Because I currently have an obsession with Rin Okumura but don't have enough written to publish the other Rin stories I've written. I hope you enjoy!

-------------------------<3

It felt like every other day for you. You skipped school again, locking yourself in your bedroom to stare up at the ceiling as thoughts you don't quite remember flooded your mind. There was a flash just outside your window, like a lightning bolt, and you carefully crawled across your bed to see for yourself what it was.

That was the day blue fire swallowed the sky, and took the lives of hundreds with it when it left.

A little more than a few years afterwards, you found yourself at the table, biting into a piece of toast with raspberry jelly spread across it. You don't know why you bothered to eat, but sometimes your stomach demands you get up off your butt and walk to the kitchen to shovel toast into your mouth while your parents are out working. Yeah, the human body is weird, and yeah, you hate it.

You haven't been to school in years. It was nothing short of boring for you, but it wasn't like you were dumb. In actuality, you were quite the opposite; a genius in most fields you tested in, so you didn't see the point.

Besides, you severely lacked the motivation you'd require to set an alarm and wake at what you'd consider ungodly hours of the morning.

Six a.m.? Hasn't existed to you since elementary school. Your mornings typically began around noon, and nights ended at two a.m. That's just the way things were for you.

You liked doing things on your own, whenever you wanted to do them. Kept things simple in your opinion, but others found themselves easily aggravated by your unique style.

You didn't care.

Most people didn't matter - let alone exist - in your little world.

You can clearly remember your mother scolding you once about not having friends, saying, "you need to expand your world!" but what did you need other people for? Emotional support? Advice? Fun? There was no way you were going to attempt to find such trivial things in people you deemed idiotic - which was basically the entire human population.

But anyway, you bit into what would be your second piece of toast that morning when your appetite diminished, much to your surprise, of course. Had you finally gained the control over your body you so desired?

No. Unfortunately, your being controls itself, and in no way are you ever going to be able to stop yourself from feeling hungry - or feeling at all (no matter how hard you try).

You set the practically burned bread down on the bright white glass plate in front of you with a heavy sigh. Your hunger had vanished and was replaced with something you dreaded more than toast and some uninteresting condiments you forced yourself to eat more than you'd care to admit.

You leaned back in the wooden chair you decided to claim a few years ago when you engraved your name on the back with a butcher knife. The cross-stitched emblem of your family's crest was starting to wear away and fade with age.

The crest showed a lion for bravery and a hawk for freedom. You didn't particularly care for it, but it didn't bother you as much as most people did.

You would only admit it to be just the slightest bit interesting, though you'd never tell anyone if they asked.

You glanced down at the marble-colored tile floor beneath your chair and visually traced the cracks in the square stone until you tired of even that.

Days you felt like this were the worst for you. You wanted to do even fewer things than you usually did.

Even talking seemed to be too much work for you. Forming words, thinking, making vocal sounds? Not a single noise when you felt like this.

It felt as though you sat there for hours before you mustered enough energy and strength to stand from the chair and stumble your way back to the only place you felt safe - your bedroom.

You couldn't even make it to your bed before you let yourself fell to the floor.

You didn't know how to describe how you were feeling. It was like you were sad, but couldn't bring yourself to tears. Empty and lost without knowing why. Tired like you were hopeless. Like the world was just out to get you, and you just couldn't find anything better to do than lie on your floor feeling worthless as you reminded yourself of just how disappointed your parents were with you.

You couldn't help but remember the things you had done while feeling this way, and it brought back the reason why you weren't allowed to have sharp objects anymore.

You glanced down at the upraised scars that littered your wrist and sighed, letting your eyes fall closed.

That was the last thing you could recall before there was a knock at your bedroom door that startled you from what you assumed was sleeping.

"(Y/N), sweetie," your mother's gentle voice called to you through the door, through the layers of anxiety that clouded your mind, and the walls you put up around yourself, filling you with a warm feeling. "I know you don't like school, but you're scaring your father and I. We barely see our beautiful child anymore, and we don't know what else to do."

Your heart sank and you felt guilt pull at your heart like a heavy weight desperately clinging to you as if it was held by a thick metal chain. You hated the way guilt felt.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. We've decided to sign you up for high school. I know you don't want this, I know, but you can't lock yourself in there forever..."

"I'm fine, mom," you replied slowly, hoping she wouldn't find something in your reply to worry more about.

"You'll be going to True Cross Academy. Please do your best, and make some friends, okay? I know you can do it, baby. I believe in you."

You heard her soft footsteps echo down the hallway, slowly growing quieter. When you couldn't hear them anymore, you started to panic.

A huge school? With lots of strange people? You didn't really fit the studious type that such a highly regarded school required. It scared you. You were going to be an outcast all over again, and you didn't know if you'd be able to handle it.

You took your time getting to your feet before you threw your bedroom door open, the metal handle hitting the blank white walls with enough force it surely left a dent.

"School?!" You demanded an explanation, and your mother turned away to wipe at her eyes with a tissue.

