the darker the secret,

the harder you'll keep it

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(at full speed - jack's mannequin)

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[LIFELINES]

chapter twenty-seven: the next step

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My new home is plain, unclothed and bare.

Perhaps it's like me? I'm naked. I've been stripped away from my apartment, my work, civilisation, and am stationed at a facility - a place I had always ensured I'd never go to. The bed is made. One table. No windows. No freedom...no freedom until I'm put right. Nobody has vocalised the term out loud to me, but I am sure that's what they're thinking.

Once I 'get better', they'll supposedly release me from this prison-like facility. Funny thing is that even if everything is fixed up (I doubt this will happen anyway), I know that I won't ever get better. My standard, my default 'me' has kept this facade going for way too long that I don't even remember who I truly was and who I currently am. I don't think I've ever recovered - even since before the divorce. I could say it all started with my parents separating, but deep down I know it hadn't. In all honesty, I don't even know how it was triggered.

Anyway, it's not like I can sweep depression under the doormat and pretend it was never a part of my life. I've had my good days and my bad days and - from experience - I haven't been able to completely eradicate my invisible nemesis. Even when I'm sober, it manages to creep back into my mind like poison, with its sole purpose to keep cracking, to keep breaking me.

"It doesn't look half that bad." Satou-san's attempt at being helpful is futile. However, the comment makes me produce a dull smile. He pointlessly comments, "Think of it as if you're on a mini holiday."

"Sure," I deadpan. "The beaches here are marvellous. I can't wait to get a tan. Or maybe I should layer up in sunscreen instead? The UV rays might kill me seeing how exposed I am to sunlight."

Satou-san rolls his eyes. "I could do without the sarcasm, but at least you're choosing to talk now. You kept your mouth shut the whole time Makoto-sensei was here. The hell, I don't think I've heard you speak so eloquently in days."

"I could be a changed man? Where should I go to sign my discharge papers?" I mutter.

"Nice try."

To put it bluntly, I'm here because I clearly need help. The hospital doctor had recommended and referred me to their inpatient psych doctor, who later spoke to Makoto-sensei, and then they had liaised together to have me admitted to the mental clinic. Ironically, the same one Takashi is currently at.

An involuntary admission on my behalf because releasing me out into society might, the way I am, could cause me to potentially be a risk to others and, most importantly, myself. They assessed me and didn't deem me safe to be on my own. It looks like I won't be taking a walk outside by myself for a while...

I wasn't safe to walk the streets alone. I wasn't deemed safe to be on my own. They said that they wanted to keep a close eye on me while they tamper with my medications to see which one would be the most effective for my case, and...well, and obviously to keep a close eye on me from drowning myself in alcohol and not calling Yamaguchi for another hit.

I had been a patient at the hospital for a week. They had dragged me to a secure place because of my spontaneous break downs, relapses and mostly because I was a public figure. Another reason being why it had taken me longer to be released from the hospital was because I was severely dehydrated. They had pumped me up with fluids until I could hold down some water and food. During the process, I even remember they had me wear these weird-looking mittens to prevent me from ripping out my IV lines. Additionally, the dietician hadn't been impressed. She ensured that, for every single one of my meals, I had enough supplements to up my nutrition levels because apparently I was borderline malnutritioned — which is something that happens in third world countries and not in Japan.

The whole ordeal had been taxing. Every drop of the energy I used to have had evaporated and had left me dry. It will take me really long to recover. There's no doubt about it.

I had only passed the first stepping stone, and I know that I'm nowhere near to being 'cured'. Satou-san and Seiji-san have been at my side the whole time. I had begged them to not let anybody else visit me, or lie that I was sleeping, but it was impossible for them to barricade Takeru, mother, my band members, and even Jun. And whenever they visited, I pretended to be asleep. It took too much out of me to converse with any of them. I stayed mute most of the time, refusing to talk only when I really had to.

