Early update today guys! The opening show of my school's play is in one hour and fifty minutes...I need to leave as soon as I publish this...

Anonymous Review Reply:

Tea Cup: I just noticed you had a tumblr :3. Haha, quite honestly I didn't expect anyone to cry last chapter...in fact, I actually don't see this entire story as one where a reader could cry easily. It seems a bit shadier than that to me. Hmm? Anorexia? What do you mean? Haha, don't worry if you don't remember. You have a tune for Gilbert's song to Eliza? Wahh, I never knew! 8D That's pretty awesome~ D'aww, I want to pet your Gilbo cat now XD. Thank you for reading!

Viva here D: Ahhh, I'm glad that Krayonela told you about this story! ^_^ It really makes me happy that you took the time to read it and enjoyed it. Yeah, this story is sort of like me reminiscing about things happening in school as well. You'll see, you'll see...XD Thanks a bunch for reading!

Krayon: I hope your stress is relaxing a little more D: . I'm really honored that you squeeze in my story in the midst of your college schedule. It really means a lot to me. Haha, yeah, Alfred was a tad strange last chapter, eh? ;D Ludwig definitely has it pretty bad...whether or not he has it better off than the others, well, you can determine yourself :3. Thanks for the review!

"More than one soul dies in suicide."

-Anonymous

Although Arthur was fully aware that other students were very reluctant about the seminar that the student body was forced to attend, Arthur couldn't help but feel that if any one student was allowed to opt out of it, it should have been him.

He had never met Alfred, nor did he feel emotionally attached to the boy. The only thing he felt for Alfred was extreme indignation that Alfred had caused so much silence and pain in his classmates. Other than that, Arthur did not feel at all moved or emotionally altered as he sat in the auditorium, nearly falling asleep as the garrulous counselor droned on and on with strangely varying tones.

"This is boring." Arthur looked to his right to see Puck the fairy lounging on the armrest, yawning. He was curled up in a ball. "Bo-o-oring. Why aren't you doing something more productive?"

"I'd like to ask you the same thing," Arthur said from the corner of his mouth. Puck grinned devilishly and he leaned forward, cupping his ear.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," he said sweetly. "Can you repeat that?"

Arthur shot a glare at the fairy, noticing the ploy immediately. "Why can't you be a more useful fairy for once?"

"I'm not your slave!"Puck hissed indignantly.

"No, you aren't useful because your magic is mediocre," Arthur said spitefully.

"Says the person who tried to curse one of his classmates back in the fifth year and ended up catching his hair on fire," Puck said shrewdly. "And it wasn't through any magical means, either. You just bent too close to the candle."

"Your magic is no better," Arthur muttered. "All you can do is fly around. I've never actually seen you do anything special."

"Oh yeah? I'll show you!" Puck snapped, his tiny fists balling in fury. "Just name it and I'll get it done in a flash!"

Arthur suppressed a smirk. It felt good to finally trick the mischievous fairy. "Go and bring back Alfred from the dead, won't you?" he mouthed. Puck scowled and flew off, disappearing in thin air.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief now that he shed himself of his annoying fairy friend with an impossible task. That should distract him for a good week at the most. Arthur cast a sidelong glance at Gilbert, who was sitting next to him. Gilbert was curled up in his seat, hugging his knees to his chest. Arthur would have thought Gilbert was sleeping if he didn't see the glint of red eyes in the dark. Arthur let out a yawn and tried to muffle it in fear of seeming extremely disrespectful.

"Just let it out," Gilbert muttered as the speaker took a swig of water from his water bottle. "Nobody gives a damn."

Arthur discreetly let out a long yawn behind his hand. "I'm sorry. I can't really grasp what this man is saying. What is he saying?"

"Do you really think I'd know?" Gilbert grumbled. "I'm the one that has been imagining battle scenes in my head for the past thirty minutes. He could be talking about unicorns for all I know."

Arthur snorted. "Considering that this man is probably specially trained for situations like this, don't you think that it might be useful to find out what he's saying?"

"Look around, Artie," Gilbert said sardonically. "You show me one person who's ardently taking notes and hanging on that counselor's every word and I will willingly eat your disgusting cooking."

