Hi guys! How's it going?

So! Another week, another chapter. This one ends on a bit of a cliff hanger, since this chapter and the next used to be connected, but I split them since they got a bit long. Which is ridiculous, since there are chapters in this story that are legit almost 30,000 words long, but eh. Whatevs. I may post the second chapter later this week, maybe around Wednesday, if I remember, just since they are connected and all, ha.

Thanks for the comments last week! A lot of people did ask for it, so I did end up posting the scene from Mondo's perspective, which you can find on my Tumblr, which is dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3 (that's my AO3 username, ha). I forgot to mention this earlier, but Mondo does have some, um... inappropriate thoughts relating to women in this segment, so beware of that. I figured Mondo would be more vulgar than Taka, so I wrote him to be so, ha. There's also an overabundance of curse words. Like... dude. Chill. I'm glad people liked it, though! I've had less time and energy to write than I used to, since my work is so up in the air (not my job, but just which site I'm working at, since I've been sent to three different sites in two weeks, so... yeah), but I'm writing it! Slowly but surely! At least this story is done and I just have editing to do. Which is fun! :-D And I mean that for real, actually.

Enjoy!

It's been a long week. A long week, the start of what he knows will be a long month, a continuation of what has been an insanely long year, the culmination of what has been a painfully long life.

Kiyotaka wonders if it's too late to get his money back for the endless ride that is life.

Exhausted— both mentally and physically— Kiyotaka writes another detention slip, his fifteenth one that day. And this is only counting the ones he's handed to this particular student, who he refuses to even look at, he's so tired.

Like he's said: it's been a long week.

"What, can't even be bothered ta fuckin' look at me, ya fuckin' dickbag?!" he hears a rough, not at all charming voice cut though his fog, making Kiyotaka want to curl up on the ground and cry. But seeing as how he can't exactly do that— the public location only a small fraction of the logistical nightmare of that desire— he just sighs softly and looks up, eyes unfocused as they stare absently on the corner of the student before him's chest.

"This is your fifteenth detention slip today. Please don't make me write you another one."

He wants to say more. He has said more, days and days ago, when his chest was aching and his mind was swirling, and everything within him wanted to explode in a burst of noise, noise, noise. He'd snarled, and snarked, and sneered, and other 'sn-' words that express the absolutely horrible manner in which he'd conducted himself just days before. By this point, Thursday afternoon, right after classes got out for the day, he's too exhausted to really think, let alone feel anger and rage.

It's too bad the student in front of him doesn't seem to feel the same way...

"Oh yeah?! Well fuck you, ya fuckin' cock suckin' goddamn motherfuckin' sonovabitch! You ain't gonna tell me ta do shit, ya hear?!"

If Kiyotaka were allowing himself to, he would hear the almost desperate way the student in front of him is talking, like the person hopes that if he just sounds mean and angry enough, nothing else will matter. That all the other emotions— both good and bad— will fade away if he just pretends hard enough.

It's too bad that Kiyotaka is far too tired and far too sad to notice much of anything, really. Ah, but no, he isn't sad, n-no. He'd meant... tired. He's far too tried and... and tired to notice much of anything. That's better. He's not sad. Why would he be sad? Sorrow is an emotion reserved for when a person has lost something that is truly dear to them, be it a loved one, a cherished belonging, or some semblance of innocence that is gone, broken beyond repair. He hasn't experienced anything of the sort. So why would he be sad?

"I will write you another detention slip if you do not stop. Do not test me."

He can hear the way the student in front of him inhales sharply at the words, an angry tirade no doubt bound to be on the way, the hundredth this day alone. He's lost count of how many he's heard since Sunday.

He's really so very, very tired…

"U-uh guys, come on, can't we try and work something out-" a hesitant voice cuts in, interrupting the diatribe before it can even begin, only to be subjected to twin glares as both he and the student in front of himself snap "this is no concern of yours!"

(Well, he's said that. The other student had said "shut the fuck up, ya damn fucker!", which is just a bit excessive, in his humble opinion.)

Even speaking, his voice sounds so weary he's almost surprised, whereas the student in front of him just sounds angry and enraged. He watches with dispassionate eyes as the student the hesitant voice belongs to (Naegi, his mind helpfully supplies) backs off hurriedly, hands raised in the universal sign of surrender. A-ah, that wasn't good. He'll have to apologize to the boy later...