During this period, Seiji-san is the second person that I've been seeing the most. Instead of always hovering at his office post on the top floor of our label's building, he had taken a step down, floating back to ground level to become another watchdog of mine. Ever since the label had gotten bigger, he had naturally become busier. That, and because he had family now. It's weird having him back again. He had been like another father to me, and him being present meant that I that really had hit rock bottom.

The last time Seiji had been this close to my side was when Kaori had committed suicide. It was around that same timeframe that the band had reached its peak. He had made me see Makoto-sensei, supervised me taking my medications, and had let me be his rebound wall whenever I wanted to kick and scream. He covered Kaori's death from the media, making sure that nothing linked back to me. Seiji has done so much for me, that saying 'thank you' was too cheap to say out loud.

I feel more ashamed now that I think about it. There have been so many prominent people in my life, always there ready to hold out a helping hand. Each time, I've rejected their assistance despite, deep down, knowing that I needed all the help that I could get. I had believed that people had left me when, in fact, it had been the opposite. I wasn't alone. I never was. I had people who cared about me, and I-I had let them down. I was scared to let people completely in because, well, Kaori had left me. She didn't stay. She fell, she fell out of my grasp and I could never pick her up again.

Rubbing my eyes, I sit on the bed. The mattress is harder than I expected. I lay down on it, hoping the change in position won't be as bad. Great. They want me to get some rest and to recover...but how can I when my mattress is like laying inside a coffin of concrete?

"What did you think? A five-star hotel?"

I sigh, "Come on, Satou-san. You can leave now. There's no balcony for me to jump off from. There's no need to worry."

"You're not funny," he replies stiffly. "Do you know how much you've stressed me out, kid? Damn it."

I grimace. Although Seiji-san's been at my side, it's Satou-san who has put in the extra hours more than anybody else. He had been guarding, watching my each and every moment. He had witnessed me barf out my first meal, patting my back. He had seen me collapse into multiple series of panic attacks, wiping down the sweat from my forehead with a damp flannel as I came down from the shakes. Satou-san is the one who has seen me at my worst, and possibly the only one that I had allowed to witness me when I was feeling the shittest.

He continues to lecture me, "Do you know how hard it was to find you like that on the bathroom floor? I thought you had stopped breathing. You were so cold. It scared the shit out of me. Yes, I'm your manager...but you're also my friend, and even a younger brother to me too."

"I'm sorry."

Like 'thank you' even saying the word 'sorry' feels cheap when it escapes my lips. He accepts the apology though, not saying anything back to counter what I've just spoken.

Satou-san places a hand on my head, pushing it further into the pillow. "Get some rest, Yamato."

He's finally gone.

I think of the last line he's said. If only rest would come easy.

Resting is hard to achieve when your thoughts are circulating, running around miles per hour. My conscience never knew how to behave, how to sleep. Alcohol slowed the speed, the drugs numbed it down a bit. My inner monologue doesn't know how and when to stop. It's got me thinking; it's got me delving into memories that should be left in the past...

"You've got two guitars today?"

I observe Takashi awkwardly enter the practice room. He's multitasking, juggling two guitar cases at once, slinging one of them on each of his shoulders. Although I can't hear him, I can see him mumbling curse words under his breath. I meet him mid-way, taking half the load literally off his shoulders.

He angles his head towards me and shoots a grin. "Actually, one of these babies are for you. I'm keeping mine, but the other guitar that I'm lending to you is borrowed from one of my friends."

"But I've already got a guitar though," I say, rather confused to why he is lending me a guitar in the first place.

Takashi's grin becomes wider, slyly commenting, "It's not a bass though."

"A bass?"

"Go on." He prompts me, "Open it."

He gestures at the guitar I've taken off him is the one that I'm borrowing. Unlatching the buckle, my eyes widen as I take in its beauty and magnificence. I have always loved the guitar that dad gave to me, but this guitar is different. It's this bright, vibrant red and because I'm so used to acoustics and electrics, I find it odd that the guitar has one string less. I wonder how it'll sound...