Arthur scowled and gazed around the dim auditorium. Many of the students looked either extremely dejected or bored at the situation going on. Francis and Antonio seemed to be whispering to each other. Feliciano looked as if he was witnessing a horror movie while Lovino kept his head bowed and his face hidden. True to Gilbert's word, no one looked the least bit helped.

"But memories will thrive in this world so long as everyone remembers!" the speaker said bombastically, moving his hands in a superfluous manner. "The good memories have not gone away—there is nothing wrong with remembering them!"

"Fuck that."

Lovino's voice carried over the entire auditorium, shocking everyone into still silence. Even the speaker froze in the middle of his speech, glancing at Lovino curiously. Everyone averted their nervous gaze and attention to Lovino.

"I beg your pardon?" the speaker said.

"What does it matter?" Lovino said monotonously. He still kept his head low, and Arthur could see that his clasped hands were shaking. "I don't even want to remember him."

Arthur pursed his lips nervously. Lovino was never fond of Alfred's memory, but announcing it to the whole student body at a time like this?

"How can you say that?" a student (Roderich was his name, wasn't it?) cried out. "How dare you say that?"

"Why can't I?" Lovino's voice was strained, threatening to crack. "We all have our opinions, don't we? I can share mine as much as the next person who worships Jones's memory can!"

"Students," a teacher who supervised the seminar spoke up sharply. "Be quiet. Our guest hasn't finished his speech yet—"

"Good," This time Lovino did not lash out, but Ivan Braginski instead. "His fancy speech doesn't help fix our situation one bit, does it? It can't change anything—it just makes us realize even more what we've lost."

"Ivan Braginski, you shall see me in my office immediately after this!" the teacher snapped. "You are disrespecting our guest and our efforts to respect Mr. Jones—"

"Respect!" Lovino spat. "Yes, because someone who decides to ditch the rest of us surely earns my undying respect!"

"What is this, Vargas?" Gilbert hurled at Lovino. "Back before, you used to praise Alfred for defying Braginski and the teachers. Now you're treating him like he was your worst enemy? Tell me—where did your respect go then?"

The auditorium had erupted into indignant chaos. The teachers now had absolutely no control as the students rose from their seats and protested, their voices clashing against each other.

"If it was all a lie—" Lovino began.

"It wasn't," Gilbert said harshly. "You're so intent on hating him, you refuse to even remember who he really was—"

Lovino seemed to jerk back from the retort. His auburn hair bristled with anger.

"Did anyone actually know who he really was?" Lovino growled. "Look—if—if anyone actually knew who he really was, don't you think that one of us would know he was trying to kill himself and maybe stop it?" His voice rose and quavered, resonating in the shocked auditorium. "But I guess since he's already gone and dead—since he's already kicked the bucket—nobody actually knew who he was, did they? HE WOULDN'T LET ANYONE KNOW!"

Lovino's words were like daggers stabbing in everyone's back. Matthew looked as if he had already died in his chair; his face was pale and gaunt. Toris was fidgeting in his seat, his light eyes darting nervously all around him. Gilbert half looked like he wanted to throttle Lovino, half disappear into the ground.

"Lovino Vargas—!" a teacher said warningly, but she was promptly ignored.

"H-he didn't tell anybody, did he?" Lovino said breathily. His previous gutsy anger was slowly dissipating, and he almost looked scared.

"He was our friend, Fratello," Feliciano cried out. Tears were running down his face and he was tugging on Lovino's arm, trying to get him to sit down and be quiet. "Please don't yell about him like that—"

"No!" The anger flared again and Lovino's voice was loud and sharp once more. "If he was our friend—if he was someone's friend, he would have told the truth to at least somebody! He wouldn't leave us and just do some disappearing act and be—be s-so selfish to leave us all here!" His voice began to break and his eyes shone in the dim light, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.

"Maybe…if he told someone," stuttered Lovino. No one dared to interrupt. What was there to say? "We could have helped him. But he didn't want help. This was HIS CHOICE! If he wanted help—if he had cared about himself—he would have told someone the truth!"

