This is my final chapter for my first fan-fiction, in it I feel I have gone with a melancholy feel, as I think most of the story has been since the second chapter. I'm very sure this is going to be my most hated chapter of the updates, but one must face criticism in order to grow and to convey one's own story.

Harima continues to kneel beside his motorcycle, the pavement below his head has been stained by the myriad amount of tears that had and continue to fall from his face. With little hope of a relationship between himself and Tenma, he begins to wonder about the days that will proceed him should he return to school and society itself.

'Day one.' he begins to conjure up, 'wake up, go to school, see Tenma,' he lets out a small yelp, as if wincing in pain, 'go home, cry, sleep.'.

Harima proceeds to count on the days up to day 35, each day consisting of the same mundane routine, and evertime he utters Tenma's name he lets out a sharp yelp. His tears continue to fall, realizing within himself that he has no value without Tenma.

"I'm not needed, it's been days since I've left home, I can't go home, but I can't run away either, I have nowhere left to go, like a mouse whose world has become so narrowed that he must run into the trap." says Harima, his voice filled with pessimism, narrating his thoughts to no one in particular.

Looking as dejected and unwanted as possible, Harima reaches into a bag on the motorcycle and pulls out a .45 magnum revolver, loaded with only a single bullet. So with no friends left to turn to and the girl he had lusted over for a year rejecting him he sees no other way of carrying on, not as it once was. Nowhere to run to, no one to turn to, he can only imagine solace at the end of a barrel. Finding nothing left in this earthly existence, he pulls the gun slowly to his temple, tears running down his face, he pulls back the hammer. After a moment of final contemplation Harima says, "Let this be my fond farewell my love.", he drops the hammer and a bullet enters into his temple, and in an instant he is no longer on this plane of existence.

His now deceased body hits the ground with a dull thump and a soft splat as blood continues to pour through the open wound. The crimson liquid continues to pour out onto the asphalt, glistening as the sun reaches noon hour. A gust of window blows the blooming cherry blossoms across his rotting body, a single blossom falls into the puddle of blood, before being blown away almost as quickly as it came. As sad as it is for one to die we must always remember that we must find our own way to deal with love, rejection and fear, his own kind of torment is now over.