldn't imagine Shinya would want to be around people right now. When my cousin had caught me cutting myself in the bathroom at a family gathering, I could barely function for the rest of the day; I think only my reputation for being so introverted in the first place kept people from asking why I absolutely would not say anything. There had been no way for me to know who my cousin might have already told, and I didn't want to risk breaking that bubble of not-knowing by drawing more attention to myself than was necessary.

If Shinya's thought process ran anything like mine, he wouldn't want to be around his friends – especially since it had been one of his friends who had tipped off Takuya.

The sky directly overhead had turned blue-violet and I was running out of places to look. I checked my phone again and, after noting the time, checked the text message Takuya had evidently sent me five minutes prior, while I had been too absorbed in hunting to notice the alert.

Not at any friend's house. Any luck?

I swiftly replied, No, and let out a sigh. That had only confirmed what I had been thinking – not comforting at all. I continued walking, purposelessly now that I couldn't come up with any new plans of action. My phone chirped at me again.

Keep looking.

The phone shut with a small clap and I shoved it my pocket, gritting my teeth to keep from letting out a choice expletive at the top of my lungs at the injustice of it all. My usefulness waned as the sky darkened, I needed to be home by curfew or else get in an even deeper mess with Dad – more than I was already in because he'd had no idea I was leaving the house – it was still too hot, I was tired, and my feet hurt.

A bus stop sat right ahead. For a fast moment I considered telling Takuya he was on his own for the rest of the night, but before I could go to the texting menu, a message from a number I didn't recognize flashed up on the screen. I balked at it, distracted out of my original intent to where I momentarily forgot what I was supposed to do, then my brain got back up to speed and I pressed the button to receive it.

Lk 2 ur rite

...Huh? O-kay...

An alley. I could see into it for maybe three feet, then it looked nothing but pitch black. I glanced at the screen again and then back to the alley. Then my phone chirped with another message.

Cm in

I raised an eyebrow at the screen – what the hell was going on?

Reply:

NO.

Send. Wait. A moment later:

I dnt wnt 2 tlk out thr

Fed up with it all, I obstinately placed my free hand on my hip and glared into the black mouth of the alley. "Well, I have common sense, and it's telling me I should never, ever enter a dark alley, so either come out here, or I'm leaving."

After another long moment I growled in frustration, thrust both hands in my pockets and started turning to leave, before a voice called a quiet, strained, "Wait!" and its owner shuffled out just enough into the light that I could see him.

"Goddamn it, Shinya!" I lashed out, more irritated at the moment than relieved, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him further out before he could retreat, "Do you know how long Takuya and I have been looking for you?"

"Let go of me," he muttered, so quietly I could barely hear him.

"Takuya's been worried sick about you for hours," I continued in a progressively softer tone, taking note of his despondence. Shinya said nothing, and I carefully let go of his jacket. He didn't look at me; he placed his hands in his pockets and sat against the alley wall, drawing his knees up. "Where have you been?" He shrugged, lips moving like he thought he might answer, but then he didn't. I suddenly thought of Kouichi, the way he was when he first came into the group; so worried and so paranoid from his past mistakes that he didn't want to say anything if it meant things wouldn't get any worse. I pushed the pang of hurt out of my mind. "Why didn't you go home?"

His head turned ever so slightly back toward the alley; I only just noticed it. "...I don't really want to go home right now," he said, in that worryingly small voice. It took two reverse steps to get to the bus stop bench, and I leaned against the back of it. He hadn't turned at all to follow my movement; I continued speaking to almost his back.

"Why not?"

Though he didn't say anything, I just perceived him stiffening.

"Is it anything to do with today?"

I was surprised to see him shaking his head. "...It's not that... It's... It doesn't... really matter."