"I don't understand," I mutter. As much as I want to take it out from the case and test it out, I firstly want to know Takashi's true intentions about why he's adamant about giving it to me to utilise. "I mean, I haven't even mastered how to play the guitar yet."

"You're a fast learner," Takashi shrugs. He's still grinning.

I point out, "That's because you taught me."

"And I'll teach you how to play the bass too," he replies.

While I had picked the guitar from my father's closet out of my own interest, it is true that Takashi had been my main mentor. He had taught me the ins and outs of playing. He'd put aside his own time to assist me. I'd take his teachings back with me home, playing the instrument until the early hours of the morning until my fingers were numb.

"Don't let me down, Yamato. I need you to learn it."

"Why?" I ask, unable to hold back the irritation in my tone anymore. Takashi keeps beating around the bush and I want to know why he suddenly wants me to play the bass and to not focus on the electric.

"So that you'll become the fourth member in our band."

"What?" I exclaim incredulously.

Takashi has never told me anything about this before. I enjoyed our jam sessions between the two of us. It's a hobby. I never thought anything much of it, or even joining a group of musicians. The thought of it is intimidating — especially when I've only recently been exposed to the guitar a month or two back.

"Our bassist left, and I know you can pull it off," Takashi replies. "We need a temporary replacement. Until I find one, could you please fill in? Do me this one favour. After all, I'm the one who taught you."

"You're great at guilt-tripping me," I roll my eyes.

"Yamato," Takashi smiles, "I know you're dying to play it. Besides, you were practically drooling right then when you opened the case…"

The manipulative prick. Damn his smiling face. He knows he's already dragged me in — hook, line and sinker. I'm too curious for my own good, and meeting other musicians did make me a tiny bit excited. All right...maybe a lot excited.

Unable to resist, I take the bass out from its case. It feels different in my arms. I strum it. The vibrations of the strings produce a sound that is definitely peculiar. It'll take some adjusting to since my ears have only been familiarised with the sound of acoustic and electric guitars.

"You'll love it. The sound is different, and besides you have longer arms than I do…that's the only real reason why I never shifted to bass. My arms are way too short. You, on the other hand, can definitely pull it off."

"Hm, I don't know," I admit, not yet convinced. Sure, the instrument looks pretty. The sound is something I don't know I'll be able to master immediately.

"The bass may not sound like an essential instrument, but it is. I'll lend you a bunch of my CDs. Try and listen for the bass in each of the songs, and how it contributes to each song. You'll be surprised how important its role plays, and how it accompanies the other instruments."

I nod. "Teach me then."

Takashi agrees and, soon enough, I fall in love with the steel strings.

His smile disappears. Lips arched down, kind eyes no longer present. Vehement. Burning. Raging.

He makes a grab for my collar, movements rough, facial expression wild. "Why did you tell the band, Yamato? After all the things I've done for you!"

I look down. Seeing him like this, unpredictable, sporadic...he's not the person I know. Not anymore.

"You were losing it." I rephrase my words, "You are losing it, Takashi!"

He hisses back, "Don't be hypocritical. You've been using too, as well as your girlfriend."

"No Takashi. I know when to stop."

"Fuck you." He lets go of my collar, pivoting around to stalk off.

"Takashi," I plead. "Don't be like this."

He walks away.

"TAKASHI!" I yell out.

He doesn't turn back.

Takashi is laughing now. I can't see him, but I can hear him. His voice is approaching, and it's followed with footsteps. They don't belong to one person. There are other people. My pulse heightens, sweat creeping out of my pores. I'm freaking out because I know I'm not ready. Takashi blames this on my perfectionism. He's been telling me I've been doing well for weeks. I don't know if it's true because I know that I need to improve, and sometimes I do think that Takashi thinks way too highly of me when I'm nowhere as good as he is.

"Guys, meet my junior," Takashi announces. "Mr. Yamato Ishida!"