In a flash, he was gone. Lovino ran out of the auditorium, leaving the auditorium absolutely, unnervingly silent. Feliciano hiccupped, choking on his own tears before pushing himself out of his seat and running after him. The door slammed behind him with an echoing thud. No one spoke or move.

No one could even hear their beating hearts in their chest. It was as if each one of them died a little that very moment.

Lovino could recognize that sobbing from anywhere. Right when he heard if as the auditorium doors opened once more, he immediately knew who they belonged to. He groaned exasperatedly and quickened his pace. He didn't want to deal with his twin brother.

But Feliciano was a fast runner even if he didn't look it. Before Lovino knew it, Feliciano had caught up with Lovino, clutching the back of his shirt and pressing his face against his back.

"Stop it," Lovino croaked, trying to wriggle away. "Don't cry. Stop that." His voice was so strained that he thought it would snap in the middle of his throat and slit his neck.

Feliciano seemed to sob even harder. Lovino finally spun around and grabbed Feliciano's hands roughly. Feliciano's head was bowed, his tears dribbling down his chin and onto his polo.

"Dammit, why are you crying?" Lovino demanded. "Just stop it, okay?"

Feliciano shook his head vigorously, but his throat was too caught up to speak. Lovino quieted and let out a stiff sigh. He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Look—just—stop it. Calm down. I wasn't yelling at you, okay? I was yelling at all those other bastards like Beilschmidt and Lorinaitis and J—Jones." It was hard to even think about Matthew Williams Jones without remembering Alfred. "I'm not mad at you. So just shut up and be happy."

"I'm not crying because of that!" wailed Feliciano. Lovino drew back in surprise. Feliciano took his hands out of Lovino's and wiped his face, sniffing loudly. "Even if you were mad at me, I'm used to it! It's not because of that!"

"Then…then what are you crying for?" Lovino demanded, irked. Why did his younger brother have to be such a crybaby? Feliciano only cried harder.

"I'm—I'm—" Feliciano coughed out, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm crying for you!"

Lovino gawked at Feliciano. Did he hear his brother correctly? "For—for me? What the hell are you doing that for?"

Feliciano swallowed hard, hiccupping. "I'm not stupid, Fratello!" he blurted out. "You may call me an idiot, but I'm not stupid!" He seemed to spit out the word 'stupid,' as if it had left a bitter taste in his mouth for too long. "I—I can understand some things about you, even if you say I can't." He paused, taking a quavering breath. Lovino didn't interrupt for once. He actually stayed silent and listened to Feliciano.

"You won't let yourself cry, will you?" Feliciano whispered. Lovino felt as if an icicle was shoved into his heart. "No matter how much you want—"

"I'm not going to cry for him!" Lovino shot back. "He's not worth it." Lovino swallowed hard and nodded sharply, trying to convince himself. "H-he's not worth it. I'm glad he's gone!" Feliciano flinched at Lovino's words. "I'm glad he's gone, all right? Because apparently he was…he was never my friend!"

"Lovino, you're the one being stupid!" Lovino jerked back at Feliciano's words. His younger brother was no longer crying, but his eyes were still wide and wet. "You're trying to hide from yourself!"

"God, what are you, my conscience?" Lovino hurled at Feliciano. Lovino was breathing hard now. He wondered if anyone could hear him shout. The school wasn't completely empty, after all. Feliciano could only stare at Lovino. "Just leave me alone, won't you? You don't understand anything about me!"

"I understand some things!" Feliciano protested. "I know that you really don't hate Alfred—"

"Shut up!" Lovino was frightened now. He didn't want Feliciano to talk anymore. He just wanted to run away, far from anyone's reach, so he wouldn't have to see or hear anyone. "Just shut up!"

"And ever since he died, you wouldn't let yourself cry, even though I can tell that you want to!" Feliciano wailed.

"Feliciano, get away from me," Lovino growled. "Just leave me alone!"

"You aren't just upset with Alfred, are you?" Feliciano insisted.

"Damn straight I'm not—"

"You're angry with yourself!"

