AN: Mentions of sexual assault in the upcoming chapters. Just one more chapter of Aoyama's thing and then I'm off to write fluffy stories again.

BTW Thank you for the review TheOriginalAmy! I WILL NEVER STOP WRITING IT!

It was so surreal.

The worn out sports jacket of someone who took care of his physical health. The way his lips curled into a natural smile that spoke nothing but good intentions. The sympathetic look in his eyes when he slightly bent over and extended his hand.

Sorata had to do a double take, but after getting on their feet with Mashiro and getting a better look, it was indeed Fujisawa. Just without the glasses and the pretentious scarf that he always wore. With everything that was going through his mind lately, it was a real shock to see him in the flesh.

"Sorata!," Fujisawa laughed. "Sorry about that. I didn't expect you to be here so soon!"

"Huh? What time is it?," he replied, still scanning every crevice of Fujisawa's face for the slightest hint of malice.

"Eight o'clock. Perfect time for a morning jog, don't you think?"

They heard the 'question' mark at the end and simply nodded in agreement.

"Well, better late than never. My my, long time no see Shiina-san. What are you doing here?"

"Helping," she said.

"Ah. I'm sure you two will find a way to surprise me again. I've been wondering what this new game could be. Follow me, my house isn't too far."

Sorata was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He didn't know if he should loosen or tighten his grip on the small pocket knife that he hid in his pocket. Just as a precaution.

This...was the man that violated Aoyama and countless others? He couldn't bring himself to believe it. Especially considering the numerous interactions they've had together. A bit blunt and sure, a bit of an narcissist sometimes. But...a rapist?

"...Sorata?," Fujisawa said after unlocking the front door. "Are you okay? You're looking a little pale there."

"I'm fine. Just a bit cold," he nonchalantly replied.

"That would do it. I'll be back in ten minutes. There's leftovers in the fridge, help yourself."

He hurried upstairs. The hiss of the shower was heard as Sorata and Mashiro sat on the couch, a white, modern looking thing that looked right at home with its surroundings. It certainly was the home of a famous game designer / programmer.

It had that clean look that you can only get from attending to it daily. Not by himself of course, but by maids and housekeepers.

There was a grand piano, a TV the same size as his windows, marbled countertops...it was extremely pleasing to the eyes but Sorata felt uneasy. It was like stepping into a sterile operating room; a place devoid of any unique personality or love poured into it. It was the complete opposite of Sakurasou.

Perhaps he had just gotten used to seeing Misaki's storyboards scattered everywhere. Or Mashiro's paintbrushes strewn on the floor in an organised chaos.

"Sorata," Mashiro said, tugging at his sleeve. He saw her covering her stomach with one arm. "My belly hurts."

"I'll fix you something to eat-"

"-no. I'm not hungry."

Sorata nodded in understanding. He had that gut feeling too, the same feeling of being somewhere you didn't belong. Like you were about to be shot in the head for being in a restricted government building or something. Despite the soft carpet under their feet and the chandelier dangling on the ceiling.

"Yeah. Same here."

"I think I'm scared Sorata," she breathed. He felt her shuffle closer to him.

His mind was lost in a sea of emotions. He didn't think it was possible to be feeling hatred, fear, worry and disgust all at once. Kazuki Fujisawa. Kazuki Fujisawa. Kazuki Fujisawa. He repeated the name over and over again, not noticing that Mashiro was watching him mumble incoherently.

The times when they would sit down at the café and discuss games, ideas, programming...were all those times just a lie? Was all of this a lie? How long did he spend idolizing a lie, wishing that Sorata could become like him someday? Tall, handsome, smart and successful?

The end of the ten minutes announced itself like a bell striking at midnight. Soft tip-taps of feet coming down the stairs. Sorata felt the eyes sizing him up from behind his back while Fujisawa made idle talk.

"T-This...is what I wanted...?," Sorata thought, gnawing at his fingernails. "Success. Wealth. A life like this. I wanted people to want me. Look at him. He even has an assistant."

The woman in the business suit gave Mashiro a nervous look before walking away to another room, having gotten the approval of Fujisawa.

"...but he's a monster. He hurts people. He hurt innocent people who did nothing wrong. He hurt Aoyama. He's a selfish prick who got to where he is by hurting others."

The two didn't give the food set in front of them a second glance, only keeping their eyes on Fujisawa as he sat down on the couch opposite them. He was polite and hospitable. To anyone else, this looked like a nice Saturday breakfast date between a teacher and two students.

"How have you two been?," he asked with a mouthful of muesli. "Pursuing your passions I hope?"

