28 DAYS [MakoHaru]

twelve → 12/13

Chapter Twelve: December 13th

It goes without saying that Makoto is moments away from having a mental breakdown.

Those who know the boy typically would describe him as the sweet, patient guy who never gets irritated or mad. Usually, Makoto is content with pushing back his frustrations and putting on a smile (even if it's forced), but today is a completely different story.

The anger that is bubbling inside of him, boiling deep in his stomach, is white hot and dangerous. It churns within him, hungry for destruction, and he knows he's going to snap at  any moment. He knows he has to get out of everyone's way before he erupts like a volcano. He knows the feeling will pass, but while it's here, manifesting itself into a demon, he's aware he could so something he would regret later.

So he escapes.

He runs.

The moment the last bell rings, he bolts out of class, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and jamming earbuds in his ears. Music pours out, an old rock song he listened to from an old middle school phase, and it's the most beautiful thing Makoto's heard, because as he turns it up, it provides the white-noise silence Makoto needs to forget about Haruka, even if it's for a couple blissful minutes.

And so, he turns the music up, shutting out the world around him, and he is able to let go. The anger blurs his vision with red and he hardly remembers the train ride home; when he gets off he is running as fast he can to his home and tears into his house, out of breath.

No one is home. His mom must be out, picking up the twins from school. Makoto storms into his room, slamming the door so loudly the entire house vibrates.

"Death!" Makoto screams into his empty room. "Hey! I could use some help here, you know!"

He looks around the room, waiting impatiently for the man to apparate into his bedroom (he always seemed like the type to love to make grand entrances) or hell, even just walk through the door.

"Death! Quit playing around!" Makoto shouts, slamming the side of his fist on the wall angrily. "Come on! Can you hear me?! Death!"

"I can hear you just fine, thank you," A steely voice says from the corner, and Makoto whips his head around so fast his vision goes blurry for a second. Death is sitting on top of his desk, one leg crossed over the other, looking unamused. "I'd really appreciate it if you stopped shouting."

Makoto scrunches his nose up in disgust as he sees Death pull out a lighter and illuminate a cigarette. He is just putting the cigarette to his lips when Makoto puts his foot down. "Oh no, you are not smoking in here," He stomps towards Death.

"Do you have a problem with smoking, Makoto Tachibana?" Death says innocently, knowing full-well Makoto does. Judging by the look on his face, Death knows he doesn't need to say anything else. "You asked for me two seconds ago, and now you're kicking me out. That's not very hospitable, don't you think?"

"Smoking is terrible for you," Makoto lectures him. "You could get lung cancer and die."

"I'm Death," Death retorts with the same level of sarcasm he always has about him. "I can't die. Anyway, I have a feeling you didn't summon me here just to criticize my nasty habits."

Makoto is immediately reminded of the source of his anger and it flares up within him once again. "Right," Makoto says. "I need your help," He asks Death firmly, hands clenching into fists by his sides.

"Well I figured as much," Death rolls his soulless black eyes, taking a long drag on the cigarette. "Now what seems to be the problem?"

"You really have to ask that question?" Makoto accuses him, leaning against the far wall so he can get a better look at him.