The hot chocolate drink emits warmth to your palm, to your vein, and to every other part of your whole. It is just . . . there. You don't know why you think of it but you can see it—it is just there. It is there as still as an unmoving stone, as hot as the scorching sun.

Within a blink of an eye, it moves.

A ripple at the center.

A change.

A sign of motion.

A sign that you move.

You take a taste of it and your eyes wander down to it. The tang is sweet but bitter, nevertheless. Yet you wonder how come your brain think it is tasteless and insipid despite the many cocoa in it; despite the many sugar it; despite the malt that is savory to other people's tongues.

You are—you realize—dull. And that reality leads you to thinking that you are alone . . . alone . . . and alone.

. . . But still . . . you hope.

.

.

.

Who will see the beauty in your life?

.

.

.

Still, you hope that you didn't urge him to go away—worlds away from you; poles away from you; thousand miles away from you.

You are pathetic.

.

.

.

Who will be there to hear you when you call?

.

.

.

You never think of him as more than just a friend.

And yet, he is there, a constant in your life that you don't even heed it as more than just a thought. When you see him leave, you just smile. You didn't even manage to immediately realize the fact that he is someone to you—he isn't just anyone.

.

.

.

Who will see the madness in your life?

.

.

.

You hurt a lot of people around you days later. The reason? You don't know. Perhaps . . . you lost your only reason to do something you enjoy the most.

The violin.

You're hurt.

The friendship.

It's painful.

The camaraderie.

Tsukimori-kun.

.

.

.

And who will be there to catch you if you fall?

.

.

.

You're optimistic—that's what people think. But what they don't know . . .

Today, you think of finishing off your life.

There is nothing to think about—nothing to place into consideration. It is just you and the only option left in you. You look up at the ceiling to find the perfect place to tie a knot and finally hang yourself. You can already perfectly picture yourself with the Manila hemp rope wrapped tautly around your neck.

Then there is the stool that has fallen onto the ground as you kick it with vigor to completely force the breath of life away from your body. Your shining eyes turning blank and blurry and lifeless . . . not a single drop of soul present in their every atom. When touched, your body will just revolve around and around and will not twitch to the slightest. Skin will turn blue and cold and your body will be hard.

It is the perfect plan. It is planned. It is . . . there.

.

.

.

Nearly.

.

.

.

You are a failure. Your smiles and laughter never really reach your eyes.

.

.

.

You don't understand what to do. You want . . .

help.

.

.

.

You can't do it. You—

.

.

.

You think you can. You were nearly there. This is your only option to end people's predicaments that you, unfortunately, caused! You are their greatest failure so you have to do it!

You think . . .

you are brave enough.

But never are you courageous to do it so.

You want to put into action the things you have thought—the things you have precisely planned. You want to see yourself choking to death—a lump in your throat that hitches your breath. You are afraid but you want to do it.

You are a failure and you want to die.

Yet inside you, a voice is screaming.

.

.

.

I'm afraid. So afraid. Please. Help me. Stop me.

.

.

.

Please save me.

.

.

.

Who will see the beauty in your life?
Who will be there to hear you when you call?
Who will see the madness in your life?
And who will be there . . .

. . . to catch you if you fall?

And your answer?

.

.

.

No one.

.

.

.

Why?

.

.

.

Because he left and I can't see anyone else who can . . .

. . . see the beauty in my life even if he doesn't speak about it.

. . . hear me when I call his name even if he doesn't look over his shoulder to look at me.

. . . see the madness in my life even if he stays taciturn about it.

. . . be there to catch me if I fall.

.

.

.

And your problem?

.

.

.

He didn't catch me.

.

.

.

Then I fall.

.

.

.

Really hard.

.

.

.

Really hard that

.

.

.

I broke.