Ehhyy, I'm baack! For a bit anyway. Life has been kinda not-so-good lately, family member on their deathbed, 5 and 1/2 hours of testing and extensive studying for said testing and all are making it a bit hard for me to find time for stuff, but hopefully this chapter suffices for now.

Time passed in a blur for Lukas. Was it day? Was it night? Hell if he knew. Hell if he cared. Nothing held importance anymore. After he had woken up from... whatever dream state he had been in, nothingness was the most accurate description for everything in his life.

He still hadn't accepted it. He doubted he ever would. Every time the maid came in to try and make the beds, or pick up their books, Lukas would shoo her away; locking the door to make sure that the only thing to ever touch Emil's stuff again would be either him, (should he ever get the bravery to do so) or the dust. His bed still sported the pajamas Emil had tossed on it that day, along with the red book Kiku had given to Lukas after the authorities had cleared the scene.

That book.

It had caused so much trouble. After he had thrown it on the bed, Lukas could hardly look at it, nonetheless do anything with it. It took him a while to realize it had blood on it. He couldn't be sure if the now-brownish stain on the bottom front cover was from his brother or his friend. He supposed it didn't really matter.

If the damn book hadn't been so odd, if Emil hadn't found it interesting enough to skip out the door asking questions, if Lukas had picked it up later, if if if if… the list could go on forever. But the largest glaring if, the one he was unable to shove out of his mind for more than a few moments at a time, it filling him with rage all the while…

If that stupid, obnoxious stranger hadn't charged into his line of sight, white handkerchief waving. Now, Lukas' rational mind knew it was completely unfair to blame someone so unrelated to him and his situation for something as big as… well that. Unfortunately, that's just what his mind did, and he couldn't help but be bitter about it and think that if he ever saw those ridiculously blue eyes again, he would punch their owner in the face without a second thought.

The more he mulled over it, the more he blamed the stranger. He could have blamed himself, but it was far easier to say that this person distracted him; he should have been listening to Emil ask questions. He should have gotten to the café and left, but where had he been? He had been in the imprisoning grip of that stranger, being dragged through town.

The anger he held only grew and warped in his silent and brooding mind.

Weeks had passed, maybe months, where he spoke only in nods and glances. Lukas had tried getting up as he normally would with his brother for a few days, but soon getting out of his sheets became so labor intensive, he just couldn't manage it earlier that eleven. He ate at a minimum, not intentionally, but he couldn't bring himself to cook, and his inactivity required little energy. He really didn't do much of anything anymore.

Kiku had called several times in the week following the shooting. Lukas never answered. Eventually he listened to the messages Kiku had left, vaguely remembering something about the shop closing, then being sold, and that he was going to drop off some books for Lukas. By the time he had gotten that last message, the books were already piled in their…his library. He didn't look at them.

Leon had come by at some point to collect a few things that he had left at his friend's house. Lukas had been laying on his bed, unmoving, hands above his head and shirt halfway buttoned when he came into th-his room. Leon was crying. Lukas was also crying. Maybe. These days it was hard to tell.

The funeral had been the next day. Lukas didn't want to be there. His parents gave a eulogy, a long one he thought. It was nice.

No it wasn't.

He didn't remember it.

After the words stopped, he went home and laid on the floor beside his bed. He couldn't see Emil's side of the room from there. He cried. And then he fell asleep.

For the first time in his life, Lukas was late for his economics lesson. He didn't care. His father certainly did though, nearly screaming obscenities at him, unleashing his pent up emotion at losing his youngest son upon the elder. Lukas didn't hear it. He was too busy trying not to look at the empty chair next to him.

Lukas was asked to present his ideas for a new way to prevent the rebels from infecting the city. He didn't have any. Someone had thought his brother was a rebel. That someone had also thought his best friend was a rebel. Obviously there wasn't a way to stop anything from infecting the city. His speech was written for him and was spoken flawlessly, the applause he got was nearly deafening. Lukas could only hear the sound of gunshots.

It rained again. The city rejoiced. Lukas just stared. The last time it had rained, he had been picking up that book. Two umbrellas sat in front of him on the windowsill, one a royal blue with a swirly red and white pattern, and the other the same, but with the red and blue inverted. Lukas pushed both out of his vision as he gazed blindly at the water running frantically down his window, not bothering to turn on a light as night overtook the day.

Kiku tried to visit. Lukas locked his door. He could hear the low, concerned voices of his parents mingling with that of Kiku's in the hall outside his room. Had Lukas been feeling up to it, he might have been surprised to hear such concern in the soft-spoken man's voice. Perhaps at some point in the past it would have made his heart swell to know that even someone as distant as Kiku cared about his wellbeing. Now it just made his gut twist uncomfortably.

Under threat of his parents chaining him to a tree outside, Lukas found himself sitting demurely under a striped canopy at an unfamiliar tavern. He had reached the age of requirement (19) a few days ago, and despite having been mildly amused by the antics of his parents on the day, he found very little had changed. He was no longer of schooling age, free to do as he wished until it was his turn to pick up the family title. The thought still made him a bit queasy, however, and he quickly turned his mind elsewhere.

Staring out at the people rushing about on the cobblestone, Lukas idly wondered just when he was able to observe the color of the umbrellas of passersby. It had been so long since he had seen color in anything, having viewed the world in a monochrome grayscale since his brother left. Now it was only a light shade here and there, nothing vibrant, nothing extraordinary. The last two colors standing out like that both brought back memories Lukas would much rather forget. But still, it was progress. He was making progress.

I need a thing to happen here. What thing should happen here?