Spoilers abound if you haven't read TG:re and Jack.
There is a forest. There is the whiff of pine needles in the air, and there is the sound of faint laughter from inside the teahouse. There is a breeze blowing through the trees, and his eyes watch the gentle swaying ripple through the forest before it comes to him in a cold caress, and the light of the lantern burning beside him wavers for just a moment.
His vision of the polished wooden steps he is seated on go dark. In another moment the candlelight recovers, and suddenly, there is also a girl.
"Oh," She's holding a lantern as well, and her surprise is illuminated in a gradient of yellow and orange. Jet black hair is swept up in what he recognizes as a formal style, her slender neck rising from the many folds of a kimono. She sets down her light to clasp her hands in front of her and bow lightly, "Good evening, isn't it cold outside?"
She must be one of the staff, Arima thinks. A bit young to be serving in an old teahouse like Sugi, but he makes no comment on this. A bit young is nothing unusual for him. "I'm alright, thank you. I needed to step out for a moment."
All it takes is one turn of her head, one glance to the interior. It's probably discourteous to make one of Tokyo's most respected teahouses stay open after hours; raucous laughter and the sound of glasses clinking are what come out of a bar, not establishments like Sugi. But all the girl does is bow again. "If you say so."
She excuses herself with a smile. He breathes in the night air, but the girl comes back not long after, a tray in her hands. Two small plates; a cup of green tea, gray wisps rising into the air, and a cube-shaped rice cake. He's already had this set, and he deduces that this tray is of her own plating, judging by how it lacks—by the slightest few centimeters—a perfect symmetry in its arrangement.
"For you," The girl says as if it isn't obvious—
"I heard you were given a promotion. Congratulations."
–which is decidedly less obvious. She must've bumped into Marude, because only he would be so talkative. Arima takes the platitude with an obliging nod and an uttered thank you, but is surprised by the sincerity in her eyes, and when she decides to sit beside him on the walkway after she sets the tray down.
"It seems like it might rain, one of these days," she says out of nowhere after a moment, staring upwards. "Maybe even later tonight, if the forecasts are correct."
All he says is hmm. There are clouds hiding the moon, even now, in the dead of night; their outlines are gray with their edges frayed like torn cotton against an inked out canvas.
"Hope you brought an umbrella."
His eyes don't stray from the sky as he reaches for the tray. The teacup is warm in his hands. "Ah, no," he says without thinking, a furrow in his brow.
And naturally their conversation—if Arima could even call it that—is cut short.
The rest of the squad is piling out the teahouse, Marude plucking him from his seat and the girl smoothly moving the tray and herself aside to let them pass. There is no time even for a real goodbye; all he can do is spare her a glance over his shoulder, even if he feels Marude's eyes on him, hurry up kid, we've got to get back to 7th rattling off his lips.
But still she smiles, waves.
Please come back again, she says, and all he can do is stare back wordlessly, knowing he can't.
Later it does rain. He watches the droplets pelting against the windows of the CCG branch office, and for a moment he thinks of forgetting his umbrella, and torn gray clouds; pine trees and unfinished cups of green tea.
Notes:
Arima needs a hug. This is short - about eleven parts long only, if all goes to plan. Constructive criticism, as always, is welcomed.
(1) Sugi is the name for Japanese cedar.
(2) I'm going to be fiddling a bit with the timeline, but I'll be sure to point out when.