"Yamato," I correct him immediately. I then grumble under my breath that he doesn't need to be too theatrical about my introduction. Unfortunately, the closest guy standing next to me hears it.

"Oh, he's already got some attitude." Another guy speaks up. He's chuckling. "I like this kid already."

He's got a feral smirk on his face, spiked up hair and the most piercings I've seen on a person. If somebody commented that he's from the yakuza, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

The guy steps closer to me, eyeing me down like a hawk. "But can he really play…?"

"Stop trying to freak him out, Akira," the other stranger says. To my relief, he nudges Akira away from my personal space. However, in actuality, now he's in my face. He holds out a hand, "On the other hand, my name is Yutaka. I'm the keyboardist-"

"The piano man."

Yutaka kicks Akira. He repeats, "I'm the keyboardist."

"Technically, you learnt the piano at six. You're really a pianist."

"Shut up Akira." Yutaka directs his attention back to me. "Well, it's nice to finally meet the prodigy that Takashi's been raving about."

I glance at Takashi behind Yutaka. He sends me two thumbs up. I inwardly groan. Sometimes it worries me how much faith Takashi has in me. He's not making things easier; I'm even more stressed out now.

Akira saunters off to the drum set on the other side of the studio. It makes sense because that's the only position left since I've just discovered that Yutaka is the keyboardist. Akira warms up, beating a series of patterns onto the drums. Following his movements, Yutaka joins in and then Takashi fluidly slips in. These guys perform like pros, and they blend together really well. It's mesmerising.

Takashi winks at me, signalling for me to add my bass. When my bass fuses with their jamming, it shocks me how easy it is to work with them. How casual we are and despite it all, we're producing a marvellous sound.

My whole body heats up, spiking with clusters of adrenaline. And it's then that at this moment I'm reminded how much I love music. Nobody else understood how passionate I was about it. Even I didn't realise how badly I loved music until now. When I think about it, it's not like I could ever express this side of myself to anybody before, except dad and Takashi. And now...these guys? This is crazy.

"Shit. Baby boy is good," Akira roars over the music, guffawing. He praises, "Good choice, Takashi my man."

I finally have a group of people who understand me. Although I had only just met them, it's like I've known them for longer — and I have a strong hunch that we'll be good friends from how they're exchanging glances at me, grinning.

When we can't play anymore, Takashi throws us each a bottle of water. After he immediately downs his own bottle, he rubs his chin in thought and says, "Now we need to figure out where we can find a vocalist."

Yutaka suggests, "Or we can just jam?"

I'm down for that. Although we've stopped and my fingers feel like they're going to fall off, I want to keep playing.

"Takashi, why don't you just do it? You've got a decent voice," Akira comments.

"I don't particularly like singing though. You know I go off key at times and it takes me a while to recover from it. I slip up-yo, stop looking at me like that! Don't tell me that you're actually agreeing with Akira, Yutaka?"

"Sorry. I have piano-ears," Yutaka grins. "But you're right, I guess. Akira's horrible at singing and I...I can't multitask when I'm playing the keyboard. That leaves you."

"Incorrect. We can't forget baby boy," Akira suddenly declares, glancing at me. I wished I had bolted out of the studio while I had the chance. He demands, "Now sing."

I wave my hands at him. "No way. I can't sing."

"You can't...or you won't? There's a difference, baby boy."

He's advancing towards where I am. Akira is the predator; I'm the prey. I step back. To my disappointment, the movement only makes my back connect against the wall and I'm immediately stuck with nowhere to escape to. I glimpse at Takashi, who is evilly cackling at my misfortune. Great. He won't be my ally in this situation — even if I do plead with him.

"Why am I 'baby boy'?" I attempt to change the subject instead.

Akira smirks, putting a hand against the wall, cornering me. "You're pretty. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Hard jaw. Yes, a stubborn jaw. I can see girls flocking to you, going hysterical. You'll be a great addition to the band. Anyway, the more you talk, the more I can tell that you have a great singing voice."

