The clouds hid the moon and stars from Homura's eyes, but the smothering stillness of the world around her made it clear enough that noon was still a distant light, that it was still the darkest hours of the evening, that she still drowned in the night. For once she was not alone: Kyouko limped by her side, leaning against her with a heavy arm. Only when they passed beneath a streetlight could Homura even recognize her face, see how her eye was swollen, her nose broken, her cheek torn open, still bleeding, even now. Her thick hair fell in disheveled strands, burnt, still smelling of smoke. Kyouko was so near her that Homura could feel her weakened heartbeats, flimsy and slowing down as if nearing a close. She felt her breathing, her pained exhalation and the thin cloud it made in the cold air.

Time and time again, Homura had seen Kyouko at her lowest, dead or dying, yet she had never looked frail. It was such a sad sight that it made her wonder if, perhaps, dying with Sayaka would not have been merciful. That had been her fate again and again, anyways. When Homura asked herself why she had saved Kyouko this time, no answer came. Not knowing the reason made her feel sick, as if she were only playing with Kyouko's fate out of curiosity, just to see what might happen. No, she shook her head, that's not it.

She was growing tired, too, in need of repose. She could find nowhere to rest, however. At night, even Mitakihara seemed hostile, uninviting, cold. The streets were empty but for parked cars, and all doors and windows were locked shut. Homura was used to the night, but its solitude always made her feel uneasy, wrong. Shrouded in shadow, the buildings around seemed to loom far above her, unnervingly oversized. Her own home was far, too far for her to reach quickly while also helping Kyouko with each step. But even the notion of leaving her behind made her feel disgusting, so she wrapped her arm tightly around Kyouko, and guided her patiently.

A more pleasant light caught Homura's attention, and she followed it. She did not often visit this area of Mitakihara, so it took her a moment to recall that there was a park nearby. A small one, too close to busy streets to be a place fit for relaxation in the day, but in the middle of the night, it seemed peaceful enough.

The smell of trees and fresh grass caught her unawares; this was nature almost unblemished, not like the fake forests of short trees planted around school. Homura could scarcely remember when was the last time she had been in a place that wasn't a city street, a building, a witch's barrier. How long…? A decade, at least, or maybe even more. Thinking of how much time she had been trapped in this labyrinth of her making knotted her stomach and nearly made her retch where she stood.

It had been too long, and that was enough.

She pointed at a small stone bench next to a rosebush, and though Kyouko nodded, it didn't seem to Homura that she was really paying attention to what was around her. Homura and Madoka had managed to stop most of her bleeding before they parted ways, but Kyouko was still in a poor state. Still, with guidance, she managed to sit down, spreading her legs and taking up most of the bench, leaving Homura to gingerly sit next to her, on the little space left.

Homura took slow breaths, trying to ease off, but at this point, she found that leisure had become anathema to her. Kyouko wasn't saying anything, either, and her silence was so strange, so uncomfortable. Homura wished she had a candy or something to offer her, if only to make things less awkward. She sighed and meant to get up and leave, but as she started to rise, she realized that Kyouko's hand was grasping at her, shaking. She looked at her face again, and saw that she wept. It was hard to notice without any lights nearby, but it was a hideous sobbing, her nose running, her face contorted and swollen. Worst of all, she didn't make a sound as she cried. This was wrong. Homura didn't let go of Kyouko's hand, but she couldn't say anything, either; she could not possibly offer any comfort that meant anything. So she just stood there.

"This," Kyouko said, gulping and choking on her own words as she tried to speak, "this doesn't… Doesn't mean anything to you, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what you are," said Kyouko. It did not surprise Homura. She had figured it out many times before, when she managed to live long enough to do so. Homura only nodded in confirmation. "You always know everything. Always know where people will be, and what they will do, and when. How many times have you been through this?"

"Many," she said, her voice a whisper.

"That's why you didn't want to do this, then. If I had understood this sooner, then I…" She shuddered, and put her free hand on her own wounded leg. "No, I think I would have tried it anyways," she gazed at Homura, looking for an answer.

"You would have," she agreed.

"You saved me," said Kyouko, "me and Madoka. Do you always do that?"

"Only Madoka, usually," Homura answered, and saw something akin to pain in Kyouko's face, but did not understand why that hurt. "You usually choose to die with Sayaka. Sometimes you misjudge her strength and get killed. Very rarely I can intervene in time, before you throw away your life."

Kyouko's grip tightened, painfully so.

"That's not throwing it away," she grit her teeth so hard Homura could hear the sound. "My death is not a waste if I can try and help Sayaka not be lonely for a moment."

"You are not helping her," Homura said softly. "You cannot help a witch. And you are more useful living, Kyouko."

"Why? So I can turn into a witch too?"

"Kyouko," Homura got up, and looked down on her. Seeing that sort of self-pity come from Kyouko of all people nearly drove her to anger. "Your life has value. And there are people who need you."

"No one needs me."