Sorata gave a silent nod while Mashiro spoke up uncharacteristically. "Yes. I've been helping Sorata with his assets."

"Is that so? My...you two go so well together."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Are you two a thing? If you don't mind me asking, of course," he chuckled.

"No. We're not," Sorata answered with a lack of emotion.

"Hm. Purely business I see. I remember being in your shoes Sorata," he reminisced, setting the bowl down on the glass coffee table. "I thought that Chihiro was nothing more than a means to an end. For my career."

"Sensei?," Mashiro clarified.

He nodded. "But looking back in hindsight...I should've asked her out. I should've told her what I really felt about her."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was too caught up. Too caught up in work and money and trying to make a name for myself, that I didn't stop and smell the roses every once in a while," he sighed. "Sorata. Don't make the same mistake as me."

"I didn't come here for your advice," Sorata sneered under his breath.

"Hahaha...sorry. I'm getting to the age where I start ranting again huh? So. Tell me about this game you want me to invest in."

Sorata looked up. Fujisawa's happy-go smile slowly dropped when he saw the seething hatred in his eyes, one tiny push away from exploding into a murderous animal. He gripped the knife harder and harder until he could no longer feel his fingers. He imagined wiping the arrogant smug smile off Fujisawa's face with it.

Fujisawa sighed like he was mildly annoyed that his day was ruined. "She told you huh?"

"...you...disgusting piece of shit."

They didn't notice that they were standing up now, only about an arms length away from each other. Fujisawa backed up slowly now that Sorata had taken the knife out of his pocket, much to Mashiro's surprise.

"You're talking about last night," he explained calmly. "Look, it was consensual-"

"BULLSHIT!," Sorata exploded, baring his teeth at the man. "YOU FUCKING RAPED HER!"

Every cell of Mashiro's body told her to run away after watching Fujisawa's face darken. The sight of him dropping his 'good guy' persona and revealing his true self to the world sent shivers down her spine.

"Stay out of this Sorata," he warned in a calm yet threatening manner. "I have a video, remember? I might ruin her life if you do anything rash."

Sorata found himself grabbing his wrist to prevent him from driving the knife down Fujisawa's throat. He told himself that it would be justified. One life for another. Aoyama was innocent. She was a happy, hard-working, determined individual who did nothing to deserve this. Her future would at least have a chance of staying intact...if only he killed Fujisawa.

"Just imagine. The look on her parent's faces when they see their sweet baby daughter getting fucked like a street whore."

"Sorata!," Mashiro cried, holding him back.

"I have a video too you know," Sorata snarled. "With your face in it."

He scoffed.

"Don't believe me?"

Sorata pulled out the phone from the other pocket, pointing the screen at him. He might as well have pulled a gun.

Fujisawa saw himself through the slightly ajar door of the walk-in closet. Before Sorata could react, Fujisawa suddenly had both hands around Sorata's throat.

Sorata gasped in surprise. They both looked down at the knife in his hand, and looked at each other. Fujisawa shot him a smug grin.

"Do it. Come on, do it. You know you want to."

Sorata's eyes were getting bloodshot. He didn't know why he dropped the knife and opted instead to stare back into the monster's eyes.

"Tanji? Mura? No, it was Mari. Wasn't it?," he laughed. "Fucking bitch. Only her would stay and film instead of calling the police."

Sorata gave a guttural growl that would make the devil's skin crawl.

"Get your fucking hands off me."

Fujisawa couldn't help but give a hearty chuckle like he had just been told a joke. Something about the way he said that made Fujisawa shudder in excitement.

"Finally Sorata. You finally stood up for yourself. I like that. I like the look in your eyes," he thought as he let go.

He looked down in contemplative thought with his back turned towards Sorata and Mashiro. After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned around with the same polite face that greeted them in the door an hour ago. It gave them both the creeps.

"Sorata," he began casually. "It doesn't have to be this way. How about we share?"

"What?"

"A teenager such as yourself...," he explained. "It must be extremely frustrating to see someone else fucking Aoyama."

"What the fuck. You goddamn psycho," Sorata thought, his jaw locked up in rage.

"If you don't tell anyone about this...I'll make sure you can fuck any girl you want. Just pick and choose. I can make it happen. You can even fuck Mashiro if you want-"

A heavy punch to his jaw sent Fujisawa stumbling backwards on the ground. He blinked a couple times in disbelief.

"Wow," was all he mumbled. "It's been a while since I've been punched like that."

