"Do you really have to go? If you do, you're not going to be there when I start middle school," Satoshi pouted. We were walking side by side through the gardens at the back of our house in Hokkaido. The sun was setting below the tall hedges and the evening insects were buzzing. We would take walks through the garden all the time during the summer.

"It's my first class trip, I have to go." This conversation in particular was on my first field trip as a first-year at Ouran Academy; a class trip abroad to Spain. Satoshi had attachment issues when anyone in the family would go on a trip without him. Especially when I was the one leaving.

"Yeah, but–" he started.

I cut him off before he could rattle off ideas of how I could skip out on going. "Look at the bright side, Sato. You'll have Chika there with you at school. You haven't seen him much this summer."

Satoshi sighed, "I suppose."

I straightened the tie around my neck and buttoned my dress coat. I ran a comb through my hair once more. I stared hard at my reflection in the full-length mirror and cursed myself when a stray tear rolled down my cheek. A knock sounded from the other side of my bedroom door. I composed myself, put on the stoic expression that had become so natural, and responded, "Come in".

"Master Takashi, are you ready to go ahead to the service?" The young maid that had stepped inside asked. I didn't recognize her, so I dismissed it as her first day on the job. A terrible day to start, I thought.

I nodded to her question. Giving one glance back to the mirror, I walked quietly from my bedroom.

"Your parents have requested that the family take the same car." The nurse said quietly. I could feel her expectant gaze on me from behind. "Is that alright with you?" She asked after a second or two of silence.

"I suppose." I said without turning around.

"How was your day today?" I asked Satoshi as he climbed inside our limo.

"Fine," he snapped. He buckled his seatbelt and looked moodily out of his window. It was unusual to see my younger brother like this. He was usually dying to tell me all about his day at school.

"Are you alright?" I asked him. I put my hand on his arm and he quickly pulled away.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great. Can we just go home now?" He fidgeted in his seat and dug a pair of ear buds out of his bag. He pressed himself up against the car door, closed his eyes, and neither of us spoke again the entire ride home.

In the limo, I sat on one side, while my mother and father sat on the opposite. My mother sniffled loudly. My father laid one of his hands on top of one of my mother's, squeezing tightly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, consoling her as she wept softly. I forced my feelings back once more, silently promising my parents that I was being strong, no matter what. I can't cry. He wouldn't want to see me like that, I told myself over and over.

I knocked on Satoshi's bedroom door. When he didn't answer, I opened the door carefully and stepped inside. My brother was a third-year in middle school, now a bit taller, his hair a bit longer, and his eyes so much darker.

He had on a pair bulky headphones. I could hear his music clearly from the doorway. He hadn't noticed that I had entered the room, so he went about what he was doing; walking to his bookshelf. He stood on his toes and reached for the spine of a thick book with blue binding when his sleeve slipped back. That's when I saw dozens of thin red lines streaking all over his forearm.

I walked up behind him and grabbed his wrist, holding his arm up. He dropped the book out of shock and watched it thump to the floor. "Taka-bro, what are you doing?" He stammered. The headphones slipped from his head down around his neck.

I pushed his sleeve back to his shoulder noting every single scar, "Why did you do this?" I demanded to know.

"It's nothing I want to talk about with you." He glared at me hard. I let go of his wrist. He bent to retrieve the book and sat down at his desk, replacing the headphones to their earlier place. Not saying another word.

We entered the cemetery through the black, wrought iron gates. My aunts, uncles, and cousins were standing among the gravestones. The Host Club members were in a small huddle to the side, wearing suits. Haruhi was wearing a plain black dress. They gave me sympathetic looks as I walked behind my parents. The only person standing at the open casket was my younger cousin, Yasuchika.

I walked up to him and put a consoling hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me and stared into my eyes. His were glistening with tears. Without saying anything he hugged me tightly. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised. Yasuchika rarely hugged anyone. In a way, Satoshi was bringing everyone together.

I sat up in bed and stretched my arms, squinting at the Saturday morning light streaming in through my window. I looked in my desk's direction and noticed an envelope that had not been there when I went to bed. Curious, I got up to open it. Inside was a letter, written in my younger brother's uneven script:

Revered Brother,
I need you to understand that I just can't handle the pain of living anymore. Please don't blame yourself. You've been the best big brother anyone could ask for and I love you, Takashi. Goodbye,
Sato

I immediately dropped the letter and sprinted out of my room, nearly throwing the door off of its hinges. I ran, as fast as I could, down the hall to my brother's room. I could already hear the soft sobs of my mother.

My brother was lying peacefully in his bed. An empty bottle of sleeping pills was open on his bedside table. My father was sitting at the end of Satoshi's bed; a letter in his hands, similar to the one Satoshi wrote me. My mother was kneeling at his bedside, holding his cold hand.

Having my brother suddenly wrenched from my life was too much. I had leaned against the wall for support, but I let myself slide until I was sitting on the floor. I broke down freely. It was strange to stop being strong; to stop holding back. I sobbed for a long time then.

Everyone threw in his or her handful of dirt. My baby brother was underground. Gone. Knowing that left a tear in my heart– a gaping hole.

My mother put a single, blood-red rose in the stone vase next to his plot. She blew her nose into a handkerchief and walked sullenly back to my father. He hugged her for a long time.

Mitskuni walked up to me quietly, clutching his stuffed bunny to his chest. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks, splotchy from crying. He gave me his hand to hold as we walked back to our limousines, "It's okay to cry, Takashi. He'd never, ever, think any less of you."

I nodded, "I suppose," I gave him a faint smile. I looked in the opposite direction as a tear rolled down my cheek.

…and I'll never think any less of him…