I folded my arms and raised an eyebrow at the back of his head. But nothing else came. "I don't believe you," I said firmly. Shinya's head bowed lower and his shoulders began quivering. I rubbed my temples wearily, anything to bolster my frayed nerves. The last thing I wanted was for him to be crying again, but it looked like he would be anyway. "Shinya... I meant what I said, earlier. Whatever you're going through, chances are I've been there." Nothing, still. I reached into the back of my mind for memories from my first year of middle school, anything to help connect. I had stopped cutting by the end of that year; as far as anyone knew, Shinya hadn't been doing it himself for very long. "I'm going to ask you one thing, and I want you to answer me honestly."

His head turned slightly toward me; I knew he was listening.

"Is something happening at school?" A different, tenser kind of silence. I found myself leaning forward, but determinedly kept quiet should he reply. After a long moment of nothing, I assured him, "You can tell me."

After a long while he sighed and from where I stood it looked like he might finally say something... but then thought better of it and his shoulders dropped again. So it was something he was embarrassed about... That narrowed it down to... well, still too many things. And now I was really getting frustrated.

My cell phone rang and I barely glanced away from Shinya as I took it out of my pocket.

Calling: Takuya

Right as my thumb hovered over the green 'ANSWER' button, Shinya said, "Don't answer it."

As the phone continued ringing, I looked back up at him. "Why shouldn't I?"

He shrugged. I glanced at the screen again, and Takuya's name with the animated phone being picked up over and over again, and all to the sound of a high-pitched ringing.

"Give me a reason," I reiterated. He glared icily at me.

"Because I know it's my brother, and I don't want to see him, either."

"Shinya, did you pay any attention at all?"

"To what?"

Was he being thick on purpose? I bit back the accusation and inhaled sharply as I tried to keep my anger in check; getting confrontational wouldn't help here. "Why don't you want to talk to Takuya?"

"Because he told you about..." To end his sentence he lifted his left wrist – the one he had been cutting. I shook my head in aggravation.

"I told you already; he had no other options. Don't make me repeat everything I said to you, because I wouldn't have said it any different."

He fell silent at that, though he still didn't turn his head. Sighing, I looked down at my cell phone and realized it had already stopped ringing.

"Don't call him." Now he looked at me out the corner of his eye. I snarled at him.

"Well, you're not leaving me with much to work with if you won't talk or let me talk. It's late; you need to get home, and I have to take a forty-five minute bus trip to get to my own house. Unless you have a deep, dark secret that you're dying to tell me and that I must never tell anyone else including your brother on pain of a slow, agonizing death, there isn't much more I can do for you right now." Immediately I felt the atmosphere change; I don't know if it was in the way his shoulders suddenly slumped as he bowed his head, or the difference in the emotion I felt rolling off of him, or my own paranoia, but suddenly the air felt thicker. As if taboo incarnate were weighing on us like a heavy tarp. From my perch on the back of the bench, I watched Shinya shift toward the alley mouth again. Tapping my fingers listlessly against one of the bench boards, I leaned forward and said quietly, "Is there something you've been wanting to say?" And then I watched him use the wall to stand, watched him turn his face back, though it was bowed, his eyes shadowed by his hair.

"...There is. But..." His lips kept moving for a couple more words, but I didn't hear any of them.

"Shinya!"

We both jumped, and whipped our gazes around to see Takuya running across the street, looking all at once very angry, very happy, and very about to cry.

"Taku-!" Shinya barely got an opening to fight him off as Takuya, too overcome to notice anything else, pulled him into a tight hug, completely ignoring his younger brother's protests as he abjectly refused to let go.

When Takuya broke the hug, he gripped Shinya's shoulders at arm-length and his expression settled decisively on anger. "What did you think you were doing?" he barked, "Especially after today!"

"I just needed to get away," Shinya said sulkily, sounding like he'd been caught eating cookies right before dinner rather than one who had been driven to running away from home.

"I was worried sick over you!" Takuya yelled, shaking him. Carefully, I placed a hand on his shoulder. Almost instantly his features relaxed and his hold on Shinya eased. "Sorry, Shinya; but I really was worried." He looked at me like he wanted to ask me something, but Shinya choosing that moment to walk away distracted him from voicing anything. "Wait," Takuya yelped, grasping his arm, "Home's that way."

