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Ui wakes to the sound of his phone ringing. His neck aches from sleeping on the couch. He checks the time. Three am. He blinks. Why would Amon Koutarou be calling me at this time?

"Ui?" Amon asks.

"Yes?" Ui answers. Everything's shrouded in darkness. Ui pushes the woven blanket off his lap. "Is everything okay?"

"No." Amon's voice cracks. "Ui, Arima just called me."

Oh shit. He knows. Ui sits bolt upright, his heart pounding. The door cracks behind him. Hairu tiptoes out, still draped in his pajamas.

"Shirazu Ginshi was in your section, right?"

"Huh?" Ui's head spins.

"He was killed in a car accident."

Shock slams Ui in his gut. "What?" Hairu heads over to him, eyes wide in fear. Amon explains that he doesn't have details, but will be in touch later. Ui hangs up and swallows.

"What happened?" Hairu croaks.

"You should be asleep," Ui manages, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to her. The glassy look in her eyes and her flushed cheeks tell him she still has her fever. And a full glass of water still sits on the nightstand. "Hairu! You have to drink more water!"

"I couldn't sleep," Hairu mumbles.

"Still." Ui's own voice breaks. Shirazu's... dead. Gone. "Hairu, did you know Shirazu Ginshi?"

When he tells her, she bursts into tears, sobbing. Ui doesn't know what to do. His very pretty student is wearing his pajamas and sobbing and sick with a fever and sitting on his bed. He eases himself next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder and awkwardly patting. And she sinks against him, her face buried in his chest, bawling, and he cries too. Shirazu's a good kid. He didn't deserve this. Her forehead feels warm even though his cotton undershirt. "Hairu, you have to drink," he manages, reaching for water.

She accepts, glugging the water down.

"And sleep," Ui adds. "To recover."

"I don't want to," Hairu protests, peering up into Ui's eyes. "He's dead."

Ui caves, pulling her close again. He runs his hand up and down her back and the entire time voice yell in his mind about how irresponsible he is. Her sobs quiet. Her gasps muffle. "Hairu?"

She makes no sound. Except breathing. Deep breathing.

She fell asleep? Ui hesitates, and then gingerly shifts Hairu down onto the bed. She stirs, and her hand reaches out, grasping at air. "Don't go. I don't want... to be alone."

Ui gulps. "You're feverish." Delusional.

We've already shared a bed before. Nothing happened.

"Please," Hairu whispers.

Shit. Ui cringes as he eases himself down next to her, rubbing her back again. At least she's sleeping with her face away from him "Okay. I'll stay."

In the meantime, all he can do is wait for dawn, alternatively filled with despair over Shirazu and self-loathing over the fact that he has a boner with his sick and heartbroken student sleeping fitfully next to him. This is awkward. This is so awkward. What am I doing? I'm the worst. His parents would be so ashamed of him. Hirako would be too.

Hairu's snores eventually drag Ui into a gray sleep of his own. When he wakes up, he finds an arm thrown across his chest. Hairu?

She's asleep. Light trickles through the window. Ui winces, easing his way out from under her arm.

If only he could have stayed there.

But she loves Arima. Not him.

The sun comes up, and Urie wants to shove its filthy stupid bright face back under the earth. It has no right to shine.

How can someone else be dead? Dear just because they were trying to help their friends out?

Urie curls his fists. He wants to scream, but he can't. Saiko's bawling, crumpled on the floor with her face pressed against the seat. Mutsuki just sits there, jaw open, shock trembling his chin.

Shirazu's too young to die. His roommate… Urie can't face the thought of returning to an empty room—that saxophone, the one Shirazu won't play again—fuck, fuck, this shouldn't be happening, he's too young to die. It isn't fair.

I hate death.

And he has a sister. Urie gulps. He reaches out and grasps Saiko's shoulder. Her shoulders heave. Mutsuki doubles over.

Washuu Matsuri strides through the doors of the emergency room. He grasps Urie's arm. "I'm so sorry."

Urie looks up at him, eyes blurred and hating himself for it. "Why are you here?"