Later, he repeats absently to himself, his eyes drawn, quite unbidden, to look into lavender ones, after a sound of anger had stupidly made him turn his head to look. He tears his eyes away a heartbeat later, barely a few nanoseconds of time passing, but the glance had been long enough that the sight is now burned into his brain, the anger, and rage, and hatred, and pain, pain, pain assaulting him, even with his eyes open.

God. He's so tired.

"You goddamn piece a' shit, thinkin' ya know me when you ain't got any fuckin' clue at all, do ya?! I'll kill you, you motherfucker, I'll goddamn kill you-!"

He can hear gasps of horror echo around the room, reminding him painfully that he's currently in the dining hall, a very, very public location, what feels like the entire student body watching them. It's after school, no major meals occurring, but it is still a popular meeting place for students following the end of the school day. They're off to the side, Kiyotaka not stupid enough to do such a thing in the middle of the room, but still. They've been loud enough to garner the eyes of nearly every student, and now he can see that some of the teachers have been called, adults striding over with worry upon their faces.

Suddenly realizing that he has to end this, and now, he ducks under the arm that the student in front of him swings out, his reflexes still as sharp as ever, despite how sluggish his brain is being. Quick as a wink, he slaps the detention slip into the student's open hand and hurriedly dashes away, gone before the teacher can even call out to him to come back and explain himself.

He's too tired to explain himself.

It doesn't take him long to retreat back to his dorm room, his one solace here in this place. The walls are soundproof, so even if his neighbor wanted to, he can't be bothered by any racket the teen might possibly try to make. He can sit, in blissful silence, for hours and hours as he loses himself into the mindless monotony that is studying.

If he reads his textbooks one more time, he's going to straight up scream.

However... however, he doesn't have anything better to do with his time. His room is equipped with a television set, as well as a fairly nice stereo slash radio set, but seeing as how he's never used either thing before, he doesn't even know where to start with them. With a churning stomach, he turns to his desk and walks mechanically forward, feeling so utterly hopeless that he doesn't know what to do.

Quite despite himself, he begins to think about the cause of his problems right now, the event that had ruined pretty much everything. And as he does so, he's left to wonder… why? Why had he gone on that excursion that day? Why couldn't he have just left well enough alone? He'd already known that no one at this school likes him. He's a hopelessly unlikeable person, the worst kind of social pariah, what else was he expecting? For something to change that? For someone to look at him and realize that, actually, he's not that bad after all? Ha! Hahahaha! What a fool!

Things would have been just fine had he never touched the hornet's nest. Had he had the sense of mind to leave well enough alone. Had he just been smart, for once, and not taken the obvious bait from the obvious pole.

He's never claimed to be a smart person.

Because now... now, this is starting to affect his daily life. He hasn't been eating well, hasn't been sleeping well. All he does is stare blankly at walls, wondering where in life he'd gone so horribly wrong, wondering which god he'd angered so badly that this is what he gets, after finally, finally thinking that maybe something good was going to happen to him. That finally, finally he deserves something good.

But no. No, he didn't, he doesn't, he doesn't deserve anything good, anything good at all! He- he deserves pain, and suffering, and anguish, and despair! He... he...

Tears fill his vision again, making it impossible to see, and he gives up the pretense of studying as he pushes his textbook to the side, thunking his head down on the table, his arms flat at his side, not bothering to use them to soften his head. He doesn't want to soften anything, right now. He just wants to wallow in his utter misery, sorrow and anger and pain his only companions.

He'd been given a detention earlier this week. An honest to god, actual detention. Given to him by someone that wasn't himself, even. He doesn't think that has ever happened before, not deservedly.

But a teacher had caught him yesterday afternoon, back when his heart wasn't so weary that he wanted to give up on life in general, yelling horrendously at Owa- Another Student. The teacher— one he didn't know very well— had barked at them to explain themselves, which Kiyotaka had realized he couldn't, actually, do.

It was that, more than anything else, that had snapped him out of his daze of anger and hatred and had brought cool and thick shame into his heart. He hadn't been able to look at- at the other student, nor the teacher, and had just silently accepted his detention slip, staring at it with shaking hands and watery eyes.