"We don't know what to do anymore, (Y/N)," your father replied as calmly as he could. "You almost never leave your room, and we're scared we're going to lose you."

"We've tried to take you to a therapist," your mother spoke after, and her voice seemed to shake. "We don't want to wake up one day and find that we weren't able to do enough for our precious child."

You grit your teeth. They were your parents, and you loved them more than words could express. They never did anything to upset you, so you figured it was about time you gave back to the ones who raised you with so much love and care.

"I'll go."

The first two words from your mouth brought smiles to your parents' faces, your mother beginning to tear up again.

"But I'm starting with the exorcist school they have there. No real school. When should I expect to leave?"

"Oh, sweetie, that's fine!" Your mother dabbed at her eyes once more.

"I know it's soon, honey, but you have to leave tomorrow. You'll be staying in the dorms to get the most out of this experience," your father nodded.

"Oh, I'm so happy!" Smiles were permanently set on their faces, but yours held less enthusiasm, as expected.

You didn't want this. School was always a pain, if anything. But, your father and mother were exorcists, so how hard could it be?

You gave a slight nod of your head and walked back into your room, making a mental list of all the things you'd need to bring. Mostly because you didn't own many outfits. Why change your clothes if no one ever sees you?

You had to stand on your toes to pull your suitcase down from the shelf above your closet. Thankfully, it wasn't as dusty and old-looking as you thought it would be. It actually seemed a bit too clean for something that had only ever been touched a few times, let alone used, by your standards. But nonetheless, you were glad. You hated when your things were dirty.

Instead of picking through the few outfits you had, you just tossed whatever fit you into your suitcase along with a few books you had been planning to read but didn't get around to.

You don't know when it happened. When the scent of smoke drifted into your bedroom from under the door. When you tried to grab the doorknob but it burned the palm of you hand with just one touch. When you threw the window open and tossed your suitcase out before climbing out of the suffocating house. When you turned around and saw fire consuming your home, crackling and popping as the roof soon caved, collapsing in on what once was your bedroom.

You don't know what compelled you to run back into the fire, screaming through the thick layers of smoke as the foul air filled your lungs over and over again. You prayed for the first time in your life, begging god to keep your parents alive.

You felt your eyes sting, your skin burn and you wanted to cry, but your parents - your only family - were in that house, and you needed to find them.

You never did.

You kicked down the front door when the lack of oxygen finally got to you. You needed to breathe, and you didn't want to accept the fact that it was too late. That your parents had most likely burned to ash before you had even went back for them.

You don't remember what the time was when you called the fire department, begging them to come and save your parents, but you recall feeling like hours had passed before they arrived, the fire already starting to die out as they doused the area with water.

You watched the charred structure beams snap and fall, tossing hot coals about the ash, before you closed your eyes and let yourself cry.

"Miss," a man who appeared to be in his late twenties put a hand on your shoulder, but you didn't turn to him. "You have serious burns. An ambulance will be here shortly to take care of you."

You gave your head a faint nod to show him you understood, and he walked back to the other firefighters.

You felt like you were drowning beneath waves of regret. Not once did you ever tell your parents you loved them, and it killed you inside. You never said three simple words with the strongest meaning in the world, and your parents died thinking you didn't love them.

A loud siren echoed in the background of your mind and you were moved onto a gurney to make it easier to help you into the ambulance and escort you to the hospital for inspection.

They checked your lungs many times while you were there, as two nurses with simple faces dressed and wrapped your burns.

You were silent and heartbroken. Your whole world was destroyed before you, and even your physical pain couldn't compare to the agony you suffered in your soul.

"You inhaled a lot of smoke," the older doctor in the room had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, small amounts of white hair peeking out from under the cap he wore, and spoke in a slow voice you could've sworn you recognized.

Not long after the doctor left the room, you stared up at the bright lights that lined the plain white ceiling, tracing down the plain white walls with your eyes to keep yourself from thinking back to the fire. The sting of your burns when you moved and the agony from your lungs when you inhaled and exhaled was just the tip of the iceberg of painful reminders.

Then it dawned on you. You were far more alone than you ever were. It wasn't like the mornings you sat at the empty table in the oddly silent room as the heating system hummed away while your parents were at work. This time, you were completely alone, with no one coming to visit you in the hospital, and greet you at home with warm, joyous smiles when you got out.

Your parents were gone, and they weren't coming back.

Your shoulders shook as you tried to fight back tears, the fresh wounds on your body growing irritated with your movements, worsening your pain, which made you want to cry more.

"Ma'am?" A kind-looking nurse gave a gentle knock on the door before sliding it open. "Are you alright? Try not to move, you'll hurt yourself more. Here," she set a tray with a glass of water and two painkillers in your lap and you downed the medicine in one gulp before drinking the water like you had been dehydrated for months. It helped soothe the burning in your throat from the smoke, giving you something to hold on to. Because in that moment, more than ever, you were ready to let go.