AN: For whatever reason, I find myself very inspired by this story, as weird and offbeat as it is- hence the quick update. You'll probably see new sections soon as well.

A Name and Nothing More

Part Two:

The woman finds the idea that she has never visited or at least seen Tokyo before staggeringly unlikely. The name of her true home, other than the unhelpful certitude that it is in the greater Tokyo area, does not do much to illuminate things, but the proximity of the two places assures her that, in the course of her life, a great many reasons must have emerged for her to visit this humongous place. A thousand different roads of opportunity, all knotting round each other, only similar in their eventual destination: the streets that the woman finds herself seeing, blindly, as if for the first time. She cannot help but smile as she moves through Shiodome, only half settling on the concept of taking a metro to the city centre at some point in the near future, once her directionless ambling becomes tiresome.

For a place with over nine million people crammed into its ultra-modern and ultra-cramped living spaces, constructed in such way as to seem likely to disintegrate if the sun stared at them too strongly, the woman thinks that everything is pleasantly quiet. It is mid-day, and probably a working day, I suppose. She can hear her footsteps on the street as she walks underneath signs that are cold and dim, though she knows all of them will ignite like a surge of bombastic neon firecrackers when night comes. The cacophonous hum of electric cars on smooth tarmac roads makes her feel like her footsteps are accompanied by their own cicada-led orchestra. The clash between the low-level flats and the titanic skyscrapers brushing shoulders with the clouds only makes her head feel dizzier.

I must seem like a tourist at the moment, with how little any of this place is making sense to me. Indeed, her roving eyes and oft ungraceful steps attract a fair few glances from business men and single mothers with pushchairs. Several of the business men could well be looking for an altogether different reason, and she makes sure to send those select few the same glare she gifted the man in the elevator. Look how fast they run away- I really am terrifying! she thinks cheerfully.

The woman, however, is also feeling the strange clash of being comforted by discomfort. The lack of lucidity, the very fact that everything in her field of vision is strangely outside of her perception- like she is looking through a telescope at something only inches away from her grasp- means that there will inevitably be surprises around every corner. With the way things are going, the woman will be more surprised if she sees something that doesn't surprise her. She has written an agenda for herself: aside from simply exploring, the woman will call the numbers of "Hachiman", "Yui" and the unnamed number too, but the selfish part of her mind tells her indignantly that the wonders of this dream-like city, for the moment, should be enjoyed alone.

Once Shiodome's bizarre assortment of hotels, not unlike the one she has come from (whose name is now teetering away from her), all start to look a little similar, the woman opens her phone and does a quick search for the nearest metro station. Thankfully, it is only a couple of streets away, and she saunters her way towards it, her gaze never once leaving the directions on her phone screen, as if they were the trick of an illusionist which would vanish if she broke eye contact. After hitting two passerbys head on, and crossing the road in ignorance of the traffic lights to the loud protestations of pedestrians and drivers alike, she looks up to see the blue-winged symbol of the metro fluttering above her head. She doesn't bother reading the station name, walking down the steps blindly.

The woman reaches the gate, holding up a slew of people behind her waiting to board the train. She looks at the platform name, the heavy metallic glinting of the train-line, the gate where she should be scanning her ticket; realising that she doesn't have any clear destination in mind, she steps aside for the fast-forming queue behind her to pass. One of them, a high-schooler with a face and clothes that seem intentionally catered to an impression of delinquency, swears at the woman rudely as she does so. The woman ignores him, all of a sudden staggered by the drowning sensation crashing against the walls of her skull, like vicious waves on a cliff-face.

She has toyed with the notion of going to the city-centre, but this now bores her intensely. I don't want to see clinical shopping centres- I would like to go to a shrine, somewhere a bit more personal. The woman can't say why her resolve would shift so suddenly, but indeed, with how little she can recite about herself, about this Yukinoshita Yukino, perhaps going somewhere quieter will ground her racing mind, which appears to be flying away like a tent blown about in the wind. Why on earth was I telling myself that discomfort is comforting earlier? What a ridiculous, nonsensical thought. Discomfort is in no way fun, and having fun was definitely on my agenda for the day. I very rarely have fun.

I very rarely have fun.

