The next time Hanagaki Takemichi goes to the past, he didn't expect it to happen. In all honesty, he was satisfied with his current future. Years, more years than his old partners could fathom, had passed since Takemichi's first regression(if it could be called that). First, it seemed his time was getting shorter, then all of a sudden he took a huge leap and ended up in his second year of middle school before the time started to decrease again. And eventually, the time he had decreased over and over until it was one year instead of fourteen, six months instead of a year, one month instead of six, and finally no more. But he didn't need to go back anymore. Eventually everything came full circle, and just like his first timeline- which was ages ago, he mused,- Toman was without him, and with each other.

However much he missed his partners, he couldn't just take their peace with him for selfishly wanting to be with them. He would live. They wouldn't. Literally.

But, he just couldn't shake his worry. Hina died the first round without him in their lives, what if it happened again? What if he couldn't protect her again? What if his lifetimes were useless?

...He didn't want to think about that.

(He also didn't want to mention that he definitely stalked- followed the people he used to know whenever he crossed paths with them. Mikey especially, Takemichi needed to make sure he wasn't pushing everyone away for something he would be forgiven for, like that time he completely isolated himself for breaking Souta's bike making him cry and go ballistic- Takemichi was losing himself. Focus!)

Takemichi stared unblinkingly at the childish light yellow print of his walls, remembering suddenly that the pastel was his favorite color. The color of Hina's eyes when the sun hit them at that specific angle, the color of Mikey's hair. The color he tried to dye his, but never quite used enough bleach(he was scared of his hair dying and falling out on him okay?) for and never truly achieved the color he wanted.

Takemichi let out a tired giggle. It was funny how much his thoughts wandered in comparison to his first life. He really became more reserved after losing everything. He briefly wondered how the first him would react to the now him.

Well, change was to be expected. Holding your dying loved ones in your arms as they breathed their last breath really did change you. At the very least, Takemichi could confidently say that his original person is still deep, deep within him. Just, not for everyone this time.

"How did I get here?" Takemichi squinted at his wall, trying to read the tiny numbers on his calendar. "And when is it, anyway?"

Takemichi never had parents and was living on his own for as long as he could remember. It was absolutely illegal, but honestly, what has he ever done that wasn't? His neighbor was apparently a family friend though and took care of bills and the rest of that legal paperwork stuff that he only properly learned when he was seventeen the first time around. Takemichi narrowed his eyes at their house through his window, frowning.

Those guys were actually the fault of his misfortune in living areas, as when he was old enough to pay for his own bills, they demanded payment for every cent they spent on him, awfully triumphant as they held up documents on just how illegal his living situation was.

"You owe us approximately this much for the house alone," They had smiled at him as they always had, kind and utterly fake(he just hadn't noticed it before), all the while watching the blood drain from his face as all future plans he had sunk deeper and deeper into the pit of no return. "Why don't you go on and invite us in so we can calculate how much we spent on your furniture, too, hm?"

Just thinking about it agitated him, so Takemichi swung his legs off his bed, not allowing himself to pause to admire the clean, finished puzzle at his desk less he distract himself again. Thick, curly black strands of hair fell over his eyes and he wrinkled his nose. 'How boring. How common.'

Well, he's used to black hair, now at least-!

THUD-!

No, Hanagaki Takemichi did not completely miscalculate where his foot will land, and no, he most certainly did not squeak as he faceplanted and no, his eyes are not watering at the pain.

The snot that found its way down his chin almost immediately did nothing to confirm such a statement.

"How old am I?" Takemichi tried not to notice how high-pitched his voice was. He hobbled to his bathroom- no, the doorknob most certainly was not higher than it should have been, and no he did not need a stool to see himself in his mirror!

Okay, he admits, he lied. Pulling the dinosaur patterned stool from under the sink, Takemichi paused. Really, he could just about cry at the state of his hands. Small, fat, and dimpled. Honestly, Takemichi didn't even need the mirror at this point. A whine escaped from high in his throat. Big, innocent clear blue eyes stared back at him, taking in his ¼ body and the pudginess that he swore he just got rid of.

Oh yes. He went back in time again. The gap in the how's concerned him, sure, but what concerned him more is the fact that at this point in time -he quickly checked his calendar now that he was closer- he is around six years old, and summer break from finishing his first year in elementary school.

Shit, he had to go through school again?