The other student had taken a deep breath then, the sound angry and bitter, and Kiyotaka hadn't been able to help how his eyes had whipped up, impossibly wide, so horrified in himself he didn't know what to do. And then, after a moment, for the first time in days… he'd seen something other than rage and anger and pain in the other student's eyes. Something that may have even been, maybe, possibly, highly unlikely, doubtfully, a teeny, tiny, utterly minuscule, nothing-at-all hint of... of... well.

Concern.

But it had been gone quick as it came, if it had ever been there at all, and then the other student had stalked away, not even sparing him a backwards glance.

After that, he'd lost all taste for anger and rage. He'd spent the rest of the day in an almost drunken haze, mind reeling at the realization that he'd actually gotten in trouble. For something that was entirely his fault.

It hurt. It had hurt, and it still hurts, and yet he can't quite bring himself to make it all stop. To walk up to the other student and put an end to this nonsense, once and for all. To be a man, strong and proud, and tell the- the other- other student that he wasn't going to play this stupid, losing game anymore.

Because... because if he did that... if he does that, if he marches to the other student and says such a thing, then... then...

Then the other student will stop talking to him. The other student will never look at him again, not even with anger and rage in his eyes. The other student will go back to ignoring his very existence, like he's absolutely nothing, like he's just a piece of trash that someone left out.

And he... Kiyotaka, he... he can't bear that thought.

He's always been so horribly weak.

Because this morning, when he'd woken up, he'd been resolved to end it. To end the misery, the torment, the anguish, and the despair!

But then. Then he'd walked into home room, the words on the tip of his tongue as his eyes had landed on the frame of the other student, hands shaking as he drunk the form in, intent on saying the words and saving them both from this horrible, horrible fate.

But then... then, he'd felt the words die when the- the student turned and looked at him, eyes bright and vibrant and alive. Yes, maybe he was looking at him with anger. Yes, maybe he couldn't stand the sight of him. And yes, maybe he wouldn't ever be able to fix this, this mistake lasting him until his dying day.

But somehow, through it all, the piercing thought that it would all be okay if he could just have those eyes on him had cut through the rest of the noise. Even if they hated him. Even if they despised him. Even if they couldn't stand the very sight of him.

He's so gosh darn pathetic it's not even funny.

And he's knows that, okay? He knows he's being pathetic, and melodramatic, and so gosh darn stupid, stupid, stupid. He's knows he's being an absolute teenager, taking one tiny thing and blowing it up, making it seem like it's the end of the world when it's not, but... but... but he can't help it! Because— try as he might— he can't escape the truth that he is, in fact, a teenager. And that, while he logically knows this isn't, in fact, the end of the world… it still feels like it is.

And the worst part about all of it is that he doesn't even really know why. Why it hurts so bad that Owad- t-the- the other student... why it hurts that he hates him, now. So soon after he'd finally come to realize that there might be more to the other teen than he'd previously thought, so soon after exposing himself so utterly for the other teen's perusal and seeing a different side of the teen in return. It feels like something akin to a betrayal, even though that's ridiculous! They'd never been anything to one another, not friends, not acquaintances, nothing! He shouldn't be feeling so betrayed and hurt by Owad- the other student's actions. Really... r-really, he shouldn't. He... he shouldn't...

And why is he thinking about this again? Hadn't he already decided it was a bad idea? That it's useless and a waste of time? Yes! Yes, he had! He had and he knows, and he should stop this right now, right this second!

So why can't he seem to stop?

Sighing— his head starting to ache with the strain— Kiyotaka lifts his head up and stands abruptly, walking over to the foreign television set in the corner. Alright. Fine. His usual methods of distraction aren't enough, so he'll use drastic measures. Surely, 'T.V.', the ultimate source of brain rot, would be enough to distract him?

Well, maybe. If everything he passes wasn't so utterly boring.

Seriously, this is what he's been missing out on? This is what his classmates, both current and former, would always rave about? It's awful! Terrible! He passes by several channels, some full of people yelling, others of men getting hit in the genitals while other people laugh, others with animated people doing utterly bizarre and illogical things! He doesn't understand it, any of it, and he shuts the box off after a few minutes before his headache can get any worse.