"You need someone to drive you back." Matsuri clears his throat, looking over Mutsuki, huddled on the chair with his face pressed between his knees, and Saiko sobbing. "As Shirazu's roommate, Urie, you would get all As this semester—"

Anger explodes, finding a perfect target in Matsuri. "I can't believe you're talking about something like this right now!" Urie glares at him. This disgusting man. He could spit on him.

"When would you like me to talk about it, Urie?" snaps Matsuri. He jangles his keys, gripping his chin. "Come on. Let's go."

Urie almost tells Matsuri where he can put those keys, but Mutsuki gets to his feet, reaching a hand out for Saiko. She takes it, and he helps them to the car.

The next few days pass in a blur. A funeral is not held, because there are no parents and therefore no money to care for it. The school has a memorial service, but it's cheap for such a deep wound. The band and guests from :re that night, including the manager, attend.

"Sasaki didn't come," Mutsuki says, bewildered, as everyone files out of the church. A statue stands at the altar, resurrected, but Shirazu, he's still dead.

Just like his father.

Urie grits his teeth. None of the three of them have been back at class yet. Sasaki emailed, but he hasn't come to pay his respects. Akira cooked curry for them. Amon and Takizawa both wrote them all lengthy emails about how sorry they was, and came to the memorial today, heads bowed. Ui's been sending them their homework, but telling them they should take their time with it. Hairu came and cried with Saiko. Hsiao, Aura, and Higemaru haven't left their sides.

"Yes, he did," says Aura dispassionately.

"Huh?" Mutsuki blinks. Aura points. Urie whirls to see Sasaki slipping out from the back pew.

Oh, hell no. Urie's shoulders tighten. He's been staying in Mutsuki's room, unable to return to Shirazu's room, to wake up to his empty bed, fall asleep without the sound of him snoring, study without Shirazu playing music and irritating the shit out of him. And Mutsuki's been crying constantly, and checking email for a word for Sasaki.

Urie marches over to their TA. His hair's now completely black. "Hair appointment more important than your students?"

"Huh?" Sasaki turns around, gaping at him. "Urie. I'm so—"

"Don't tell me you're sorry! Show me!" Urie curses. "If you care about any of your students, maybe have some level of decency. Even Arima sent us flowers, and you—not a single word?" He throws his hands out.

Sasaki narrows his eyes. "You're not the only person who's suffering here, Urie."

Are you fucking kidding me? "I am the only person who just lost his roommate!"

"Whom, if I recall, you didn't even like." Sasaki's eyes travel past Urie, landing on that girl, the manager. Kirishima. He pales. "Goodbye." He turns on his heel and stalks away. Kirishima's face falls.

"Fuck you!" Urie hisses. He wants to shout it, scream it loudly enough so that it echoes in the rafters of this church, but of course he can't.

Mutsuki huddles in his room later, crying. "I thought he was my friend."

Urie scowls. "He doesn't deserve to have you as a friend. Any of us."

"I can't hate him," Mutsuki manages. "He was the first—person nice to me this semester. Everyone else—last semester—treated me like I was a disease."

Urie frowns. "Why?"

Mutsuki shakes his head. "Some rumors. Lies. But they—" He sits up, wiping at his eyes.

"Don't even think about that bastard," Urie says. "He's too focused on himself to think of anyone else."

And then he turns around, before he can see Mutsuki's reaction. Judging from the hiccups, it wasn't comforting. Oops. He makes his way back to his room. He needs to grab more clothes. He focuses his eyes on his closet, refusing to look at Shirazu's desk.

"You're the RA now," Washuu Yoshitoki told him.

Urie doesn't want to be. He wants Shirazu back. His eyes turn to Shirazu's side. Shit, his bed is still rumpled. There's a dent in the pillow. An apple core rots on the desk, and Urie can't bring himself to throw it away.

A white envelope sits on the desk. Urie peers at it. Shit. His fingers snatch the envelope and he marches back to Mutsuki's room. Saiko's there now, holding Mucchan and whimpering.

Urie throws the bill at them. Mutsuki flinches, but catches it. "It's—"

"Haru's medical bills," Urie says, voice rough. "They're due shortly. I—I know the two of you don't have jobs and probably not much, but—"

"I have some saved," Mutsuki says quietly. "From a summer job."