The look from two security guards dressed in black suits was enough to tell them that it was time to go. Sorata grabbed Mashiro's wrist and stomped towards the front door, only stopping when he heard Fujisawa's voice.

"I hope you'll make the right choice," he called. "For Aoyama's sake."


"Bang! Bang-kaBOOM! Oh no! We have to go back for him!," she yelled in front of the television. "It's too late! We have to go now! B-B-BAH-BOOM! Noo! Cliiiiiffhanger!"

Misaki looked back to the two pairs of eyes that blinked in disbelief.

"So? Whaddya think?! Junior-kun, Mashiron?!"

"Woah. Uhmm..."

He had to remember what he just witnessed. Frankly, he was too busy staring at his senior. Staring at the way she bounced with vibrant energy. The combination of getting married and a successful career in anime had turned her into an even happier kid again.

"That was amazing," Mashiro mumbled with her jaw wide open.

"I KNOW RIGHT?!," Misaki exclaimed excitedly. "Can you believe they're gonna air this next Saturday?! You better watch it! On the big screen! Oh-and film yourself watching it so that I can watch you watching it!"

"Oook there honey. Let's give the poor third-years a break," Jin said, walking in with a bag of groceries. "Hey you two. How have you been?"

Sorata, Mashiro and Aoyama all shot each other worried looks as they prepared the Saturday night Sakurasou hotpot. They put on a convincing act of normality while they ate around the table, receiving souvenirs from the married couple's trips overseas, talking about work and other stuff that happened in the past week.

It was only for an hour, but Sorata felt normal again. He sat in the same seat, with the same people with the same delicious food in front of him. After the past few days, it was a sight for sore eyes.

"Hey...why don't you two just get together already," Sensei teased towards Ryuunosuke and Rita.

"W-What?! W-W-With her?!"

"Yeah Ryuu...why don't you ask me out?"

"B-Back away seductress! Or else I'll...I'll-"

"You'll what? Is it something lewd?~"

"Guh..."

He was disappointed that the cheerful atmosphere ended when the clock reached ten. They stumbled up the stairs to sleep off the beer in their system while Sorata, Mashiro and Aoyama stayed behind to do the dishes. Much to Sensei's astonishment.

"My my!," she gushed, fixing herself a cup of coffee. "Suddenly I don't hate you three as much!"

Aoyama shot an exaggerated smile towards the older woman. "We know you're getting old sensei, so we'll take the hit for you this time."

She clicked her tongue before walking up the stairs mumbling something about 'only being thirty' and 'mature'. With everyone in the living room gone to bed, the three were left on their own. With each clean dish that was inserted into the drying rack, Aoyama thought more and more about their predicament. About how she should be feeling that Sorata was making such a big deal out of her problem. It wasn't like they were dating or anything.

"You're muttering to yourself."

Aoyama squeezed the remainder of the dish detergent onto the sponge. "I don't mutter."

"You mutter Aoyama," Mashiro deadpanned.

"I can't believe you told her," Aoyama fumed. Here we go.

"I didn't," Sorata retorted. "She was listening outside the door."

"Because you couldn't keep your mouth shut you idiot!"

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. The dish shattered into numerous pieces in the sink when Sorata slammed it down and faced Aoyama, who had her jaw clenched in anger.

"Wha...what is your problem?!," he complained.

"YOU! My problem is you!," she retaliated. "Why can't you just let it go!"

"Because I-"

"-what Sorata what?! Because you love me?! Because you're my fucking dad or something?! Stop doing this before you get hurt! This ain't your problem!"

Mashiro stepped in between them but it did little to stop them from yelling at each other.

"You made it my problem! I can't let him get away with this!"

She felt her heart in her throat when she was shoved aside so that Aoyama could get up in Sorata's face.

"I see how it is," she breathed with pent up fury. "You think I can't protect myself."

"I never said that."

"You think I'm a powerless little kid."

"I never said that either."

"Kanda. You are such a fucking idiot, you know that?!," Aoyama scowled through bared teeth. "D'you really think I was going to let him get away with that?!"

"The fuck would you do Aoyama?! Walk up to him and ask him to stop?!"

They were yelling at the top of their lungs. Mashiro closed her eyes and tried to push them apart but they only seemed to spring back closer.

Please...stop fighting...it hurts!

At this point Sensei and the other residents of Sakurasou had come down to see what was causing such a ruckus. Mashiro sighed in relief, thinking that the noise could finally stop. That is, until Sorata muttered something and set Aoyama off her chain.