Oh well. Seems that wasn't enough to distract him. Maybe... maybe the radio, then? He likes music, sometimes. Mostly the classical pieces he used to hear on the old record player they'd once had in their apartment, before it broke and wouldn't play music anymore. He might as well try, yes?

But the 'music' he hears on the radio sounds more like nonsensical noise, and he has to turn it off after less than a minute, his headache getting worse, not better.

It's with a weary sigh that he retreats to his desk again, staring at the textbook, stomach churning at the thought of opening it up again and trying to force himself to read a single word more... but what else? What else can he do to try and force the thoughts down? Because he has to... he has to force the thoughts down, he can't keep going like this he can't... h-he- he can't...he... he can't...

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his doorbell ringing, causing his head to jerk up, heart racing for reasons he can't even begin to fathom. S-someone... someone is at the door? Someone wants to... wants to see him?

For most people, that would be a happy thought. A good thought. Something that makes them smile and feel grateful, knowing that it means someone is thinking about them. They'd feel happy to have a visitor; company; something to do.

Kiyotaka feels a pit of fear and anxiety flow through him.

Maybe he... maybe he can ignore it? Maybe he can pretend he doesn't hear it? Or maybe that he's not in, that he's somewhere else? He doesn't know where else he could be, seeing as how he's barely even found himself going to the library for any longer than a half hour at a time, but he could pretend! He... he's good at- at pretending...

Luckily, it seems that whoever is at the door gives up quickly, as he doesn't hear the doorbell ring again, which makes him feel relieved and not a hint disappointed. After all, the likelihood that the person knocking would be the person he wants, stupidly, to see is- is... ridiculous. He is ridiculous. He's always known that.

Before he can turn his face away, however, he sees a thin piece of paper slip under the door, causing him to blink owlishly at the offending note. W-what? What is this? Is this... is this a trick?! Surely, it's not another detention slip, given to him by a teacher for his appalling behavior, is it?! It's highly unlikely, but... but...

Standing shakily, he practically runs to the door, scooping down and picking up the note, eyes wide and almost feverish as he stares at it.

Alright. Well, it's not a detention slip, that's something he can instantly tell. In fact, it looks very nondescript in general, with nothing on the outside of it to give a clue as to what it is inside. It's a basic piece of lined paper, the edges still holding the torn off scraps that indicate it once lived inside of a school journal, folded once in half, messily. Kiyotaka absently pulls the scraps away, throwing them in the trash as he moves to sit shakily in his dorm chair.

Okay. Alright. So, someone has sent him a note. Clearly, they had intended for him to see this, which means they want him to read it. That's not a challenging feat, he's sure of that. He's known how to read since he was three years old, after all. Before his grandfather's fall and he'd had to struggle so hard just to live.

And yet, he can't help the way he stares at the hastily folded sheet, heart thumping at the knowledge that someone... someone is writing to him. How bizarre! How queer! How perplexing! He knows that he'd be able to end this mystery in a second, if he were to just unfold the note and read what is inside, but... but... well, this is the best distraction he's currently got, so he doesn't want to lose it quite so quickly!

However, the novelty of the situation is starting to wear off, and there's only so many times he can wonder 'hmm, I wonder who sent this? What could this be?' before dull monotony sinks back in.

With a soft sigh, Kiyotaka opens the letter, eyes roving the messy kanji, his heart stuttering as he absorbs the meaning hidden within.

'Ishimaru-

Meet me by the first-floor storage closet at 8:00 tonight. There's somethin' I gotta tell ya.'

That's it. No signature, no return address, nothing at all to signify who, exactly, is writing him. And yet, as his eyes linger on the words, reading them ten, twenty, a hundred times more, he can't help the way his heart is pounding, something dangerously close to hope blooming in his chest.

Which is beyond ridiculous! There's no way to determine who, exactly, wrote this note! It's hand-written, yes, but he's never seen this handwriting before, so he couldn't exactly say who it belongs to or not. But based on the bold, slanted words, the hurried and jagged quality to the kanji, like the letter writer wrote them carelessly and without any thought whatsoever, far from Kiyotaka's elegant and uniform handwriting he's spent years perfecting... he... well. He has an idea, a hope as to who it was that had written this letter.

