I'M BACK. I'M REALLY BACK. THIS IS REAL. THIS IS HAPPENING.

I am so so so so so sorry D: however I have a totally legitimate reason, and I'll explain at the bottom. But thank you so much for sticking thus far!

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Arena dust rusted by four bulls' blood to a dull redness,

The afternoon at a bad end under the crowd's truculence,

The ritual death each time botched among dropped capes, ill-judged stabs,

The strongest will seemed a will towards ceremony. Obese, dark-

Faced in his rich yellows, tassels, pompons, braid, the picador

Rode out against the fifth bull to brace his pike and slowly bear

Down deep into the bent bull-neck. Cumbrous routine, not artwork.

Instinct for art began with the bull's horn lofting in the mob's

Hush a lumped man-shape. The whole act formal, fluent as a dance.

Blood faultlessly broached redeemed the sullied air, the earth's grossness.

-'The Goring' by Sylvia Plath

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Everything had gone to hell.

After Antonio had come out into the waiting room, green-faced and clutching his stomach, Francis had taken him back to his own place. The Spaniard was too dangerous to be left alone and another attempted suicide was more than anyone needed. Few teachers lived in the dorms, and Francis was one of the majority who lived close enough to the school to be within walking distance, but far enough to not be bothered by the sounds of student life. His house was small, but well kept, and there was enough room for the Spaniard to live with him. Francis often had foreign exchange students stay in his guest rooms during the summer, so was well equipped for the extra company.

What Francis was not equipped for was Antonio's absolute mental breakdown. It began when they went to collect some of his things from the dorm he used to share with Lovino. Upon opening the door and seeing the state of destruction and devastation all the strength in Antonio's lower body fled, and Francis had to catch him under the arms to prevent him from lying amidst the broken glass. When the shock was over it was replaced with anger, towards himself and towards his friend. He had yelled at Francis for letting him live, for not letting him hurt himself, for restraining him when he reached out and tried to grab one of the glass shards nearest him on the floor. When his anger dissipated it was replaced with guilt, and he became melancholy and unresponsive. Francis picked up one of the wooden dining chairs from where it had been toppled and pushed his brunette friend into it, promising to return soon before entering what was once Antonio's bedroom to retrieve some clothes. That was when Antonio began to look around the room once more, and when he saw it he couldn't stop a gasp from leaving his lips. His tomato plant on the windowsill had withered from neglect. In the pot a small fruit had tried to grow, but lack of nourishment had starved it of life and so it lay shriveled and dead at the base of the dying plant. Whatever was left of his composure bled away as he wandered over to where it sat, and he had cradled it in his arms while he wept over everything he had lost.

Since then, the Spaniard had been a wreck. He refused food, locked himself in Francis' guest room for hours on end, and rarely slept. Whenever he did sleep he would cry out to Lovino, begging him for forgiveness. It was pitiful, and Francis couldn't hold any bitter feelings towards a man so broken. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Gilbert, who remained livid at both Antonio and Francis. It was rare to hear from him, aside from a curt reply to the occasional text, and according to Feliciano he was off the rails again, drinking every night.

Feliciano was also bothering Francis. During the brief conversations Francis had with him, the teen was adamant that Lovino was recovering and doing well. He was apparently responsive to physiotherapy treatment and planning on returning to school as soon as he was physically able. This completely contradicted Gilbert's messages, when he bothered to relay information, which stated that Lovino was a 'total wreck' and that he now spent his nights strapped to the hospital bed after numerous attempts to escape and/or hurt himself. The Frenchman didn't know which information would hurt his friend more, so when Antonio asked how Lovino was, he replied that he didn't know.

One benefit of having the Spaniard live with him, however, was that there was little time to think. Looking after Antonio required constant effort, and the only times he stopped was when the man was sleeping. The problem was that when Antonio was sleeping, the time that Francis should also have been using to attempt sleep was wasted in contemplation. When things went quiet all he could think of was Lovino. Of how he had hated the boy so much that the first time Lovino had committed suicide he thought the boy had deserved it. But this time, having held the broken body in his own arms, and realising just how small the boy really was… he sickened himself.

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Ludwig watched uneasily as Feliciano paced around the space at the end of his brother's bed, biting the edge of his thumb. His breathing came out hard and fast and it was putting the German on edge listening to it. He knew better than to interrupt, however, as Feliciano was furious with him. A few days ago Ludwig had made the mistake of revealing what he thought of Lovino's actions. He had been frustrated, and worried about Feliciano who had been near hysterical ever since Lovino was brought in, and let slip a few derogatory remarks. There had been a moment where he had thought the younger Italian was going to hit him, however instead he had told him coldly to either shut up or get out. Ludwig hadn't spoken since.

Ludwig hated this side of Feliciano. He was too similar to Lovino, and that made him uncomfortable. The teen was irritable and snapped at the slightest noise. He also swore and frowned a lot, it was disconcerting.

Gilbert had been in to visit a few times, and was able to alleviate some of the tension in the room. But that was just Gilbert, good at taking people's minds off things. Feliciano was more like his usual self around the albino teacher, and Ludwig hated his brother for that, for doing what he could not.

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When Lovino had finally woken he had to be immediately tranquilised, for he would not stop screaming. As days passed the amount of painkillers he was taking decreased for the sake of his liver, so he was still in large amounts of pain. As such the passing of days had been a painful haze and he couldn't seem to grasp reality. After about a week he was conscious for long enough to repeat his own name back to the doctors, and a few days later he was able to confirm with the doctors that he had not sustained any immediately obvious brain damage. He had a very severe concussion, however, which left him constantly disorientated and confused. Feliciano tried to talk to him sometimes, but after a while a dazed look would overcome Lovino's face as he lost concentration and zoned out. Because of the pain and confusion it was almost two and a half weeks before Lovino was able to fully recall what happened, and ask about Antonio. When Feliciano replied that he hadn't seen the man –but that he had been informed of what had happened –Lovino sat for a few moments trying to process what that meant, and then freaked out. He ripped the IV needle from the crook of his arm and tried to hurt himself with it. Ludwig managed to restrain him, though he sustained a substantial amount of cuts from the needle in the process, and the doctors sedated him. A few days later he disappeared, and the nurses found him unconscious in the hospital chapel in a puddle of his own vomit. When he tried to jump out the window later that night it was finally decided that he would need to be placed into the psychiatric unit for constant surveillance. He was also restrained in the bed at night as he sometimes pulled his IV drips out in his sleep, taking away what little relief the painkillers gave him –the nurses had become tired of his agonised screams waking the other patients.

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Shortchapterisshortisshortisshort XP

I'm very sorry for the quality of this chapter, I find it hard to write again after so long a break XP but I needed to get it done or I'd continue to put it off.

I have recently been given some really bad news concerning my health, and it's shaken me rather badly. I'm trying to continue like normal but I just couldn't face writing again for a long time. I'm trying to work through it, and I'll be writing my story "Six Months" soon.

I'll try my best to update within the week, I hope to get it done soon. Thank you for putting up with so shameful an author, I hope to improve for you, my beloved reader. Just for you

Reviewers get to go on my wall of awesomeness~

~Oresama