Saiko sniffles. "Me too."

Urie wonders how Saiko managed to work. Whatever. He's not going to question it. It's the least they can do.

"I love him," Saiko says, rubbing her eyes. "I don't—why is he gone?"

"Life's not fair," whispers Mutsuki. "I miss him."

"We'll make sure he isn't forgotten," Urie declares. He drops onto the bed next to Mutsuki. "I promise you. Both of you."

Mutsuki looks at him. He nods.

"I can't believe it," Akira says, staring at the beer in her hand. It has no taste, only fizz that stings the back of her throat. She gulps more. "Again? What is this place, a black hole of tragedy?"

"It's cursed," says Amon, reaching out to pat Maris Stella, who just leaped onto the couch next to him. The cat hisses. Amon withdraws his hand.

"It's not about us," Takizawa says.

"I know." Akira sighs. They didn't even have Shirazu in their section. But she's tired of death. It's always the same. That bleak cloud that hangs over campus. And it was so senseless—a driver lost control. They aren't even going to charge him. "Takizawa?"

"Mado?" He looks up at her. He's crouched against the wall, turning his almost-empty beer bottle around and around in his hand.

"Is that why you left? Because of the explosion?" Akira swallows. She doesn't know why she's still going on about this. But she wants an answer. She wants to know she isn't someone who deserves to be abandoned. She wants to be someone who doesn't have to earn people wanting to stay around her.

"It contributed," Takizawa says. He exhales. "But no. There were other factors too. I'll tell you about them someday, Mado, I will."

But not now. Akira sighs.

"It makes me think of Mado," Amon says, staring at the carpet. Maris Stella hops up on the back of the couch behind him. She hisses again and slaps him with her tail. Amon flinches. "I mean, Kureo. Your father. His death."

Akira's stomach burns. She pushes the beer away and leans back against the couch. "Yeah."

"He was such a mentor for me," Amon continues. "After Donato…"

"That priest guy?" Takizawa asks. "Sorry. You never mention him, but Mado said a few things." He nods at Akira. Her face burns.

"He was a—bad man," Amon says carefully. "He made me help him. Hurt children." Amon hangs his head.

"You were a child yourself," Akira snaps. "It's not your fault."

"If it makes you feel better, my parents are dead because of me," Takizawa interrupts.

"How would that make me feel better?" Amon's jaw hangs open.

Akira can't breathe. She had no idea. They went to high school together. She remembers Takizawa's mother, always fawning over him and embarrassing him. And she liked Akira, always congratulating her on her performances and academic achievements. "How did I not hear about this?"

Takizawa shrugs. "I took a gap year, right? Then I went off to school elsewhere."

"But what happened?" Akira presses.

"I'm a monster," Takizawa says, and he lets out a barking laugh. The laughs can't erase the way he spoke, though, like the words were engraved in stone. He finishes the beer and leans his head back against the wall, white hair streaming around him. His face almost looks gray. "It was an accident. They were coming to see me at—my new school—because I'd been so fucking depressed—and they skidded on some ice."

"That's not your fault," Akira snaps.

Takizawa looks at her, eyes smoldering. "Yes. It is."

"No, it isn't."

"Shut up!"

"Why do you always have to believe the worst of yourself?" Akira yells.

Takizawa glares at her, mouth agape. He shakes his head.

"I don't blame you, and that's that, you're not going to convince me to blame you," Akira snarls. She crosses her arms and flops back. Fuck this. Her eyes burn. Tears slip out from them, dribbling hot down her cheeks.

"Akira?" ventures Amon.

"I miss my father," Akira chokes out. "I wonder—what he would think—of me, of you—" I miss you. I miss both of you. I was safe then.

"He'd be proud of you," Takizawa says.

Akira remembers Fueguchi Hinami. The girl came to Shirazu's memorial service with that grunge emo guy holding her hand. Why would she come? She was there, maybe, but why would she come? And there's a niggling thought eating at her mind: do I want him to be proud of me?

She does. She always has.

