I do not own anything.

As the sun's rays lighted the grim world, the soft breeze moved over the people, creeping into the empty husks of hearts. The coffin, laying six foot high hole, held the boy who had captured the hearts of women and the respect of men. The words of the reverend, standing at the foot of the hole, didn't amount to the unspoken words shared among the devastated people. The reverend didn't understand the memorized words and, moreover, didn't know the wonderful boy in that coffin. As the reverend offered the mike to anyone willing, a dark-clad boy with green hair stepped up.

"Yoru…" He inhaled a deep breath, composing himself. "I'm Daichi, your stereotypical jock. Despite his unrivaled athletic abilities, Yoru remained as the captain of the practice team and always refused an invitation to the regulars. He loved his girlfriend too much to leave her."

His brown eyes, bouncing from his pale face, averted from the crowd's eyes to a lone girl's ambers. The heart-stricken girlfriend stood with hands bunched into the skirts of her black dress. The sleeves of her thin jacket were still wet with the tears she'd shed behind closed doors.

"I had mistreated my girlfriend, Ran." Daichi continued with his eulogy. "She would've left me with a broken heart, and I would have probably torn down so many girls in search of a girl like Ran. However, Yoru, the hero he always was, swooped down to my rescue and taught me how to truly treasure a girl. Yoru—he was a man of true men." The boy stepped down from the mike, allowing another girl take his place.

Blue tuffs of hair peeked under the girl's black beret with a blue spade. Her swollen sapphire eyes hid behind the shadow of her hat. Shaking uncontrollably, the girl's frail, artist hands held the mike stand for balance, as if it were the only thing keeping her together.

"I'm Miki. I-I shared an art class with Yoru and am h-hopefully a friend to his e-eyes." The insecurity grew evident in her croaking voice. "I was having an issue with an assignment—an assignment as simple as drawing what the student found beautiful. Abandoned by parents, relatives, and friends, I scorned the world. Distaining the world filled with hatred and hypocrisy, I didn't want to be a part of it. When Yoru heard that, he tried every way he could to show me the world's beauties—flowers, animals, babies, couples, and even the sunset. At the end of the day, personally I didn't believe he could show me; but that was all before he looked at Amu."

This time all eyes turned to the comparably small girl. Under their pitying gazes, her long legs seemed to shrink beneath her. Her dull pink hair, not probably taken care of recent, fell as a curtain between her and the people around her. Just as she sought for comfort, her knight in shining armor slipped his hand around her shoulders and pulled her into his broad chest. The bystanders looked at her blush to be one of embarrassment, but it was much more than that to her—shame, unrequited love, and guilt.

"He looked at her as if she was more beautiful than anything else in the world. He looked at her with so much love. I don't believe there was any other man who could have loved a woman, like Yoru did. I learned from him that even if the whole world hated you it didn't mean that you had to hate it as well, and of recent, I have learned that if you love the world enough, it'll return your feelings, just as Amu had." Miki stepped down with tears, and another took her place.

The words running from the following people's mouth blurred in Amu's ears. The burning gazes melted away. She couldn't describe how much she hated this moment, resembling a sweat-inducing trial. The guilt ate at her heart; regardless how much it ate away, the place in her heart, reserved for Ikuto, remained as strong as ever.

Opening her sore eyes, she realized that half way through the speeches Ikuto had dragged her away from her stoning. The two were hidden behind a tree, well away from the funeral. She was in his arms, with her hands around his chest and his around her waist. His head lay atop her head resting on his chest. She would never admit this to anyone, but this was the hug she longed for. Ikuto secured her in his arms from the world's harmful touch.

"Amu, it's okay to cry," Ikuto whispered, before placing a kiss on her forehead. Truth was they hadn't seen each other since before Yoru's death. She had been avoiding his persistent invitations and consolation. She, a sniffing pervert, had missed his bittersweet musky scent with that chocolate scent.

"No." With a jerk, Amu pushed away from him, inducing a sharp shocked look. In all her years, Amu could never remember a time when she had ever pushed him away, and never had he. She knew he meant well, but the way he held her enticed thoughts that weren't honoring Yoru's death.

"Amu." The vulnerable violinist spoke with a hurt tone. Though it killed her, the pink-haired masochist continued on with her stoning.

"It's Hinamori." She snapped, spinning on her heel back to the funeral. He caught her wrist, but she easily shook out of his loose half-hearted grip.

Now we're back on track. Read the prologue and treat that as the next chapter. I'll be starting from there. Thanks for reading.