18. Panic

A horrendous screech ripped through the air, tearing through the skies of the peaceful morning.

"Using different phrases for the same word creates different meanings, and more often than not, it'll accentuate the effect of the sentence," Nao explained, holding his book up comfortably, writing the words on the board, "shouting, screaming, shrieking, and screeching. They mean the same thing, but one feels stronger in power than the other."

"Kuma-sensei, Korosensei sounded like he was dying in the other room just now, is that alright?"

"In contrast, the phrases 'yell' and 'holler' seem to give a more non-aggressive vibe, so you can use it for other situations-- a groan of resignation, or a friendly, faraway call," Naomasa resumed class, "depending on which you choose, you can give a new effect to different scenes, and perhaps imbue scenery, mood, and tone. It'll be useful, so all of you need to brush up on vocabulary as much as you can."

A thundering clank shuddered through the classroom door as it snapped open, some yellow monstrosity charging its way into the classroom spluttering blames of "tabasco! tabasco! you put TABASCO in my ice box! why would you do that!"

"I put some white chocolate in there too," Naomasa smiled sweetly. 

"An angel!" Korosensei shrieked, "it's an outside face! a farce! a devil in disguise! A beast!"

"Like a Sadistic Ghost haunting you so you can't sleep at night?" Nao suggested, "oh wait, two explicit references in a row is illegal, let's try that again. Actually, chocolate chili ice cream is a thing, maybe you could use this as a chance to give it a try."

"Don't change the topic!" he screamed in despair. "This is harassment!"

"And this is disruption to an ongoing class," Nao returned.

"Aren't you getting better at this?!" 

"Really? Thank you."

—

"Kuma-sensei, aren't you teasing Korosensei a lot nowadays?" Maehara couldn't help but laugh as he remembered the scene, "well, at least it's amusing."

Okano agreed with a nod,  "though, it's a little sad to watch because he can't do anything back to you."

"It's revenge," Nao grumbled, crunching his can of coffee open spitefully, "he filled Ms Autonomous up with some dumb information, so it's like I've got two obsessive mothers now."

Eyes were turned to the girl in the cyber bucket, but the girl only smiled, holding up the kanji for 'Ritsu' before her like she was expecting the teacher to use it too. 

Naomasa only gave the girl a rather forced smile, not very well intending on using the name. He downed his coffee like it was a can of beer, giving a disgruntled groan as his phone chimed again. 

There was a message. He clicked his tongue. He read it, and didn't reply.

"Did something happen?" Kayano suggested, "you seem awfully riled. You're usually only like that on checkup days."

"He's drinking black coffee," Nagisa observed, "you usually drink Cafe Au Lait, so is something bothering you, Kuma-sensei?"

Nao turned his eyes to the new little note at the side of the board, announcing to the class that Wednesday was checkup day for their teacher-- and sighed, because today was only Tuesday.

"Doctors are the bane of my existence," he grumbled.

"Actually," Ritsu raised up the word 'bane' on the screen, crossing a red X over it, "to be accurate, doctors are the reason for your current existence," she altered the word accordingly.

Her smile was so bright and inviting, Naomasa couldn't bring himself to banter back.

If not for the doctors, he'd have died long ago. However, was it really the better option for him to have survived this long? He's struggled, burdened by the weight of a sickness only called by name. Yet, in the end-- death seemed inevitable.

If it was time and treasures, he didn't want to earn them just to lose them again. If it was living, he'd already experienced much of it in his previous round. Was there a point in living when the only thing he'd see here was nothing new?

If I love too much, I'd hurt to see them go. But if I love too little-- somehow, that's sad too.

Love, love, love. That should be a foreign concept for Kunomasu Naomasa. All he could ever muster to form in his heart was bullshit nurtured from books, studies and movies. What even was love? A pitiful story concept made for dreadful melodramatics, that's what.

Kunomasu Naomasa was a man that didn't know love. Never experienced love. Failed to ever treasure love-- because he was far too lost to accept love. 

He was fine empty. 

He was fine alone. Left aside; quiet and in solitude; in a little, cramped corner that shielded him from harm and interaction as he waited slowly, steadily, for Death to come take him.

He didn't like to be smothered in care and affection.

He never had that when he was younger, so he didn't need them now, either.

Sleep. Maybe if he never woke up again, he would never have to agonize over this issue. 

"I'm getting an uninvited guest," Naomasa mumbled, sneezing at a chill, "personal issues, the usual. Also, the rainy season's coming by, so making my way up the mountain's gonna be harder from now on."

"An uninvited guest?"

"Let me forget it," he groaned. 

The students stifled a laugh, "Kuma-sensei, you're a busy person, huh?" they joked, sipping in their last mouthfuls as the bell tolled for the end of lunch.

"We can't use the carriage if it's raining..." Isogai realized, "if it's raining heavily, even building a roof overhead wouldn't work."