Before Shinya looked at Takuya, he looked at me. I put my hands in my pockets and shrugged mutely at him. Now that Takuya was here, I honestly just wanted to go home. In the end, Shinya said nothing, but started leading the way to home, Takuya following just behind with a somewhat perplexed expression. He glanced back at me once, but I was already turning to read the bus schedule and check it against my phone (8:30 PM). When I looked back around, the two of them were already gone.

The sky was well past dark by the time I finally made it back home. I gazed at the lit windows on the bottom floor, wondering if at this point it was even worth trying to get back into the house using the tree. Dad and Satomi almost certainly knew that I had snuck out. Taking a steeling breath, I walked to the front porch and opened the door.

As I had expected and dreaded, Dad was sitting in his favorite armchair, reading the evening paper, and his eyes darted right to me as I passed the threshold. "Where were you?" he asked sharply. I sighed inwardly and wished he couldn't have taken that tone with me, even if it was justified. Satomi was nowhere to be seen, I noticed. Maybe she had gone to bed early again.

"Out," I answered, knowing that of all nights I would never get away with vague answers tonight, but I didn't want to tell him more than I felt was necessary.

"Out, where?"

Think, Kouji, think! "Uh... One of my friends got into a fight with their folks tonight, and they wanted someone to vent to. In person." That took care of the "why-didn't-you-just-talk-on-the-phone?" argument, I hoped. Dad folded his paper and dropped it on the floor to the side of his feet. I shifted on my feet, fighting every instinct to bolt for the hills.

"Kouji," he began, leaning forward with his hands clasped firmly between his knees, stoney blue eyes set on me, "I'm only going to say this once, so I want to make sure you understand me." When he didn't continue for a long moment, I offered a careful, slow nod. "I know that it's summer, that it's light late, and you want to go out with your friends and have fun. However," he straightened and his gaze hardened further, "given the circumstances, I think we need to establish some new rules."

I felt the blood drain out of my face and opened my mouth to protest.

"Kouji, I don't do this to be mean to you. I'm doing this for your own good." I sank into the closest chair and stared at my lap. "You can't be out this late; Satomi and I had no idea where you were or when you had left, and we were worried sick about you." I gripped my hair – that was a phrase I'd been hearing too much of lately. "If you're going somewhere, you need to tell one of us, and you need to check in every time you go somewhere else. I've been lenient on that lately because I thought you had recovered from this destructive behavior, but I can't trust you now." Suddenly my eyes felt flooded – that one hurt. "You will be home every night by dinner, and you may not go out again after that, unless it is for a required school activity. Understand?" After a long pause, I slowly nodded. "Good. You may go." He took up his newspaper again, but I didn't move at first. Then, silently and unobtrusively as I could, I went back upstairs to my room, closed my window, and fell back on my bed. I didn't even feel my head hitting the pillow.

A dreamless sleep later, I woke up to my alarm blaring at me to get ready for school. Rolling over upon slamming it off, I realized I was still in my clothes that I'd worn the previous day and that I'd somehow wound up sleeping on my cell phone. Stretching out the resultant knot, I pulled out my phone and checked it, and I saw that I had a text from Takuya. After reading it I pitched the phone to the floor as hard as I could and it didn't break and I buried my face in my hands because it just wasn't fair; Takuya's message rattling in my head:

Sorry I didn't say it earlier, but thanks for helping with Shinya, man. You're the best!


...

My heart breaks a little every time I read this chapter...

Remember I mentioned I was having problems with this chapter? Turns out half of those were solved once I actually made the parent act like a parent. Who'd've thought?

Notice my txtspeek fail. I'm one of those weirdos who uses complete words when she texts, so... I figured if I didn't use any vowels, it'd be convincing...

Still striving to keep everyone reasonably in character. Am I doing okay?

There's a lot happening here that I could talk about. But I won't. Cos it's currently 10:20 PM and college students kind of need their sleep. So...

I'll try not to be so horrendously slow with the next update... Don't hold your breath, though...

Well, as you know, reviews are always appreciated. :)