Lovino felt his blood run cold. He stared at his twin brother but didn't make a sound.

No.

No, of course he wasn't. Why would he be upset with himself?

"You're an idiot, Feliciano," Lovino said, his voice sounding like a stranger's. He couldn't even recognize it. "Why—why do you say that? Do you think I'll just get all better and happy just because you've offered your two cents? Now that you think you're acting all wise and shit, everything will get better?"

Feliciano was trembling, and he pressed his fingers to his lips. Lovino felt no guilt nor did he feel any anger or vindictive pleasure. He felt almost afraid.

"Are you saying—are you saying it's my fault?" The fear was pulsing in him, swelling, overtaking him. Phobos claimed him as his own. He didn't want his own brother to confirm the very fears he kept locked in his heart. "You think I'm the one to blame, don't you? Why Alfred is dead? Is that why you say I'm angry with myself?"

"No!" Feliciano cried. "No, Fratello, I didn't mean that at all!"

Lovino wished he could believe that.

That it wasn't his fault.

That it was all Alfred's. Not his. Please, don't let it be his.

Never my friend.

Can't be my friend.

Because I would never let my friend just kill himself.

It can't be me…

It can't be my fault…

But no matter how much he tried to shove the blame away, no matter how much he tried to not feel guilty, he knew that it was all a lie. He knew he was wrong, but he didn't want to bring himself to see it. It was too much for him.

"But it is my fault." Lovino's voice was so thick that it got stuck in his throat and he had to cough it out or choke. "Because I wasn't…a friend to him."

The words came out of his mouth and it took him a while to even understand what he had just said. He winced because it was out. There it was. He had said it.

"If I was, I would have known, wouldn't I?" Lovino muttered, shuddering. Now he was the one with his head bowed and his hands shaking while Feliciano stood before him, watching him. "I would've known—or noticed—and I would have done something!" He paused, letting his own voice echo in his head. "But I didn't."

Alfred had never showed a sign of depression in front of the class. Lovino had never seen him sad. Alfred was always that grinning, proud hotshot that had life going for him.

Smiles are the biggest lies.

Why did his eyes feel like they were burning when they were wet? Shouldn't water be cool and soothing? Lovino gulped, widening his eyes in hopes to dry out the tears. He wasn't the crybaby. He was the stronger, older, more mature twin. He was the older brother. He needed to be the strong brother.

But the truth hurt so, so much.

Alfred was not secretive. He was practically a human mood ring. Surely Lovino could have noticed if Alfred was not himself, if he was depressed or upset or sad. Why didn't Lovino see it? If he had actually paid attention to Alfred and not be trapped in his own world, would he have been able to stop Alfred before he killed himself?

How did he not care?

Feliciano wrapped his arms around Lovino. His eyes were dry but still full of sorrow. Lovino's face crumpled and he buried it in Feliciano's shoulder, clutching his brother tightly. He tried to breathe, tried to calm himself down, but it was too much for him.

Lovino did what he promised himself he would never do. He let himself cry.

"Can't you drive or something?"

Gilbert was hurrying out of the school building after school ended for the weekend. He shrugged and caught up with Toris, who was starting to walk home.

"I didn't drive this morning," Gilbert said. "Didn't feel like it."

Toris nodded. They walked for some time in silence, trying to escape the school after the incident in the auditorium. Many of the students, including Gilbert, were disciplined for disrespect for the speaker and for causing disturbance. It made Gilbert dislike the school even more.

How many more days until graduation again?

"That was a nightmare," Toris said in a low voice. Gilbert immediately knew what he meant.

"Tell me about it," Gilbert grumbled, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He sensed a drizzle coming their way soon.

"I'm sure the principal regrets bringing in that speaker now," Toris commented.

"He probably wants to send us to some mental ward," said Gilbert. "We probably seem like we're addled in the mind."

Toris didn't respond. He let out a weary sigh.

"Did you actually listen to the speaker?" Gilbert asked, pulling the ends of his sleeves over his gloved fingers.

"Sort of," Toris said glumly. "But it didn't help one bit. It really just made me feel worse."

"What did he say?" Gilbert asked.