"Kuma-sensei can make it up the mountain just walking on his own," Kataoka suggested, "how about whoever sees him on the way helps with with his luggage or something?"

"We could hold his umbrella for him," Kurahashi offered cheerfully, "it'd be like sharing an umbrella! Oh, doesn't that sound romantic?"

Nao watched them with a suppressed smile, rather glad to have their company. The can of coffee was cold and wet against his palm, but he simply watched it chill in his hands. 

"I'll be fine," he reminded himself.

Another message lit up his phone, and this time, he didn't read it.

  —  

"You've been ignoring your brother's messages, haven't you?"

Ms Sakurai was not pleased about it. Her hands were at her hips, her eyes were scrunched into a rather stern glare. But somehow, Nao felt that getting scolded by her was the better option.

"I don't like him," Nao grumbled, closing the gate without as much as a glance toward his surrogate mother, "you know that, he knows that."

Ms Sakurai tidied the yellow carnations, keeping a watchful eye on the man. His suit was barely neat, but he looked tired after a day of work. He brushed his gelled hair into a mess, and curled up his sleeves to help carry the pots in.

"He's worried about you," Ms Sakurai offered with a sigh, putting down her scissors, "he is a doctor, and he became one for you, Naomasa."

"Kazumasa's taking care of Kazane's kid, isn't he?" Naomasa groaned out, frowning, "because she ran away from home, got a kid, then tossed him aside with the father."

"That's not what happened, Naomasa."

"That is exactly what happened!" he snapped, smashing his hand toward the wall. 

A pot of aloe leaped, tumbling forward, rolling aside-- tipping forward, it crashed and shattered, to pathetic pieces of jumbled soil and clay, splashed across the ground, bringing the Eustoma blooms with it as it crushed into debris, broken. 

There was a painful silence.

Ms Sakurai was petrified, quiet, in place, eyes wide in horror--

Nao couldn't move. He felt the fear, the terrified realization just strike him in the chest, seeing clearly what he had done. He couldn't turn to look at his mother, he couldn't bear to.

A heat welled up in his chest, burning hot, a searing pain splicing through his heart-- he grasped at it, and felt the tears spike through his eyes.

The guilt was eating him out already.

How could he have just-- blown up at Ms Sakurai like that?

She didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of any anger at all. She was a woman, the only woman, the only person, that'd ever loved Nao. Did he just ruin it?

"I'm-" the words were painful, so painful, "I'm... sorry..." he actually had to struggle to pull through those syllables, to force that phrase right from his throat.

There was a ringing in his ear as his mind tossed. Turned, spun, whirled. His vision was a blue, maybe because it was darting around all over the place. What should he do?

Apologize? No, sorry wouldn't cut it! He just-- snapped-- at Ms Sakurai. 

This was terrible. He was terrible. He needed to fix this. Fix it. But it was in pieces. The plants-- the plants Ms Sakurai worked so hard to grow, they were ruined because he, a fucking adult, didn't control his goddamn emotions.

"I'm sorry," he spluttered right out, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

His eyes found the stairs, and he just ran.

"Naomasa!"

He ran, clutching his chest, pulling step after step after step after step; not breathing, not taking, not seeing-- he was just moving. He rushed frantically, charged into the room he recognized as his own, and the door was bolted shut before he knew it.

He curled up, small and tight; not wanting to see, not wanting to hear, not wanting to think. Not wanting. Not wanting, not wanting.

The world was scary. He wanted to just crawl up and die. His life was a mess, everything was ruined, the world was pointless. No it wasn't. Yes it was.

Nothing went his way. Nothing was ever his way. 

Life was just awfully hard like that and he had to bear with it. He messed up, now what? Is there a reset button? If he died again could he restart like this one? Better yet, let me die and stay there. Life was terrible. It was terrible. I don't want another round. Let it end. Please.

He didn't want to think. 

He wanted time to turn back to maybe three minutes ago.

A hand gripped so tight over his chest his shirt was surely crumpled-- was he crying? No. He was wallowing in an agony he didn't really understand.

I'm sorry, he just kept thinking.

His heart hurt.

He didn't want to sleep. If he woke up, he'd be disappointed to see the world in front of his eyes.

Everyone has those moments they wished life would stop, and they could live in one moment forever, never needing to shoulder responsibilities and face mistakes in their lives.

To the mentally weak, even such small, insignificant moments can drive them to tears, to self resentment-- but it's not quite what they would call clinical depression. They're just frustrated, stonewalled-- stymied with human injustice.

Unable to face reality, they just panic.

They panic, and then, they cry. They cry, mourn, and they despair.

But don't worry about it. When they wake up, they'll be fine.

It doesn't matter if you've got a knife in your heart, you have to be alright. Even if you bleed, cry, or scream until your voice is hoarse-- the cruel river called Life won't stop flowing anytime soon.

You just have to suck it up and face it.