After, and just that, because the part of her that has fire in her veins rails at letting that bastard Kamoshida define any more of her than he has already, Ann sits by Shiho's hospital bed and holds her hand. Shiho is pale under the fluorescent lighting and her eyes shadowed but she turns her palm over and grips Ann's fingers and there's strength there, Ann thinks, smiling even as her stomach churns, as her throat is so, so tight. There's strength in every inch of her.
They talk. It's long and messy and Ann can't stop crying but it's the cathartic kind by the end. They're not what they were and they'll never be again, but for the first time in a long, long time Ann has hope: in Shiho and in herself.
Ann leans in, presses trembling lips to Shiho's wet cheek, and swears that she will never, ever lose it.
Life takes you places, Ann reflects ruefully. Sometimes those places take you outside space and time and in the literal embodiment of a disgusting teacher's desires. Others, it takes you to the Shibuya underground mall on a Tuesday with Ryuji of all people. She would've never guessed finding herself meant finding Ryuji again too, but here they are, Ryuji slouching awkwardly with his hands crammed in his pockets, glancing around like at any moment he's going to be accused of petty theft.
"Whattaya dragging me all the way here for?" Ryuji scowls at her sideways, kicking at the ground like a honest to god petulant child. Ann flicks her fingers against his arm, rolling her eyes when he goes "Ow!" and rubs it like it actually hurt.
"Quit whining, you big baby," Ann says, tucking her hand into the crook of his free arm and somehow resisting digging in her nails. "And we're here because your roots are showing."
Ryuji squawks, hand flying up to his scalp, as loud and impossible as ever. Ryuji is such a boy is the thing, and Ann misses Shiho, sharply, but that's nothing new, really. She's been missing Shiho for a long time, months and weeks of a gap she couldn't bridge no matter how hard she tried. It's smaller now, Ann forcefully reminds herself, and watches Ryuji instead of letting herself mull on regret. "They are not, shaddup!"
They really aren't, but Ann still hums and makes a show of looking him over, biting down on a smirk. "I guess not," she says, shrugging. "But how about blue this time? You have to start working harder now that Akira has usurped you as Shujin's number one delinquent."
Ryuji snorts but something in him lights up at Akira's name and leaks into the grin that tugs up the corners of his mouth, brightening up his previously sullen face. Ann blinks, stares. Oh, she thinks. Her hand clenches in the heart on his sleeve and she wonders at it, at herself. "That nerd? No effin' way."
The affection underlying his scorn is palpable and Ann remembers a boy dyeing his hair blonder than hers and the megawatt brightness of his grin when he caught her staring at his head; remembers a trip to the aquarium; remembers sitting at lunch, waiting for the new coat of paint on her left hand to dry, and Ryuji taking her right hand, as easy as breathing, and painting the nails a matching electric blue.
Ann is sick and tired of missing people who are right next to her, of drowning in maybe's and what could've been's. The past is the past and Ann isn't squandering her second chance, not any of them.
"Too late," she says cheerfully, tugging him over to a vendor and letting go of his arm to snag bright pink sunglasses and slip them onto his face. Ryuji's face scrunches up in a way she might almost describe as cute—not that she'd ever tell him that to his face—and Ann pulls back her hands, grinning. "Hate to break it to you, Sakamoto, but you're old news."
"Yeah, yeah," Ryuji grumbles but poses for her new lock screen photo anyway. Ann buys the glasses after side-eyeing from the vendor and walks home with them on her face, arm in arm with a boy she is lucky enough to learn all over again.