"A lot," Toris said, shrugging. They stood by the intersection of two roads, waiting for the speeding cars to let them pass. "But the thing is…I don't really know about what he said, so really, it just makes me feel like the situation is even more hopeless."

"What did he say?" Gilbert repeated.

"What, you didn't listen to a single word?" Toris asked lightly.

"Why would I?" Gilbert said monotonously. The neon green picture of a walking man flashed and Toris and Gilbert hurried across the street. "I'm doing fine on my own."

Toris raised his eyebrows but did not pursue that subject. "The way he talked…it sounded like he already expects us to see Alfred again."

"You mean, he's talking like there's going to be an afterlife?" Gilbert said as they hurried down the city streets. Their voices were constantly interrupted by the honking of cars and the repetitive clicks the street-crossing meters made when it was time for pedestrians to cross.

"Sort of," Toris admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Why don't you?" Gilbert asked.

"Don't I what?" asked Toris.

"You know…believe," Gilbert egged on. "If there is an afterlife, then we can see Alfred again. That this isn't the end."

Toris stayed silent for a moment. "Why are so many people afraid of death if there really was something on the other side? Maybe...maybe it's because they know that there isn't anything. After this, it's over. We're done."

"Not everyone is afraid of death," Gilbert contradicted.

Alfred wasn't afraid of death.

"How come you believe in it, then?" inquired Toris.

"Just—just think about life," Gilbert said carefully. "We aren't as simple as a watch for a clock. For those, once the batteries are done, they're done. But they're manmade. It's through man's understanding and knowledge that they're assembled."

"What are you saying?" Toris said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Gilbert tried to search for the right things to say. "We aren't manmade, you know? We can't create life. Dr. Frankenstein can try all he wants to bring his monster to life, but if it's not fictional, it isn't happening."

Toris remained silent. Gilbert swallowed hard and continued on, but he could feel his heart jump worriedly in his chest.

"So—I guess what I'm trying to say is—we can't destroy what we didn't create," said Gilbert, quickening his steps. "Life is so—I mean, it's so miraculous. Can you really explain what that spark that keeps you and me talking and breathing like we are now is? Or the difference between a pebble and a seed is that the seed can grow into a—I don't know—a cactus or an oak or anything while the stone just…stays as a stone? It has to be something bigger—more than we can understand."

Gilbert suddenly felt a growing dread in him. All this talk and thinking about life made him feel guiltier than ever before. Alfred no longer had this life that was so rare, so pure, so strange. He felt selfish and cruel for talking about life when he was the reason that Alfred killed himself.

"Then if someone actually does die," Toris said, "where does this life go? You say it's more than a beating heart or a brain, but what happens when both stop working?" It was practically evident that Alfred was on both of their minds, as was the guilt for the same thing. "You can go on a plane up past the clouds and you won't see heaven on top of the clouds. You can shoot a space rocket all the way to the moon or even farther and you won't see anything. It's just gone. What about then? What, is it in some other dimension? An alternate universe?"

Where are you, Alfred?

Gilbert hesitated, but he kept himself from raising or changing his voice. "Well, if it was somewhere where anyone could easily go to, how would that work? If you could just take back that—that person that died and bring them back to Earth—how precious would life be then if you could just go back that way?"

Are you everywhere around us?

"But if there was an afterlife, life here would pretty much be pointless. Considering you've got an eternal one waiting for you if you just kick the bucket now," Toris pointed out. Gilbert felt himself grow very cold, as if he was thrown into winter. "How precious is life then, really?"

Or are you nowhere?

For so long, they wondered. They hoped. They prayed. They feared. And they would never know.

Do you even exist anymore?

"I mean, if someone killed another person," Toris said, his voice quivering. He kept his eyes glued to the sidewalk, almost running into other people or the lampposts, "that would be doing them a favor, right? If there was an eternity, then you'd just save them the trouble of waiting and fearing death."

"Why would you even want to kill a person?" Gilbert said incredulously. "Killing someone is plain bad! It's because you're doing it out of—of hatred or greed or intolerance. You have to agree, Toris, that no one should act upon those emotions whether there's an afterlife or not!"