"I need you, Kyouko," she leaned to stare into her eyes. "I know what's coming. Walpurgisnacht is coming, and with her comes perdition. You have heard of her."

"I-"

"It wasn't a question. I know you've heard. And I know you never took the stories seriously until just now that I told you she is real. But she will be here before the week comes to its end. There will be no signs heralding her, no way to gather the magical girls of other cities. I've tried, long ago. If you are not by my side, Kyouko, I will have to fight on my own. And I cannot win alone."

"If you ask Madoka-"

"Then he wins," she said, and was suddenly reminded that the darkness around was so thick that Kyubey could easily be in hiding nearby. It didn't matter, she figured. He always understood what she was, too, before the end. "Please, Kyouko," she took her hand again, this time out of her own volition. Her fingers were rough, hurt, but Homura felt peaceful. Kyouko didn't let go, either, and with her other hand she wiped her tearful face.

"You'll have to be honest with me," she said. "Really honest. You're always hiding everything, always being cryptic… Like you don't want to tell us the truth."

"Every time I told you the truth," Homura explained, and already she remembered how it hurt, "you have hated me for it. You called me liar, drove me out. You, Sayaka, Madoka, Mami… Mami most of all…" She would not cry. She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "That is why I'm never honest. Honesty never did me any good."

"You seem to be pretty honest right now," Kyouko got up, her legs trembling, and had to hold on to Homura again.

"I am. And I have no way of knowing if it'll do me any good."

"So that means you have never done this before? Asking me for help like this?" She asked, and Homura nodded. "Why are you doing it now?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She smiled at her own foolishness, and remembered how smiles made things feel less uncomfortable. "When you were fighting Sayaka, and you were on the ground, bleeding… I felt like I could not let that happen. When I saw your face, so hurt, and I saw the tears coming out, how you were trying to say something but couldn't, because you were choking, because it hurt to speak, because you were spitting out your teeth," Kyouko opened her mouth, shocked, and put a finger inside to check, but Homura just continued, "and I saw you trying to get up, but you couldn't even hold your spear upright… I don't know."

"You do know," Kyouko remarked. "Honesty, I asked."

Homura sighed again. Instinct nearly drove her to let go of Kyouko's grasp and reach for her shield so that she could avoid this entire conversation. She restrained herself, this time.

"When I saw you that way, it felt to me that if I didn't act, if I let you keep fighting, I would lose something that was important to me," Kyouko let out a chuckle.

"I'm important to you?"

"I know you will not believe it. And even if you do, what difference would it make? If I told you that I was friends with you, in a different time entirely, would that even mean anything to you?"

"It might, if you meant it."

"I do mean it," she wanted to scream, but, somehow, feeling Kyouko's fingers touching her own made her less willing to do something rash. "I swear it. When we first fought together, when I still believed I could fix my mistakes easily if I tried hard enough, we were friends. Good friends, Kyouko. We all were."

"Were we happy?"

"No," she scoffed. "No, not really. Sometimes we were, I suppose, but we never had happy endings, or else I would not be here. If you ask for honesty, I will give it to you, but I also beg you not to make me tell you the things that happened. The ways we all hurt each other." Whenever Mami found out about the nature of the witches, she invariably killed Kyouko before all others. Homura figured that was best left unsaid.

"So… Do you care?" She asked, coming closer to Homura. "When we die, I mean. You must have seen it so many times… I thought that it wouldn't matter at all to you, since you've seen it again and again, but…"

"Of course I care. I'm not surprised anymore, nor do I cry, but I care. I used to care more, I'll admit. By now I've accepted that Mami and Sayaka must die before the month is over."

"Have you really been unable to save them?"

"Must I really talk about that tonight?" Homura blurted out. "I told you I'd be honest, but… I failed to consider how that would make me feel. Suffice to say, it is not for me to save Mami and Sayaka. Please understand that I am no savior. I thought I was, when I first gained these powers. I thought I could mend all wrongs. It used to make me feel so powerful," she laughed, bitter. "I could fix everything and save everyone, I thought. I could offer Sayaka guidance so that she would not be disillusioned. I could always be there for Mami when she endangered herself. I thought I could fix your pain," she put a finger on Kyouko's chest. "Forgive me for that," she said, and by then she was nearly breaking down. "For thinking I had the power to make you stop hurting. That your sadness was something for me to fix. That you needed to be fixed, even."

"H-Homura? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know what happened to your family," something stirred in Kyouko's eyes when she said that, but she didn't shove Homura away, nor did she seem angry. She just stood there and listened. "You've told me. And I used to think that if I were a good enough friend to you, that if you were close enough, you would be able to forget all that."

"Why are you telling me this? It was another time, wasn't it? You haven't hurt me here, not in any way."

