Some time later, Homura is still in Mami Tomoe's apartment. Her back is resting against the couch while she sits at the half-cleared table. She examines her fingernails patiently in nothing but scattered street- and moonlight. She has nowhere in particular to go, no reason to do so. This battle is won, and she's not sure what to make of the war. The single constant, cruel fact that will never leave her plagues her thoughts while she thumbs over the purple diamond that adorns one of her nails.
A flop abruptly interrupts the silence. Homura's heart speeds in her chest and she breathes to calm it down.
"So, you never said."
Homura doesn't know what this interjection refers to. She considers it quietly, searching for any trace of connection to the specter she must be in Kyoko Sakura's memory.
"... What happened to yours. Your parents, I mean," Kyoko clarifies when nothing but breath follows.
"It is unimportant," Homura says, automatic and refusing to feel a thing.
"Yeah, prob'ly," Kyoko says, finger suddenly picking at a tooth. Abrupt as ever, she's up from lying on her back. She blinks a few times, taking in her surroundings and focusing on Homura where she sits past her feet.
"Is there a reason you ask?" Homura inquires. She has no reason to do so, but there's no reason for anything. Only one reason. It doesn't really matter which way she turns it around in her mind.
Kyoko shrugs.
"I dunno. Just seems like you might wanna tell us somethin'. You're the only one I don't know anything about," she says. Her eyes lose their focus a little and she looks down at her fingers.
Homura doesn't have to watch for very long to know what she's doing. Mouthing numbers or not, tapping thumb to fingertip or not, Homura knows what she's seeing. Kyoko is taking tally. One, two, three, and...
Just knowing the truth isn't always of much use.
The hand drops when Kyoko is finished. She has something of a snarl on her face as she begins to skew the things left on the table, searching for something to eat.
"Your parents know where you are?" she asks gruffly around a bite of hours-old cupcake.
"No. They do not," Homura says evenly.
"Right, right. 'Course they don't," Kyoko says. She gets up from the floor as changeably as she'd chewed on the dried, cold cupcake. She has completely lost interest in her line of questioning but hasn't left it without end. "Gonna go brush my teeth. Wouldn't wanna lose 'em!" She glances back over her shoulder at Homura and flashes a toothy, sharp grin. She reaches up, taps the point of one of her sharp incisors with the pad of her thumb. Then she looks away, headed toward the washroom.
Homura's fingers twitch atop her knee. Nylon is slick beneath her fingertips.
"What did you see... Kyoko?" She has no reason to ask but every reason to use her name. It is strategic, like every other thing Homura knows, does. It is informal, personal, and direct - the three things she knows Kyoko Sakura always is. There is no reason to ask, but none not to, either.
Kyoko's back tenses and she's still for a few seconds. She turns back to Homura where she stands. She shrugs, clearly trying to wriggle away bodily tension.
"Somethin' I shouldn't've. Wasn't any of my business, really." She holds eye contact until she pauses. Then, she's looking at the floor. Bared toes make an effort to grip at the carpet. When had she taken off her boots? "There was this... mom, I guess. One of the rooms. Shouldn't have even been in there, but I thought... I saw somethin'. Y'know, a wraith or somethin', but instead there was this mom and she was... holding her kid. But her kid was already dead, and she was... rockin' him back and forth, crying, but there wasn't a wraith in the place, y'know? They were all out... fightin'. Fighting us while... this lady... just... kept holdin' her kid while the world was shaking. And I just..."
She lifts her gaze but levels it at the window, following parallel to the blinds. Then it's off to the bathroom with her without another word. It isn't very far, and she leaves the door half-open. On the vanity, she fingers her way through a cup with more than one toothbrush. She takes one that must be hers. Homura just barely notices reflection coming back to her in the pale blue dark.
She looks down at the hem of her skirt and picks at a thread that's become bare. Kyoko hasn't realized it yet, but the power to fix even these things is right at their fingertips, worn in rings, held in palms. It's what they are now. Only, Homura still hears the gentle, rhythmic scrubbing. It goes on for two or three minutes. By the end of it, Homura knows she's staying.