His lips are against my neck, "If you don't sing, I might kiss you."

I crane my neck away. Yutaka and Takashi are howling in laughter now. They're no help at all. Not even the slightest.

He slips his hands into his pocket and whistles, "Just kidding. I don't go for the same team, if you know what I mean."

Akira announces that he'll sing first. He's true to words. He may drum really well, but his voice sounds like teeth grinding and nails ripping down a blackboard. Yes...that type of horrible. Yutaka sounds like he's talking, but at least he's in key. Takashi has a great voice, but for some reason I can see it more in jazz than in rock.

Then it's my turn.

Akira tells me I'm the lead. It's an unanimous decision and even though I don't agree with them, they talk (bully) me into the role. It sucks when you're the youngest. I swear I have no say whatsoever. Akira also adds (like this will make me feel better) that I'm too much of a hot-shot, that it would be a waste if I wasn't the centre of the band. I tell him to go fuck himself and, in return, he blows me a kiss.

"YAMATO! YAMATO!" Pause. "YAMATO?!"

Somebody's calling for me. I turn onto the side of my bed, and see her naked back. Yes, it must be her speaking to me. I shuffle towards her, arms wrapping around her tiny waist. I breathe into her hair. "I love you."

She hums in mutual agreement, shifting onto her back and then facing me. "I miss you."

"Come back to me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

Her eyes are sad. "It's too early for you to go. You've got so much going for you, Yamato."

"Do I?" I don't know. I can't remember. All I want is to be with her; to forget everything. Memories keep plaguing my mind. The past and present are merged. Takashi is happy. Kaori is smiling at me. What else can I ask for? I lean against the bedpost, lifting my knees against my chest. I burry my face into my knees, letting out a sob.

"Do you...what? Yamato-san?"

Nobody addresses me like this. It's too formal for my liking. I gaze upwards and see surveying eyes that make me uncomfortable. Strangers. I don't know them. Somehow, they're still talking to me. It's fake and vague. They need to leave me alone. I need to see Kaori again. I need to-

"You had a nightmare."

"Who are you?" I spit out.

Where am I? Where is…I use my arms to defend myself, thrusting the strangers out of the way. Stony-looking faces watch on. My spine tingles with discomfort. The lights are dim, or have they always been? I don't know. What's lit up is their eyes; their eyes full of pity.

And I don't want any of it.

"FUCK OFF! Get the fuck away from me!"

An order. "Sedate him."

"NO!" I yell. My voice is hoarse, but I keep screaming. I taste salt. Tears. Why the fuck am I crying? What is going on? What-

Another jab. Fuck this.

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The next morning I realise how much of an idiot I was.

I'm now known as the newbie who screams in his dreams. What's worse is that it fucking rhymes. Remind me never to put any of those two words in any of my future lyrics — if I ever do write songs again.

At least not all the patients here know about my fame with KOD...maybe because they're more sedated than I am. The medications that some of them are taking are evidently stronger than my meds. They look like zombies. Maybe I'll turn into one of them one day, and join their army of emotionless faces. At the rate I'm going, I probably will.

Because I've caused too much trouble for my friends, family and work colleagues, I do my best to keep my head low and I keep going. Days transit to weeks. I do whatever they tell me to. I'm subdued, blank and lost.

My specific case is a combined approach, of both therapy sessions and medications. Both have been equally intense. The docs have been finding it hard to stabilise me because I had been off the meds for a while, and because the recreational drugs I had taken, apparently, has messed up with my thinking and thought process (no shit...I don't need to be told this a million times. I know I fucked up). The withdrawals and panic attacks I get every now again are impulsive, ranging from subtle to severe. It's crippling. It's defeating. And therapy? Don't get me started. It makes my brain bleed just thinking about it.