"I know I haven't," she said, "but I wanted to be honest about that. I wanted to apologize for ever thinking of you as a person who needed help, and not as my friend. And you are my friend. Even if I'm not yours…"

"You are," Kyouko said, and those words made Homura feel so much lighter, safer, and it was as if for the first time in ages she actually had any firm ground beneath her feet. For once she did not feel like she was falling. "Look, I can't understand you the way you understand me. I know that. I know you've lived much longer than any of us. But everything you told me just tonight… And what you did for me, when you didn't have to… I feel like I should also apologize for not understanding you. Even if I had no way of doing so until we came here. But I think that now I do understand you a little bit."

"Kyouko…" Homura's arms felt weak, but still she rose them to hug Kyouko. Her touch was still familiar, as familiar as her embrace. She hadn't forgotten, as she feared she would.

The sound of leaves blowing to the wind broke the night's silence, and startled Homura. It made Kyouko snicker, though her eyes were still red, still sorrowful.

"I'll fight with you, then," said Kyouko. "Though we have such little time…"

"I always have little time," said Homura, getting a doubtful look from Kyouko.

"You're the person with the most time in the world, Homura."

"I wish," she said, letting go of the embrace, serious again. "But no. I only have this month, and I have lived it again and again. One month is not nearly enough time for me to do everything I must. I don't get much sleep. I must always prepare, must always ensure I can be where I must be. One month is never enough for me to ready myself to stop Walpurgisnacht, but it's also enough time for me to watch the lives of everyone I love get ruined. It's certainly not enough for me to make everything right. A whole month, lived again and again, and yet it always feels like everything happens in the last minute. I've lived this month for so long. Longer than poor Sayaka's entire life, at least," she sighed. "I really wanted to help her. I know you did, too. Sometimes I catch myself praying that you and Madoka will be able to save her from being a witch. I pray a miracle will happen. It never does. We can't save Sayaka. I wish she could save herself. Until now, she hasn't been able to do so."

"How many times, Homura?" Kyouko asked again, insisted.

"Sometimes I feel like I was born in the middle of the month. As if I sprung like this into the world, in the midst of horror and hopelessness. I don't remember any other sort of life now, nor can I imagine one. If this month ever ends, I don't remember how to live anymore. It terrifies me, Kyouko. What I've done to myself. The maze I'm stuck in."

The clouds had shifted, then, revealing a handful of stars and their pale light, but they did little to alleviate the darkness, and the wind only grew colder. The two girls huddled together for some warmth, but found little of it. The two found it best to keep moving, then, and soon they were back at the barren city, its streets tinted a soft orange by the lights around.

"I used to love Madoka," Homura admitted. "A mad love. It's why I wanted to save her most of all. I wanted to be the one to free her from her terrible fate. I wanted to protect her, and I wanted her to love me for that, to see all I have done for her, how much I struggled for her sake, all the time I gave for her. There was a time when I felt that she owed me her love for that, for my dedication, for all I had fought for her sake alone."

"Do you not love her anymore?"

"She was my best friend. For that I will always love her. But not in the way I used to. It only made me miserable, that sick desire, that need for her to admire me, love me. It made me see her not as a person but as a goal. Now I just hope I can be her friend again. That would mean the world to me."

Kyouko said nothing. She just continued to walk besides Homura, her hand on her shoulder. Her limp was still pretty bad, her gait slow, but now she did not look as if she was about to fall over and die. Still, her state worried Homura. The worst was knowing that Kyouko could do nothing about it. At a hospital, they would ask her questions she would not be willing to answer, about why she was alone, about her family, and why she had been hurt. Homura knew that Kyouko was well aware that magical girls could depend only on one another, and even that, sometimes, was too much to ask for.

"It's cold," Homura stated the obvious. "I don't think we should stay out too long."

"Yeah," Kyouko agreed. Sickness wasn't something they really had to worry about, but that didn't make the cold any less biting. "We split up now?"

"Don't be stupid," said Homura. "Look at your leg. You can't possibly walk home," she said, and then realized how stupid she had just been. Kyouko had no home, she remembered, it had burned down, and all she had left was a ruined, abandoned church. It made her feel a pang of guilt: though Homura had no family as well, they at least had left her their home.

"I can manage. You must know I'm resilient."

"It's not matter of resilience. Come to my house, Kyouko."

"Don't wanna trouble you," she mocked courtesy.

"You're stubborn. And not in a good way. You're coming with me, Kyouko. It'll be good for the two of us."

"Are you so worried I'm gonna sleep on a bench? I have magic. If I want to, I can just enter a hotel room unseen."

"You don't have to sneak into my house. That's got to be a plus. And, besides," she lowered her voice even though no one could possibly hear, "after what the two of us have been through tonight, we'd really best not be alone. If not for comfort, so that the little beast can't come trouble us. Please, Kyouko. Come with me. I want you."

Not need. Homura realized what she had said only after she spoke, but didn't bother correcting herself. It wasn't wrong, after all. She did want Kyouko. She had lost so much that was precious to her, time and time again, but whenever she looked at her side and saw the girl she supported, wounded but still brave, still beautiful and strong, she couldn't bear the thought of being apart again.