She punched Sorata right across the cheek, too furious to notice Sensei and Mashiro and pretty much everyone trying to stop her from beating him while he's down. It turned into absolute anarchy when Sorata got up and tackled Aoyama to the ground.

They began fighting chaotically. In the three seconds that they made contact, their faces looked like they had just come out of a boxing ring. Their noses were bleeding, cheeks were swollen and faces scratched hard enough to the point blood was oozing out.

"FUCK YOU!," Aoyama screeched while trying to escape the arms around her torso. The tears streamed down her cheek and fell like blood onto the floor. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT! IT WON'T EVER FUCKING HAPPEN AGAIN!"

"THEN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!," Sorata yelled back.

It was incomprehensible. All they could do was keep Sorata and Aoyama apart for as long as possible. Sensei didn't understand what could make them want to claw each other's throats out.

But their guttural cries slowly quietened down after hearing a faint crying in the background. A quiet, almost child-like sob of anguish. It was coming from the kitchen. They turned their heads to see the blonde girl sobbing on the ground.

"Mashiro...," Sensei consoled. She crouched down to touch her but her crying got even louder. There was a streak of blood running down her forehead from when she hit her head on the counter.

...it...hurts...so...bad...

Wrath ran hot through Sensei's veins. She stood up and roared with all her might.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?! DON'T YOU KNOW WHEN TO QUIT?!"

It was louder than loud itself. The shockwave of air hit Sorata and Aoyama's chests like a truck. Mashiro's painful sobbing still resonated throughout the dormitory as Sensei helped her up.

"Go to bed," she ordered. Rita hesitantly let go of Aoyama and Himemiya let go of Sorata. They walked upstairs but several eyes could be seen peeking around the corner so that they could witness the utter beating they were about to receive.

Sensei sighed at the three damaged teenagers in front of her. Sorata was reminded of his mother when Sensei pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"You. Three," she articulated slowly, each word tinged with disgust.

"Sorry about the noise Sensei," Sorata apologized sincerely. "We'll figure this out on our own."

"I don't trust you," she replied. "I've gotta babysit you three like I'm your damn mother or something!"

"No, he's right. We can handle this."

Sensei looked at Aoyama. She had a swollen eye, bleeding nose and bloodied scratches on her cheeks.

"I can't believe you two," she sighed with a raspy voice. "Look at what you did to Mashiro."

They timidly took a short glance at her in the corner of their eyes. The sound of her sobbing was painful enough, but seeing her in that state would've broken them. There was nothing more heart-breaking than seeing her hiccup and sniffle and gasp for air from all the pain she was in.

Aoyama covered her chest in guilt as she got her wounds attended to. Sensei had trusted them to not tear each other apart and left to her room. They sat on the ground in silence, save for the occassional hisses of pain when Sorata cleaned her wounds with antiseptic.

"...ow!," she winced. She lowered her voice as to not get her head ripped off by Sensei. "...you're doin' this on purpose!"

"I'm not. Hold still."

"...Sorata, I'm fine. Let me change your tissue. Your nose is bleedin' again."

"Just wait Aoyama."

She rolled her eyes, watching the boy give a hundred and ten percent of his effort on applying band-aids to her face. She felt a warm sense of childlike nostalgia for some reason. Like they were childhood friends who got hurt playing in the forest.

"I'm sorry. For punching you," she muttered.

"Stop."

"I'm...a real piece of shit, Kanda-kun. I am. I hurt you...Mashiro...Sensei..."

Mashiro stood up from the corner she was hiding in. "No you're not."

"...Mashiro?"

"You're not a piece of shit," Mashiro said. "I am. I left you alone to get revenge. I was so caught up in my desires that I didn't even stop and consider whether you were okay or not. Whether you needed a hug or someone to cry on. Selfish. Selfish...I'm sorry Aoyama. I'm sorry for being so selfish."

Aoyama wrapped Mashiro in a tight hug. "You shouldn't be sorry. I know you guys had good intentions."

Sorata took one look at Aoyama's wrists and buried his face in his knees. "God...why'd I have to be so violent..."

She gave him a playful punch. "P-lease. Your wimpy little cat scratches?," she giggled. "I never knew you were so girl-like."

"I'm gonna get some ice for your wrists."

"Huh?," Aoyama mumbled, looking down at her bruised wrists. "Oh, this was from...uh...sorry. You didn't do this."

"Ugh...I'm going to kill that disgusting son-of-a...w-wait...but there's bruises on both wrists."

"Yeah?"

"H-How could he have filmed?," Sorata asked. "Did he let go?"

"W-What? No. I would've bolted if...he...did," Aoyama said.