God, he hates hope...

Should he go? Should he... s-should he meet this- this mystery person? What could they possibly want from him? Blackmail? A conversation? Something more? Less? In between? He doesn't know! He has no clue! Nothing like this has ever happened before, not to him, and something about it is so- so... intriguing! And terrifying! And new!

He stands up abruptly and begins to pace, chewing his lip gently as he walks around his room, back straight and hands behind his back, his left hand holding his right wrist, something he's always done while walking with purpose. It's powerful! Right now, it's more habit than anything, his mind reeling with thoughts and feelings and ideas.

It's a trick. It has to be, right? There's no way that anyone would actually want to see him for any actual, good reason... right? They must either want something from him and are willing to use backhanded measures to go and get it, or... or, they want to use him for something, probably for their own personal gain. It's the only reason people ever want to see him, really.

Still... the note itself hadn't said anything of the sort... it had said, 'There's somethin' I gotta tell ya.' Nothing there to indicate nefarious ill will or anything like that. The lack of proper grammar indicates that a lower-class individual wrote the letter, or else someone incredibly lazy, which is a pretty big clue, honestly. He stops going down that line of thinking very quickly, though, realizing that trying to figure out who sent the letter is futile, really...

Oh, this is exciting! A mystery! Something that he can... can work on, and solve, and not focus on the misery that it is in his head! Hooray!

If this were a normal day, Kiyotaka wouldn't spend even a fraction of the time trying to decipher the note as he ends up doing. He'd just chalk it up as a weird occurrence and forget about it until, maybe, it was time to meet the individual. But today, this day, when he has no other distraction and desperately needs to do something or else he knows that he'll slip further and further into despair... he's ashamed to admit that he spends honest to god hours staring at the note, mind going in circles around the meaning.

It's really not that deep of a letter, fatigue settling in after less than an hour, but honestly... it's all he's got. So, he clings to it like a child clings to their mother.

By the time the dinner bell rings, his head is aching, and he wants nothing more than to lie down and sleep for decades. But his stomach is aching, his lunch that day interrupted by- no one, and he knows that he needs to eat. Yes, he had once been used to skipping every other meal, sometimes every meal in a day (often his only meal was the meager 'lunch' his school provided, which was better than nothing but not available during non-school days), but after over a month of a steady source of food, his body has grown accustomed to regular meals again. He won't mess up his nutrition schedule! Not for... not for anyone! Especially not… no one.

Still, he makes sure he is quick about getting his food, eyes resolutely on the ground as he enters the dining hall, heading quickly to the kitchen. He can feel eyes on him, can hear someone call his name, but he ignores them, like he's been ignoring them all week. His fellow classmates have— for reasons he doesn't understand— actually been concerned for him this past week. Quite a few have tried coming up and talking to him, including Naegi (of course, numerous times), Asahina (her eyes wide with concern, lips pouting gently), Hagakure (in his very bizarre, abstract way), Maizono (just a quick question of if he was alright), Fujisaki (stammering, but determined all the same), Ogami (quiet and reserved, but still meaningful), and— most bizarrely of all— Kirigiri.

That one had been very strange, the usually reclusive girl striding up to him the previous day and asking, with absolutely no preamble, if he was feeling depressed. The question had startled him— the way she'd said it so point blankly the most startling thing, honestly— making him blink owlishly at the lavender haired girl, and he'd not been able to think of an answer. He'd just shrugged clumsily and hastily retreated without any further comment, practically running from her critical, piercing eyes. The only thing he can think of is that her father, the headmaster, had put her up to it, but even then, he has no idea why the girl had actually done it. Not the way she had, at least. He had never had a single conversation with her before that moment, after all. Why would she care if he were depressed...? Which he isn't! Clearly! He really should have said that to her the previous day, now, shouldn't he...

Ah well, what's done is done. Now he's quickly grabbing himself a basic dinner, some ramen noodles (not the Styrofoam kind that you'd find at general stores, but actual, freshly made ramen noodles, offered every so often for free for all students) and a side salad. There's a savory broth and some beef strips with his ramen that smell absolutely delicious and he can feel his stomach growl as he takes his meal and hurries off to his room. Usually, he wouldn't dream of eating in his room, the action very uncouth and lazy, but he can't help it. He could see someone striding over to him as he exited the room and he'd not wanted anyone to bother him. Not right then.