What I'm finding helpful are the basketball sessions. I've avoided the extra-curricular relating to music, or anything to do with art therapy because it triggers the thought of Kaori. They had recommended painting, and although I refused it, they made me try it and found that it wasn't a good idea because I started having another panic attack. Anyway, back to basketball. It's been helpful at passing time. I had succeeded in my brother's favourite sport, putting it into practice in this hell hole of a facility. Give me credit here. I'm not completely sport-ignorant. I did play basketball when I was younger, but I've never been a die-hard crazy fanatic like how Takeru is, or like how Taichi was about his stupid soccer.

Basketball's a distraction I didn't think I needed, but I did. The team I usually join is a chill one. We were a bunch of weirdos (then again, who wasn't in this clinic?). We're comprised of five members. A short guy who stunk like piss but would never would speak a word, a tubby guy who knew all the statistics to every basketball match since 1990, a dude who would shout and swear every second word that would come out of his mouth, a tall alcoholic guy and yours truly.

I ended up getting along well with the alcoholic. Maybe because he reminded me of dad, and maybe because he was the sanest of the insane. His name's Daejin and he's half-Korean. His mother's the Korean. As soon as I had discovered his name, I already knew his story and why he had turned to alcohol. Possessing a Korean name would already have made him a primary target to bullying. Daejin must have been bullied by a lot of shit people his whole life. It's not a shocker that he'd drink his sorrows away.

Anyway, the five of us composed a peculiar team — but we got along well, and we played well. I mean, isn't it normal to accept everybody for their flaws? We all have our issues, whether they be tremendous or little, but when I'd play basketball with them it felt good to be a part of a community again.

I whip the towel at Daejin who sneaks a middle finger at me just before he hits the change rooms. As I use the towel to dry out the perspiration from the game we've just played, a voice creeps out from behind me.

"Basketball, huh?"

Makoto is waiting for me. I smile, or I think I do. I don't know. I have a love-hate thing for Makoto. Mainly it's because he appears in my life when I'm at my worst. However, he always tends to get me back on track whenever my path strays.

Seiji-san, Satou-san and Makoto are the unstoppable adult trio who have constantly saved me from myself. They've been doing it ever since Kaori died. They're skilled professionals at taming me down. Jokes aside, I know how much they've done for me.

I remember when they'd guard the toilet door when I went through relapses, not uttering a word to the other band members when they were trying to pry. And these relapses weren't even drug related back then. They were solely related to me, and my fucked up brain. The darkness that ate my thoughts, that left me devastated and raw. The depression that would get thick, that would pollute my mind like a dense fog, rendering me utterly useless.

"Yamato?"

He's talking to me? That's right. Makoto-sensei is here. I angle my head to the other side in thought, shaking the glazed expression from my face. I must have spaced out again. I do want to hide it from Makoto-sensei, but knowing him he's already caught on. Now...what are talking about again? Oh yeah, that's right. Basketball.

"Apparently I'm a natural at it," I remark.

Makoto-sensei chuckles. "You're a man of many talents."

"I don't think I'll ever be a man," I say. "I always feel like I kid around you when I screw up."

We turn away from the change rooms, opting for the bleachers. He takes a seat down first, and I drop down next to him. I know I'm not scheduled for a session with Makoto-sensei until the end of the week, but I know he's come out of his way to visit me — even when it's his day off.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Yamato. You need to forgive yourself for it." Like I said, even on his day offs Makoto-sensei is still in psychiatrist mode. It's his default form.

"It's funny because after all the things I've divulged to you, you still think that I should forgive myself? After all that I've done..."

I had spilt my guts out to Makoto-sensei. It might have not been in the nicest way, it had been sticky and a jumble of tensity. I had cried my eyes out, vomited, screamed, laughed. All the sessions had merged into one. He knew all the disclosed secrets I had been keeping. He knows all the sins I've committed, and what a truly disgusting person I am.

But he's still here?

"That's not it. Yamato, you have to also remember the good that you've done for everyone. At heart, you really are a good person-"

"You really have a way with sappy words, don't you?" I cut him off.