The woman can imagine Yukinoshita Yukino's aloof voice saying something like that.

Before the thought can truly materialise, she finds herself rummaging through her handbag. I could have sworn I had something that… ah yes, here it is. In her wallet there is a metro-card- for a brief second, she thought a memory of herself using it very often became clear through the foggy lighting of the subway. But then she blinks, and the whole presence of fog in the station at all reveals itself to be untrue. She shrugs dismissively and swipes herself through the gate with the card, stepping onto the nearest train without looking at the line, or where it is destined.

There are barely ten people in her carriage. Choosing to sit obnoxiously close to another high school student, this time a girl with a pair of gigantic glasses, swiftly draws their attention to her. When the girl looks her way, and the immense glasses come into full focus, the woman decides the reason for their size must be that the girl is staring directly into her soul. I should ask her what it looks like, the woman thinks; she goes on to determine that it would look like a cat, for no reason in particular. Either way, I imagine what it looked like would tell me a lot of new things about Yukinoshita Yukino-

"A- are you simple or something?"

The high-school girl's intimidated voice catches the woman off-guard. Not because it in anyway offends her, but because the voice itself possesses a tone of such natural timidity that the harshness of the words barely register. She might have told her that her family had dropped dead, and the woman would still have let out an "aww".

The inappropriate noise does not do much to settle the girl, yet it also baffles her so much that whatever she had planned to say next, no doubt a witty retort of some kind, is instantly nipped in the bud. Still, for the sake of politeness, the woman shifts a couple of inches away from her.

"My apologies- I should have at least introduced myself. Still, did your mother not tell you it's impolite to insult people? I understand that I sat rather close to you, but I would advise you treat others with the appropriate decorum." Once again, the woman is in awe of her icy voice, which could not be more of a contrast to the high-school girl's.

"… I'm sorry, y- you didn't need to introduce yourself-"

The girl, unable to process quite what is happening (thus making two of them), says her apology meekly and ducks her head.

"Oh, really? How disappointing."

"D- disappointing?"

"I was under the impression we were about to have an argument. Do you like arguments? I have a feeling that I am quite fond of them. I wouldn't be able to say why, but tearing down another's opinion in favour of your own seems like it would be very entertaining."

"I don't know what you want me to say-"

"I think you should apologise for disappointing me by not engaging in an argument."

"B- but I just apologised-"

"Go on. Or do you still want to have an argument?"

"I… don't. And I'm… and I'm sorry for misleading you that we were about to have an argument?" she says, increasingly overawed.

"Well, that settles things. I accept your apology, but I really would have preferred it if you had argued with me. Perhaps we might have fallen in love! Falling in love happens because of arguments, doesn't it? That's probably how the world works. Though I don't know if it would have been "lady-like" to fall in love with a woman. Or "lady-like" in the way that someone like Yukinoshita Yukino sees things."

"… Are you going to kill me?"

"Absolutely not! That definitely wouldn't be ladylike. Though I might ask the favour of directions."

"Directions where? Back to the asylum-"

"To a shrine. I've chosen to go to a shrine, but I have no idea where I might find one."

"A shrine?"

"Yes, a shrine. Have you heard of them? The name came to me out of the blue, but I can't really remember why I'm in Tokyo or what I'm supposed to be doing today, so I suppose I shall be going to a shrine."

By this stage, the high-school girl is so far out of her comfort zone that the urge to flee is written in bold font across her face, and possibly underlined several times.

"… Which shrine?"

"Just a shrine."

"What do you mean, just a shrine, you crazy-"

"Oh please calm down, you'll disturb the other passengers." The woman gestures to the others in the carriage, as if they are not all watching their conversation with a similar confusion. "Simply name me a shrine, and how to get there, and I promise I will not bother you any further."

"… What about Meiji-jingu? T- that's nice and far away from me! And it's only a ten minute walk from the station two stops away! How about that?!"

The woman glances at the station map above on the sliding train doors, and failing miserably to understand it, elects to take the girl at her word. "Alright: Meiji-shingu, did you say?"