He hates himself for how rude he is, but he doesn't know what else to do.

The meal is, quite honestly, delicious. He practically inhales it in record speed, his stomach pleasantly full and warm, for once. While he's been eating regularly here, usually he just eats rice balls and beans, with a lack luster side salad and some fruit on the side. Maybe a glass of milk or slice of cheese, maybe some yogurt, if he feels like eating the full range of food groups that day. It's rare that he gets a luxury such as this, and he's grateful to the school for kindly supplying such a thing, today of all days. When it's gone, he kicks himself for not savoring it even more. What a fool! A no-good, gosh darn fool!

Ah well. Now that his meal is done, he looks at the clock, and feels his stomach roil as he sees that it's still only 6:23, almost two hours until the note said to meet. Hm. That's unfortunate...

With some food in his stomach and his headache subsiding somewhat, he finds that he's able to study, again, without wanting to scream. It's a close thing, yes, but there's no such thing as too much studying...!

He manages to slog through another hour of mindless studying, before his eyes begin to swim and he can't hope to read a single thing more, his brain actively rejecting any words he tries to read. He looks at the clock. 7:28. A little over half an hour left. Hm...

Well, now he supposes he can think about what he's going to do when he arrives at the meeting... if he's going! He still hasn't decided about that one, honestly!

Will he go? It's kind of foolish... he doesn't know who this mystery person is (though he has a fairly good idea) and absolutely anything could happen! It's not like it's after curfew, and people would still be milling around, but he knows that part of the school tends to be deserted most of the time, which makes it perfect for clandestine meetings. The number of students he'd caught in that particular closet, in various forms of indecency... he shudders at the reminder. Surely, whoever this mystery person is wouldn't possibly want something like that with him, would they?! Surely not! And if they did, they'd be sorely disappointed when he resolutely hands them a detention slip!

Still... anything could happen, in such a secluded place! Anything at all! And if... if the mystery person was the person he was hoping — thinking!— then he... he'd have to... he'd have to be careful. He... he'd have to...

Unbidden, his mind is reminded of that day. His body so stupidly close to another. Mouth a hairsbreadth away from soft looking, light pink lips. Mind hazy and sluggish and dumb. And he'd... he had... had wanted...

(What would have happened, had he not jerked himself away? What... what would have...)

He snaps himself out of the daze, face flushed unpleasantly, and flies up to pace the room restlessly, heart beating fast. No! Nope! Nuh uh, no way, not touching that, thank you very much! He is not... that, so such thoughts are useless! He... he's not. He's just not. Okay?

(He's been taught numerous times that he can't be. That it… that he's not allowed to be. And he's always been good at retaining lessons given to him.)

S-still! He should be careful! Whomever it is may want to harm him! Physically, or mentally! He has to be careful and cautious when he goes, to protect himself!

When... when he goes...

Oh, who is he kidding?! Of course, he's going! It's a mystery! A puzzle! And Kiyotaka Ishimaru, above all else, loves a good puzzle! Well, not really, they tend to confuse him more than anything… but still! They stump him in a good way! He guesses!

Regardless, whether or not he actually likes puzzles is futile, as he hates not knowing something even more. And now, with the clock saying 7:50, he knows he has to get going now or else he'll be late. And he hates being late!

However, as he's hurrying to his destination, he's forced to stop short, eyes catching a student committing a gross breakage of the school rules: spray painting on the walls. How ghastly! He may not technically be on duty, but the job of a Hall Monitor is never done!

It takes him far longer than it should, writing the complaining student up and making sure they clean up the horrid mess they made, and while his internal clock may not be quite as strong as his internal compass, even he knows that he's woefully late. Oh no! He hates being late!

Feet rushing forward, not quite running (since he'd never run in the halls, probably even if his life depended on it), Kiyotaka moves as quickly as possible to his destination, hoping that whoever his mystery person is, they aren't too angry at him.