"And selfishness," Toris said quietly.

Gilbert was taken aback. Toris stopped abruptly in his tracks. Gilbert had walked several paces ahead before he realized Toris wasn't with him. He spun around and hurried back toward grew very pale and he looked as if he was extremely ill.

"Toris. Kid. What's up?" Gilbert said firmly, snapping his fingers in front of Toris's face. Toris gulped and brushed Gilbert's hand away. Above their heads, the sky began to rain. The water pattered lightly on their faces.

"I didn't mean to kill Alfred, though," Toris said, more to himself than anyone else. "I never realized—but—I should have known—but I didn't—"

"Not this again," Gilbert groaned. He put a hand on Toris's shoulder and shook him ungracefully. "Listen to me, Lorinaitis. You didn't kill him. My word, I don't even know where you got that stupid idea—"

"Stop that!" Toris wrenched away from Gilbert, indignation flaming in his eyes. "It's not a stupid idea, all right?"

Gilbert stepped back, holding up his hands as if in surrender. He immediately regretted his actions, but it was far too late to do anything about it.

"I knew something was wrong with Alfred," Toris breathed. Onlookers cast the two teenagers curious looks by went on with their lives, completely unbothered. "I knew he was upset—depressed, even—but I didn't do anything."

"Are you kidding me?" Gilbert croaked, his strong voice suddenly failing him. "You were like his Wailing Wall! He came to you if he had a problem—"

"But I didn't do anything that helped him!" Toris cried out. His blue eyes were shining with both anger and pain. "I had no idea how to comfort or help him. All I could do was listen and listen and listen and just know all the time that I have no idea how to help him! And then I just gave up!"

The rain was starting to grow heavier. The water was seeping through Gilbert's jacket, darkening the red cloth to a sick burgundy. Toris's hair was clinging to his face. Both their hearts felt heavier as the rain strengthened.

"I gave up on him and myself!" Toris continued painfully. "I gave up on trying to help him. I just resigned to the fact that I wasn't a good enough friend and I left him alone. You know why I don't hang out with Eduard and Raivis and Feliks anymore?"

Gilbert was shuddering and it had nothing to do with the cold. The more Toris spoke, the more Gilbert understood what he meant, because there he stood as Toris poured out his pain and truth to him and Gilbert had no idea how to deal with it. He used to always pride himself for knowing what to do, how to deal with a situation, what advice to give, but now he was empty-handed. He was helpless.

"It's because I left Alfred for them!" Toris exclaimed. "I started to befriend them more to the point that I was practically only acquaintances with Alfred. And it didn't bother me anymore. I convinced myself that I was a hopeless case and that there would be someone else that would do a much better job than me in helping Alfred out—but in reality I was just never trying."

Gilbert felt as if an ironclad fist punched him in the heart. Had it been that Toris was depending on Gilbert to help Alfred? If that was the case, then Gilbert had completely failed. He hadn't been able to help Alfred in the slightest. He had let everyone down.

"It isn't your fault, Toris," Gilbert said loudly. "Don't blame yourself. It isn't. Trust me." What more can he say? What could he possibly say to convince Toris?

"I've got to go this way," Toris said after a long moment of silence. He jerked his head toward down the opposite street from Gilbert's home. "I've got to go." His voice was hollow and expressionless. He gave a simple wave goodbye before turning on his heel.

"Wait, Toris," Gilbert called out desperately before Toris was out of earshot. Toris turned back toward Gilbert. Gilbert felt his growing nervousness in his limbs. He struggled with his words, which was so odd because Gilbert was almost always certain with what he was saying. "Don't think—it isn't—" He took in a deep breath. "It wasn't your fault, Toris. Don't hurt yourself like this."

Toris gave Gilbert a very long look. Gilbert's heart was beating fast, and he just wished that Toris would answer now so he wouldn't be left standing out in the pouring rain, among strangers that could have eavesdropped on their conversation, just waiting. He prayed that this would be successful, that he had made the right choice.

Without saying a single word, Toris turned on his heel and left Gilbert in the rain.