"I'm sorry, Seidou," Akira says, turning her head to look at him. "You—don't deserve to feel that way."

"Deserves doesn't matter," says Takizawa, shrugging. "I do feel that way."

"I blame myself too," Amon says. "For not—helping the other kids—with Donato."

"You were a kid yourself," Akira snaps. Why are these boys both like this?

"I know," Amon says. "He's a monster. If it weren't for him—" Maris Stella whacks at him with her paw this time. Akira snatches the cat, who wails.

Takizawa cackles. "If it weren't for me."

If it weren't for—Akira stops. She doesn't know what to say. Kirishima? Fueguchi? Dad himself?

"I've had enough death," Amon says.

"You and me both." Akira drinks more, knowing it will sting her stomach. She can't care.

"It's not all tragedy though," Takizawa says. "You two have each other. I saw it, like, way back. In how you two looked at each other. And you're honoring Kureo's memory. You know he'd be the number one shipper."

"He'd drag out a machete," Akira retorts. Her face heats up. Amon smiles sheepishly.

"Ew," says Takizawa.

"What about Seina?" asks Akira. "Is she—"

"She's in school," Takizawa says. "She doesn't talk to me much, since they died." Shadows hide his face. He drags himself to his feet. "I'll see you guys later. I should get back to my place—I've got some grading to get through. And I need to practice for the upcoming concert." He tosses Akira a smile. All the graduate students and postdocs, plus professors including Arima, are required to perform in the memorial concert.

"Okay," Akira says. "Thanks for coming by."

The door closes behind him with a click. Akira turns to Amon. "Did you know?"

Amon nods.

"I wish he'd told me," Akira says.

Amon wraps his arms around her, and she presses herself into his body. He dwarfs her, and she feels safe there.

Dad, would you really be happy?

He can't answer. He's dead.

Gray clouds bulge outside, and Akira wishes she could go to that bench again, even if she knows she'll feel worse for it.

Hairu recovers from her flu quickly, but Shirazu's death certainly doesn't help matters. She's gone long hours again, practicing the violin. Blisters reappear on her hands, and Ui can't help but want to tell her to stop, to just stop, that it won't help her, that Arima will never notice unless she's dead and if she's dead that would hurt the world, but he can't bring himself to. Because it's wrong. He's her TA. Even if they're both adults, there's a power dynamic.

He could kick himself.

He's leaving the music building late at night the evening of Shirazu's memorial service when he catches her waiting outside for him, shivering. "Hairu?"

"Koori," she says, and he sees that her eyes are reddened, her nose swollen.

Fuck. He wants to take her in his arms, but he can't. Nothing happened when she was staying in his place, he wouldn't have stooped that low, but he still knew it was probably an ethical violation. "Is it Shirazu?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't even know him that well. It's Kanou."

"What did he do?" Ui demands. Is it ethical to punch a professor?

"Can we go back to your apartment and talk?" Hairu asks, hopping up and down.

Ui hesitates. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh." Her shoulders slump.

"We could go out," Ui suggests. "For coffee. And melon buns."

Hairu cocks her head. "To :re?"

Ui gulps. "That place is—"

"I want to see where it happened," Hairu declares.

Ui says nothing. He reaches for his keys, head hanging as he heads to his car. She follows.

"Tomorrow they start tutoring, right?" Hairu asks as he begins to drive. It's foggy tonight, thick clouds rolling low over the earth, covering the roads and fences with sticky cobwebs of air.

"Yeah," Ui says.

"I hope they see Shio," says Hairu.

He hesitates. "Hairu, why didn't you volunteer?"

Hairu leans her head against the window, peering outside. "I didn't think Tsuneyoshi would like it. He thinks I'm dumb. And not a good influence on the kids. But I got a scholarship because they didn't know what else to do with me." She inhales.

Ui clutches the steering wheel. Is she saying what he thinks she's saying? "But you're talented. You're smart—I'm sure you earned it—"

"I didn't have to earn it," Hairu interrupts. "You've seen Rize, right? You think she earned it?" She doubles over. "Shio's his son."

"What?" Ui slams on the brakes. Hairu shrieks. "Sorry."