"No, Meiji-jingu-"

"Alright! Meiji-shingu it is! Thank you very much for your time, Stranger-chan; you have been a great help. In fact, I don't think it would be amiss to say that you are my new closest friend. Yukinoshita Yukino is clearly not the sort to have a lot of friends, so I think that this day can already be seen as a resounding success."

"…"

The woman leaves the train, two stops later, feeling well and truly reinvigorated about the day to come. Unfortunately, this is very much at the expense of the girl she had sat next beside, who will spend the rest of her own day glancing nervously over her shoulder.

The traditional torii gate to be found outside the gardens of Meiji-jingu was once intended as a borderline which, upon passing underneath it, even the most abrasively loud of people would fall into passive deference of the gods. Yet gods, for all the airy bluster of immortality that surrounds them, are more expendable than they would care to admit; nowadays, the torii gate of Meiji-jingu is less a sacred borderline than a glorified selfie location. The woman, perhaps sensing that religious devotion was not an integral part of her character even before, sees no tragedy in the reduction of old Shinto deities to a plastic exhibit for tourists. If everyone else is doing it, then I may as well cheapen them too, she thinks brightly, lifting her iPhone and capturing herself with the rectangular structure standing tall behind her head.

Nonetheless, she is surprised to find the sight of the gate invested with a certain kind of revelatory power, despite the fact it isn't spiritual in the slightest. There, glimmering like a misplaced jewel bobbing in the ocean, is a scene of such concrete clarity in her mind it could well be a memory. A memory in which she, Yukinoshita Yukino or whatever variant upon that, is dressed in the well-ironed clothes of a schoolgirl, with red ribbons in her silky black hair. She is stood beneath a gate much smaller than this one but similar enough to awaken the memory from its drunken stupor. The gate is red, a brighter red than the hair ribbons, and a somehow cynically impressed look warms her face, a composite emotion all too in-keeping with the woman's idea of who Yukinoshita Yukino might just be. And, accompanying this candidate for a memory, comes the name of a place: Kyoto.

It would be fair to assume that this was a school trip; it can't be too unusual for schools to go to a place like that. I can't see anyone with me, but then again, this is Yukinoshita Yukino we're talking about. For her, being alone can't be too unusual either.

The woman looks sparingly at the photo she took, admiring it in spite of its astonishing lack of focus, and then at the dots of other tourists gawking at the entrance to the shrine. The woman still doesn't know whether she is a tourist or not: she came to Tokyo two days ago, of that there is no doubt, but precisely what for, whether such visits are regular occurrences, and a hundred other possible details about her presence in the Japanese capital lay open in her brain like holes in a sieve. Leaving the vibrant humming of the city behind her, the woman weaves ungracefully through some of those dots of people and into the therapeutic stillness of the shrine gardens.

The trees, overarching an enormous pathway that approaches the shrine, have an inherent beauty which captivates the woman for approximately four minutes and forty eight seconds. While not being very long, the woman's splintered headspace is burdening her with the attention span of a fruit fly, and so before she gets half way to the shrine she is already sitting down on a bench. Why on earth did I think I wanted to go to a shrine? I need to be in a shopping centre to be having fun- much less personal.

And then, in the same way a student might raise their hand for their sensei, another word arrives at the forefront of her senses, rather like the word "shrine" had come to her earlier. Family. The Japanese over work culture is such that the nuclear family might as well be registered on the endangered species list, and the woman cannot remember seeing a single such family throughout this whole day. Single mothers, but never a mother and father and child in unison. I bet that I'm overworked in the job I have. Actually no, Yukinoshita Yukino would just be overworking herself anyway. Or overworking other people. I bet my whole family overworks other people! The Yukinoshitas will be that sort; corporation runners, trendsetters, the kind of people you'd see on one of those "Recipe for Success!" adverts on the subway.

The woman goes back into her bag and pulls out the note written by Yukinoshita Yukino, compelled to do so by a paragraph she remembers in its latter half. A paragraph on "responsibilities" and the "unhappiness" they bring- responsibilities performed with what Yukinoshita describes as "miserable regret". Something tells me that Yukinoshita Yukino could have done with some counselling, the woman thinks matter of factly. I'm no psychiatrist, but such things reek of childhood-related emotional trauma brought about by a strenuous and high pressure family life…

… huh. Maybe on account of that diagnosis, I should change jobs and become a psychiatrist for real! Who better to help people with depression that someone who can't rid themselves of their own?

