He held her hand, and the other watched from around the corner.

He was down on his knees looking up at his mother's eyes in the bed. Her once beautiful, bright eyes, we're now a much duller, drier color. Her slight glance felt like a stare that went right through him. He was not a crier that is unless the situation was worse than anything he could ever expect. The other, through all of his daily watching, saw him cry, only once. He cried when he was left with a terrible decision, one he simply could not fulfill. When they stood across from each other with guns pointed at each other's faces. That one instance had broken him and he could cry no more.

He did get angry though. He would go on little rampages out of nowhere, in the middle of the scramble. He would be walking along when suddenly he would just snap. He would scream and curse at nothing in particular. He'd punch the air and not care if anyone could hear his angry cries.

The other was careful to ensure when this happened, no one else could move or see him for the moment. Once he had calmed down enough, after kicking a trash can, or punching a wall, time around him would light up again, and he could walk off as if nothing had happened. He was probably aware of the invisible support, but he never gave it one thought.

Neku's mother had cancer.
At first it had been manageable. It was caught and diagnosed in its beginning stage, which allowed for easy treatment. For the most part nothing changed in their lives. She had to take medication every morning and go in for checks regularly, but everything stayed pretty calm for a while. It was the pain that got to her though, and was actually the reason she went to the hospital for a PET scan in the first place. When the region where she had felt pain lit up, it was final. Faces around the room were flushed in despair. Neku's father ran right to his wife's side, and they silently cried together. The doctor went to them to describe the necessary action that needed to be done by the family, and what she needed to do to live on for as long as possible. He told them that many people live with this sickness and are perfectly fine on a daily basis. They hung onto his words of hope so tightly.

Neku left the room. The doctor had forgotten to mention that all cancer eventually spreads. It was already close enough to her heart. He didn't want to hear the number meaning how long it was estimated that she had left. If he had really wanted to know he had a much more reliable source.