"Shio's my half brother," Hairu repeats. "He's Tsuneyoshi's son. Just like Arima, and Furuta, and Yusa—Arima's full brother—and Souzu Rikai, who's his daughter. Rize and I are stepkids; Shio and I have the same mom, and Yusa, Arima, and Rize do too Furuta and Rikai have different mothers. Except they were never married, so not really."

Ui struggles to breathe. Air seems to stick to his lungs. Is this for real? Why didn't Furuta just tell him? He could—this is really, really bad—unethical as all—you womanizing piece of—

"Don't be angry," Hairu requests, voice trembling. "It's just—the way it is."

You're in love with someone who might as well be your stepbrother? But not really, if they didn't grow up together. Ui gulps.

"You won't tell, will you?" Hairu cries out, turning to him.

Furuta, why didn't you say? This is kind of important information. Ui grits his teeth. "Hairu—"

"I don't want to—"

"I won't," Ui insists. He drives slower, squinting at the road. A lump grows in his throat. No wonder Hairu feels alone.

Has she ever felt wanted?

The thought that the answer might be no sickens Ui. He arrives at :re and locks the car, heading in with Hairu on his heels. Kirishima Touka takes their orders with a smile.

"So… what happened with Kanou?" Ui asks when they take seats on stools at the bar pressed up against the front window.

Hairu scowls, biting into her melon bun. "He wants me to spy on Sasaki."

"The fuck?" Ui blurts out before thinking. He almost chokes on his melon bun.

"Well, not spy exactly." Hairu looks out at the fog rolling around then, squinting. He knows she's trying to imagine it, where it happened, what happened. "Just—he keeps asking me strange questions since he knows Sasaki's my TA. It feels like he's trying to get me to spy on him without telling me what's going on."

"You should report him," Ui says automatically. Words fly into his mind, crafting the email to Yoshitoki.

"He hasn't done anything technically wrong," Hairu pointed out, stuffing more melon bun into her mouth and sighing in contentment. "Thanks, Koori. This is what I needed."

I don't think it's what you needed. I don't even think I can give you what you need, because I'm not Arima. Ui wishes coffee could burn a hole in his despair as well as in his stomach.

They don't stay terrible late. It's quiet, mostly, but Ui doesn't mind. When they leave, Ui almost stumbles into a crying, running figure.

"Are you okay?" Hairu exclaims as the person tumbles to the ground.

Karren von Rosewald glares up at them, eyes streaming. She recognizes Ui, face paling. She nods.

"You don't look it," Hairu says with a frown. "Maybe we should—"

"She's just upset I told her the truth," croons a voice. Ui stiffens. He turns to see that weird English teacher there. Eto's cut her hair off into a green bob. "That she shouldn't waste her time loving someone who doesn't love her back. She's under no obligation." Eto's eyes narrow at Ui, and Hairu, and Ui's chest clenches.

"You don't get a choice in whom you love," Hairu says, voice shaking.

"What chick flick told you that, Ihei?" asks Eto. "You always have a choice. Just people seldom make the right ones."

"Fuck you," spits Karren. "You know nothing about my life—"

"I know you're treated like a servant by your own uncle and love your own cousin because no one else has been remotely kind to a pathetic creature like you," says Eto. "It's like a Shakespearean play. Will it be a tragedy or comedy? The choice is yours, dear one."

"Leave her alone," Ui snaps. Karren flinches.

Hairu looks as if she wants to vomit. Ui grabs her arm. "Let's go."

"Have a good night," Eto trills, flitting into the coffee shop.

"Bitch," Hairu mumbles, slamming his car door shut. Ui cringes. Do you have to take it out on an innocent car?

"Ui?" she asks. "Have you ever been in love?"

You love him, don't you? Ui wants to cry. He thinks of the way Karren's lips parted, her nostrils flared, her eyes swelled with tears. "I don't know."

Liar.

Why? Why do I love you?

Because she smiles, she laughs, she makes him laugh, she's hardworking and cute and fun and talented and she convinces him to take life easier than he would otherwise.

I hate myself.

Up next: a funeral, a party, and a breakdown.