…

To help… to serve others… service… service…

The woman strains her mind, struggling to conjure an explanation as to why this new buzzword, "service", should be grappling with her consciousness so fiercely.

There's definitely a phrase leading on from "service" in there… Service Team? Service Alliance? Service Brigade? Well, service in this context sounds quite erotic, so it could mean that Yukinoshita Yukino was actually a geisha. On looks alone, my qualifications are self-evident.

The woman proceeds to turn over the piece of paper, having now lost interest in what exactly Yukinoshita Yukino has written. The phone numbers are a far more puzzling mystery. The first number, the one with the name Yuigahama Yui written beside it, is one of the two already in her iPhone contacts. She strains for a memory associated with this name, one with the same solid consistency of her school trip to Kyoto, but no image arrives. Just that word again, the recurrence of which the woman is beginning to find irritating. "Service".

Well, I couldn't possibly have this weighing down on my mind for the rest of the day. Otherwise, I won't be able to have fun, and who knows when Yukinoshita Yukino will have an opportunity to have fun like this again? She thinks all this with a rather cross expression hardening on her features. There is only one thing for it: she will call this Yuigahama Yui person, and finally put the riddle to bed. If she turned out to be a friend, then the woman might even let Yuigahama spend the day with her.

Opening her phone, tapping on Yuigahama's name and waiting for the dial to get through only takes five seconds. The line clicks; the person that the woman called picked up almost instantaneously.

"…" The other end of the line is quiet, save for some shallow breathing.

"… Well? Do you have an explanation?" the woman says impatiently.

"… Yukinon?! I- I can't believe it's you-"

"-yes, but-"

"-god, it must have been three months-"

"-but if we could save the formalities for, well, possibly never-"

"-I can't believe you never even texted! We've talked about this, Yukinon! Even if you don't want to facetime, you promised you would text-"

"-yes, and that's fine, but if you would listen-"

"-you know how much I worry about you, especially with everything that's happened-"

"Yuigahama-san, I would appreciate it if you let me speak. This is a matter of considerable urgency."

"… U- urgency? Ah, I'm… sorry Yukinon. What is it?"

"Just who exactly are you?"

"… What?"

"You heard me, Yuigahama-san. Just who exactly are you?"

"Uh… ahahaha! This is, um, unexpected! You don't usually like to crack jokes-"

"I would also appreciate it if you took this hugely important conversation seriously. Just who exactly are you? Why does the word service mean so much to m? And just what kind of name is Yuigahama or Yukinoshita anyway?"

"… Are you…" Yuigahama-san sighs. "Is this you… is this you telling me that you need me?"

"That I need you here? Well, that wasn't my original intention, but that's the first helpful contribution you've made to our chat! Well done Yuigahama-san! I would make you a cup of green tea if I had a kettle. Or tea strainers. Still, if you could just hop on the metro so I can get a good look at you, that would be very very helpful. Are we agreed on this course of action?"

"Wait, are you still joking-"

"I thought you just said I'm not one to usually crack jokes? Please maintain a consistent opinion. And as I said, get to your nearest metro station. I assume you're at work?"

"Yes, but-"

"But work is unnecessary and can certainly wait? My thoughts precisely. I'm on a bench in the Meiji-shingu gardens."

"…" Another sigh. "Okay Yukinon, I'll have to say that I'm feeling ill, but… Wait a minute, did you say Meiji-jingu-"

"I expect you in thirty minutes. Be prompt please." She hangs up before Yuigahama-san has a chance to add to the altercation.

The woman passes the next forty eight minutes (Yuigahama-san took significantly longer than she specified, much to her chagrin) with a strange array of activities. The first of these is being judgemental, which happens to be something she is staggeringly talented at. No one strolling past on their way to visiting the shrine escapes her notice, and subsequent internalised mocking. The second of these is staring at the surrounding undergrowth of the gardens; her admiration comes in stages, with love blooming in her eyes like a sea of flowers only for all of them to rot when the thought of the city-centre (and shopping centres!), is rekindled. The third is another form of observation, this time honed in on a single subject that the woman, for a good chunk of the time, is totally entranced by.