Now, if he weren't feeling a bit panicked at the prospect of being late, Kiyotaka would have picked up immediately on the fact that something about this hallway seems... well, off. He wouldn't have been able to explain what, exactly, was off about it, other than that something was not right, his internal Trouble Detector that he's been honing since he was no older than six going off.

However, he is feeling a bit panicked, eyes catching a glimpse of a clock and seeing that it read 8:02, making him officially late! Oh no!

Mind too preoccupied to pick up the warning signs, yet again, Kiyotaka strides up to the closet door, seeing a note hanging there. Blinking in surprise, his eyes quickly go over the words, recognizing the note as being written in the same handwriting as the last one.

Ishimaru-

Enter the closet and shut the door behind ya. I'll explain things once ya get inside.

There's no signature or name at the bottom, just like last time, but this time he's feeling far more apprehensive at the command. Enter the closet and... and shut the door behind him? B-but... but that doesn't... that doesn't sound particularly smart, now does it? In fact, it sounds pretty freaking stupid, if you asked him!

But... well... he's already come so far, hasn't he? In for a penny, in for a pound...

With a soft inhale of breath, Kiyotaka steels himself up and jerks open the door, eyes assaulted by the darkness inside. Curious, he takes a half step in, trying to see if he can see through the oily black.

He startles when he sees movement through the dark, his legs halting as his eyes strain to see through the all-encompassing nothing. It takes a second, but finally his eyes meet another, which he instinctively knows— despite not being able to see them very well— are the most beautiful shade of pale lavender he's ever seen.

He should turn around. He knows he should, knows this is a bad idea, knows that he's probably about to be beaten, and humiliated, and harassed... but...

But the memory of the previous week suddenly assaults him. The memory from before he'd jerked away, fear and discomfort making themselves painfully known. The memory of the still air around them as the two teenagers drifted slowly together, the world around them fading away like drifting snow...

Unbidden, he feels his body drifting forward now, too, the magnet inside of him helplessly pulled towards that gruff, harsh exterior with a mysterious interior.

He's almost inside the room, hand just about to let go of the doorknob and enter the room entirely, when all of the warning bells in his head go off all at once, too loud for him to ignore.

Warning bell the first: why is it pitch black in the closet? If Owad- the other student wanted to meet with him, why would he purposely be standing in a pitch-black room, looking like a miscreant up to absolutely no good?

Warning bell the second: why is the hallway so utterly and completely still and silent? Sure, that's not completely unusual, this is a less travelled hallway, but still. Usually there would be some sounds, either echoing down the corridor or sounds from other parts of the school drifting over. Now, it's almost entirely silent, like the school itself is holding its breath for whatever is about to happen.

Warning bell the third: now that his eyes are finally starting to adjust to the dark, he can see more of the room before him, including the student within. It's with confusion that he realizes that Owad- the other student is staring at him with confusion, his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pulled down in a frown. If the other student was the one to call him here, then why does he look so confused to see him? Why is his mouth opening, angry scowl on the lips, if he had been the one who had arranged this clandestine meeting?

And, finally, warning bell the fourth: why does he now— several seconds after he'd frozen in place, mentally checking through the warning bells he cannot ignore— feel someone moving quickly behind him?

Instincts on overdrive, heart racing, Kiyotaka lashes out at the person he can feel approaching him rapidly, his arms grabbing the— surprisingly smaller— frame and dragging them out of the doorway to the small closet, pinning them to the wall outside. He hears a soft 'eep!' as he does so but is unable to focus on it when he feels movement to his left, the door he'd just been in the doorway of slamming shut with a resounding 'THUNK!'

Well. Well, he thinks, staring wide eyed at the suddenly closed door. That hadn't been what he'd expected.

Not at all.

Ahh, sorry for the abrupt ending! This chapter and the next used to be one, but it got pretty long, and this is the most logical separation point. It ended up not mattering, as there are some chapters in this story that are almost 30,000 words long with no logical separation point, but eh.

Also… can I just say that— the more that this story progresses— the more I am plagued by the realization that I'm writing Taka to be more and more like Papyrus, from Undertale? Am I nuts, or are the characters very similar to one another? Maybe that's why I like Taka so much. He reminds me a lot of Papyrus, one of my all-time favorite characters. But less naive, to a certain degree, ha.