A/N: This was pretty hard to write for some reason. Next chapter will be back to the present (at least partially)! Thank you if you've stuck with the story so far! Constructive criticism is really appreciated! Abeo means 'go away', or 'vanish' in Latin.

Eleutheria

Abeo

oOo

Haru,
I'm so sorry. It's selfish, but I hope one day you'll understand.
You still won't be alone, you have Makoto... And you'll get my share of the money Father sends us, too.
Hatsuki-nee

If he had bothered to think about it, Haruka would have probably realized how many more unsaid thoughts were in those couple of throwaway sentences. If he had bothered to imagine his sister writing the small slip of paper she'd then left him in a small envelope, together with the remainder of this month's money, he could have probably seen how much her hand shook, how her lips drew into a thin line when she finally set the tip of the pen down determinedly. How she wanted to write 'I love you', but then changed her mind halfway, because she knew her brother well enough to know that, with what she was about to do, she could be sure Haruka wouldn't really believe that.

But Haruka didn't really think anything at all. The words got to his mind, but their real meaning somehow seemed to seep away through the drain. There was a dull throb to his chest, a sort of inexplicable ache that seemed to strengthen when he thought he felt justified, because I knew she'd leave too, like their parents had left, because Haruka apparently wasn't important enough. He didn't even bother to crumple up the letter before he threw it in the sink, the throbbing now extending to the back of his eyes, his temples, his forehead.

Haru,

He opened the tap and poured water onto it till the letters blurred, but still, it was as if she'd burnt the words into his mind, along with the echo of her voice saying them in his ears, and no amount of water could drown her out.

I'm so sorry. It's selfish, but I hope one day you'll understand.

She was right about that, it was selfish. Haru didn't really think she was actually sorry, because if she was, she wouldn't have left, but maybe she was right and he simply didn't understand. The thing was, though, he didn't actually want to.

You still won't be alone, you have Makoto... And you'll get my share of the money Father sends us, too.

Haruka opened the tap even wider, the water splashing back from the bottom of the sink and onto his face, his front, dampening his shirt. She could have taken the money, he didn't care. There was still a lot of frozen stuff, and he had always been a better cook than her. She didn't like mackerel, either. Now he could get as much of that as he wanted. He could eat mackerel for every meal if he wanted. That was good, right?

Hatsuki-nee

He was all of fourteen, and she was wrong, because having a best friend, even one as good as Makoto was, wasn't really going to replace an entire family having left him behind. Haruka went to the bathtub, and filled it to the brim. He hadn't looked at what tap he even opened, and didn't realize he hadn't heard the rumble of the boiler; he only realized the water was ice cold when he stepped into it. Then again, when had mundane things like that ever stopped Haruka from submerging himself?

The truth of the matter was, perhaps mundane things hadn't, but Hatsuki often had. The Nanase household had always been an odd one; with their mother only ever having wanted one child, and Haruka having been kind of a surprise, he'd always been the odd one out, and at first, when they'd been young, of course, it had gone to Hatsuki's head. She'd had every firstborn privilege Haruka could imagine, and she didn't hesitate to take advantage. Later on, thinking back, he'd thought maybe she'd been too young to notice - because she certainly wasn't too young when their parents had decided to move, just when she had gotten into high school, and as Haruka listened to her yell at their mother from behind his semi-open bedroom door, he couldn't help but wonder how he had missed the part where Hatsuki had begun to care.

He exerted himself from the bathtub at around midnight, by which time he could barely move his limbs, as if he was wholly made of ice. He made it to the bedroom, stripped out of his clothes that he'd never taken off, left them on the floor (he had plenty of time to learn how to take care of himself, yes?), and went to sleep. The house echoed with emptiness, and the blankets felt as if he was covered in rocks that crushed his lungs and didn't allow him to breathe.

It was around nine in the morning when Makoto came around. It was a Saturday, so Haruka, still half asleep, found it a little odd, but, then again, Makoto did have these intuitive things about his best friend. He was glad he didn't stay in the tub till morning; Makoto would have been worried. Even like this, it was oddly painful to breathe; each and every intake felt as if a hundred needles were struck into his lungs. He was trying to sit up when the brunet entered the room with a soft notice of "I'm coming in," but even propping himself up on his elbows was difficult somehow. It was as if someone was pressing a pillow to his ears, Makoto's voice only getting to him through some sort of filter that made only every second word audible, but it was still clear that the brunet was worried about something - no, maybe even downright scared. Brown locks falling into brilliant green eyes filled with anxiety entered his blurry field of vision, and the next moment, he fell back on his back, jerking his face away from the touch.

"Makoto-..." he croaked, beginning to shiver. "Your hand... is really cold..."

"No, it's not," came the instant reply, along with a frown so unbefitting Makoto, who always had a smile at the ready for him. "Haru, you're burning up - what have you done?"

Why did it have to be his fault? Haru wanted to groan, but his throat hurt, and he just tugged his blanket higher up to his chin. Oh, right... everything was his fault, wasn't it? Hatsuki-nee leaving, too. "Leave me alone," he muttered, and, for a second, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Makoto's expression looking like he'd just been slapped. He'd already wanted to take it back by the time he said it, but the look on Makoto's face rendered him even more speechless, and the way his throat constricted was so painful that he had to clasp his hands over his neck, his eyes watering involuntarily from the pain.

Next thing he knew, Makoto was kneeling right next to the bed, the covers were being tucked in more securely, and there was that cold, yet somehow reassuring touch again, a big palm smoothing locks of hair out of his face, pressing gently against his burning up forehead, and Haru let out a defeated sigh. "I think you might be really sick, Haru... You know I can't just leave when you're like this. Where's Hatsuki-nee?"

He might have been burning up, but his insides felt frozen like a block of ice, and his voice was a little more clear as he replied, tone full of ire, "Hell if I know. She's gone too." He only regretted phrasing it that way when Makoto's hand smoothing his hair down faltered. However, the truth was still the truth, and Haruka had always been straightforward, not one for sugarcoating his thoughts.

Surprise made his eyes widen as he felt something heavy on his shoulder, and as he turned his head slightly, his nose was buried directly in Makoto's mass of brown hair. "All the more reason for me to stay by Haru-chan's side," the brunet murmured, his voice barely audible. Haru thought if there was any moment he would feel like crying, it would be this, but still all he did was raise a hand and dig his fingers in between those thick locks. In a funny contrast to his soft personality, Makoto's hair had a rather rough texture. Oddly enough, it suited him. Idly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Haruka wondered why he was even thinking such things; but, then again, if Makoto was right, and he was that sick, it was no wonder things in his head were going a little haywire. (Perhaps Hatsuki also had something to do with it, but Haruka refused to think about her right now. It was increasingly hard to think about anything anyways.)

"Good," he finally replied, and as Makoto raised his head, his expression now somewhere in between soft and vulnerable, he added, "Don't ever leave, Makoto."

That finally got the desired effect: a smile as brilliant as only Makoto's smiles could be. Instead of replying, though, he stood up. "I'll bring you some medicine. Just stay put, Haru." As if he had any intention of getting out of the warmth of his bed anyways.

It took Haruka a week to recover from the cold that was almost pneumonia; neither Hatsuki nor Mamoru returned during that time. When he could finally get up and move around, the first thing he did was go into her room, and pack everything up.

He would not be hanging onto memories of people who had thrown him away.