Because Nana remembers Nobu's outburst long after he forgets it, she takes long enough to forgive him that Hachi comes to the fireworks when he locks himself in 707 and Nana demands happiness of her; afterward everything hollows out. She forgives Nobu the next day and isn't sure if she'll ever forgive Hachi. A few months later, reality bumps into her on a street corner and she can't forgive either of them, ever. So she leaves.
Nothing is the same after that. She can't stop missing Hachi. She knows the others have frozen time for her: her dreams taste like Trapnest's song. She becomes expert at hoarding her strength for the small impossibilities that once destroyed her: inhaling, laughing, breaking strawberry glasses. Somehow she ends up waitress-ing in Hachi's hometown. Hachi never visits her family. Nana knows because Nana eats lunch every Tuesday with the people who have finally given up worrying about or even remembering their middle daughter, who waste their leftover pity on ungrateful washed-up singers. She used to hate pity. She still does. This discovery rearranges one too many threads in her head. She has a nervous breakdown, considers the well-worn possibility of going to therapy. Instead, half a year later, she buys a one-way ticket to Tokyo without smirking at the irony.
When she gets to the apartment complex, everything looks the same. For a moment rage widens her eyes, hope sparking mid-throat before she stalks seven flights of stairs, realtor heaving clumsily in her wake. The old bitch doesn't understand why Fate dropped her such an unreasonable customer (707 is occupied) and Nana isn't about to explain the finer details of how not forgiving Hachi abruptly ceased to matter to a stranger. She fucking paid in advance, the hag shouldn't care. Some softer part of her, huddled in the shallows of memory, wonders what became of the nervous whiny-man who helped her the first time.
Knuckles bruise the door and before the knob finishes turning Nana bangs it inwards with perpetually-booted feet because some quirks are irreparable. Nobu's nose looks rather squashed under the sudden blood flow, his mouth askew with too much emotion. Nana's eyes sprint past him to her table, glaring. A little girl, unashamedly terrified, possesses Hachi's ringless left hand. Yazu steps over Nobu's tangled form, slams Nana to him in one familiar yank, muttering about idiots and trembling all the while. She thinks she hears Shin gurgle a laugh-sob. Yazu steps back. Across from Hachi, Ren stands calmly, holding her gaze. For the first time, the lack he always let her get away with doesn't cut it. He gives her a curt, "Hey," in bad English walking out. When she finishes staring after him, Shin has a white-veined hand firmly over Nobu's mouth as his eyes signal Yazu's in a way Nana doesn't remember from before. They shuffle out. It is only her, Hachi, and Hachi's daughter. Hachi changed everything, has just changed everything all over again: Nana won't find Ren a third time, knows she won't forgive Hachi this either. She realizes that the group gave up freezing time for her long before she considered coming home.
Except for Hachi. She beams, introducing her daughter, telling Nana cheerfully that money has been tight: she needs a roommate. The realtor, huddled in the hall out of the way of all the strange goings-on up to now, harrumphs her way to Nana, proffering a pen. Nana doesn't look as she signs her hard-earned peace away, simply waves the granny off afterwards. Hachi's daughter watches her curiously until bullied into a second bed in Hachi's room. Nana watches from the wall next to her old room, cigarette hanging off her smirk. When Hachi emerges, clicking the door gently behind her, she smiles painlessly at Nana, brimming with enthusiasm as she drags her wayward idol to the vacant bedroom. Nana digs her heels in to scan the dustless, otherwise untouched space presented her before allowing herself to be tugged to the mattress. Hachi settles complacently, babbling about everything everyone else has done during Nana's absence while Nana stubs out her fag on the headboard and stores away blunt questions about Takumi for tomorrow or never. Bastard doesn't deserve her curiosity.
Hachi sleeps somewhere around three, her arm flung out, fingers curled an inch away from Nana's side. Nana tracks the ceiling for another hour before invading dreamland. She doesn't wonder when she wakes with fingers clutching Hachi's hair, cold toes brushing her right calf, the sound of crayons on paper drifting through the walls. Hachi's eyes open shortly, puppy-like adoration still intact. Nobu's words romp through her consciousness. She decides that she'll forgive him once she meets his challenge.