"It works." He simpers kindly. "I've been your therapist for over a decade now."

"Hold that thought. There's no need to remind me how old I am now, Makoto-sensei." I grimace at that thought. I glimpse my sensei from the corner of my eye. He might be my psychiatrist, but I do know there has to be another reason why he's here. I've known him for way too long not to notice that there's something bothering him too. "What's going on?"

"Huh?" he asks.

"You know," I arch an eyebrow at me. "I know you've dropped by a few times on your off days, but this is different, isn't it? You've planned something…"

"It's not that I've planned something," he starts to protest. It's a clear give away he has now. Makoto exhales, " It's time. I just think it's time for you to reach outside now, to talk to your other friends."

I smirk, "But didn't you see my friends just then? We're good at basketball. Do you reckon we'll get scouted for professional teams-"

"Yamato." He rolls his eyes at me. "You know what I mean."

My gaze falters to my lap, and I watch as I kick my legs up and down in a monotonous routine. I keep doing the routine until I find the right words to say to him.

"Well?"

I sigh, "I get you, all right? I know you want the best for me, and I appreciate it. I...I'm just not sure if I'm ready, Makoto-sensei."

"I spoke to Naomi-sensei too. She thinks you're ready to take the next step."

"And what does that entail?" I query. "I already speak to Akira and Yutaka. Occasionally, my brother. Hiroto-kun. Miho-chan. Jyou. Miyako-"

"Akira and Yutaka tell me you hardly speak to them, nor will you look them in the eye, when they visit you. You've blacklisted Jun, like how you've refused to talk your mother ever since you've gotten admitted here. I don't know much about Miho, Jyou and Miyako...but you're probably putting that face telling them you're all fine, glossing it over to make them feel less anxious about your wellbeing-"

"If you've figured me out, why are you telling me this?"

"-and don't get me started on your brother. You only really talk to him whenever he brings Hiroto-kun along. If he doesn't, you say that you don't feel fit enough to see him." Makoto frowns. "Most of all, you're also avoiding your best friend."

"I wouldn't call it avoiding when I'm the one trapped here. I haven't blacklisted him either. He doesn't want to do anything with me anyway," I respond quietly. "We've been like this prior to shit hitting the fan for me, and you know the reason why. I don't want to have to spell it out again."

"You don't have to," Makoto-sense says, "But what if I said that Taichi-san approached me and asked me if you were stable enough for a visit?"

"He wouldn't…"

My chest hurts. He wouldn't want to. Why would he? After what I said about what I did to Sora, would he really go out of his way to talk to filth? I remember it so vividly. It's clear as day how much disgust and repulsion he harbours towards me. My breathing hitches.

"Yamato?"

"I'm fine," I say through gritted teeth.

I'm so sick of this all. Something so simple, and I can't even take it? He's only said Taichi is expressing interest to visit me. It's not like Taichi actually will. He might be indirectly concerned because if I'm discharged I might hurt Sora. That has to be the reason why he's keeping an eye on me from the side. Why else would he want to know how I'm doing?

"Yamato-san!" I stare at where the voice had come from.

Soon enough a middle-aged nurse enters the basketball court. "There you are! A couple of friends are here, requesting that they want to see you."

Realisation strikes. I should have known better...I cast a pissed off glare at Makoto who merely shrugs at my screaming disapproval. The mastermind. He's always behind schemes like this. I dare to ask the nurse, "Who exactly?"

"Mr Yagami and Ms Takenouchi."

My heart drops.

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(a/n) I really hope I continue this trend of weekly updates. I think I've been procrastinating on a lot of other things I should be doing, but at least I'm being productive here? Haha. Or maybe I'm keen to start the other Sorato...who knows? Again, thank you for reading this far. I thought Sora would make an appearance in this chp, but it turned out longer than anticipated...so the Taichi/Sora scene that was missing in Bittersweet Catastrophe will be explored here.

Thank you again!

I'll reply to reviews tomorrow. Have a good week :)