The cat could be seen nosing in the bushes long before it steps out into the open. The woman saw it for the colour of its pelt, sprouting through the greenery; the black and white spots so bright, bristling and clear in her vision that she is half-convinced the animal is a streetlight that has managed to grow legs and a tail. The woman leans forward, feeling a deeper kinship with this animal, a feline of all things, than anything she has seen or heard from today. She might be pondering whether Yukinoshita Yukino owns a cat or if she just adores them enough to feel this way at the mere sight of one, had that very adoration not captured her in its twine-like tendrils. The cat, apparently oblivious to the affectionate cooing of the woman, only stands there, statuesque on the other side of the pathway.

Now that she has a more generous view, the woman takes the time to admire its appearance. It is clearly feral, as the stream-lined body and jutting rib-cage indicates, but its spirit has by no means been broken by the world, as it stands proudly on its paws with the regal arrogance that only cats possess. Its whiskers twitch like the trees above them in the wind, and the woman can imagine its blueish eyes, not that she can see their colour from her distance, are alive with an intelligence and a passionate curiosity for the city and the gardens around them. The animal stares up at the canopy, and perhaps beyond that to some limitless horizon of its far-reaching senses, rather like how the woman had stared upwards herself.

Oddly, the cat is also soaking wet. She cannot see a body of water anywhere nearby, but she has a persistent thought that the cat must have been swimming for a long time now. Practically drowning.

"Pssss…" the woman says, loudly enough to keep up the day's track record of attracting unnecessary attention. "Look at me!"

The cat doesn't hear her. It doesn't even turn its head. It just stares upwards, upwards and onwards.

"Psss! Look at me!"

For an animal with such renowned listening skills, it appears to be almost deaf. And, without warning, the woman is consumed by a sheer tidal wave of sadness. Sadness that this gorgeous creature, the only thing she has seen today that is even close to being like her, is not aware of their connection.

"Look at me…"

The cat shows no change. Instead, it does exactly the opposite of what the woman wishes, darting back into the overriding green of the gardens, and then disappearing. The woman, deeply moved by the absence resting atop of her chest, now has tears on her cheeks. That cat… what an absolutely beautiful cat…

"Yukinon…"

The woman turns her head sharply to the right, tears still glistening like tiny pearls embedded in her face, to see that Yuigahama Yui has snuck up on her without her knowledge. The sadness dissipates quickly now that humans are back in the picture, but Yuigahama, with her eyes wide in deepening concern, likely thinks that she is crying for a more obvious tear-inducing reason. Isolation, or self-hatred.

Yukinoshita Yukino could be feeling both those things on a routine basis, the woman thinks reasonably. She is cut short by a sudden bearhug from Yuigahama. Unsure how to react to the abrupt gesture of friendship, the woman decides what will be most appropriate is to hang limply until it stops. They sit, wrapped tightly together on the bench, for a hug that extends for eons and eons- the woman occupies these eons by taking in the appearance of the person who came so willingly to her aid.

"Yuigahama Yui" has light brown hair that hardly extends past her shoulder level; from the looks of things, she has been trying to grow it longer, but the brown, glossy locks have stubbornly refused at every turn. Her attire is smart casual, with grey slacks and a purple sweater, but they fit a little too loosely, except around her bust where the sweater is being pushed to breaking point. How inconsiderate. You should treat your clothes with more respect! the woman chides.

Regrettably, absolute nothing in "Yuigahama Yui's" appearance evokes some secluded personal history with her. Nothing like the Kyoto trip, or the importance hovering around the word "service"; not even an emotion, in fact.

"Yukinon…" Yuigahama says for the second time, withdrawing from the hug but keeping their faces close together. "You… you really are going to be the death of me…"

The woman blinks incredulously. "I will be the death of you? If everyone you hug is subjected to that, I'm surprised no one's died already. Has someone died, Yuigahama-san?"

"Shhh…" she says, her voice weighted with emotion. "Your therapist has mentioned deflecting before, hasn't she? You don't need to do that, especially around… around someone like me."

"My therapist? So, I've had counselling in the past? I suppose it isn't surprising. You see, I'm already learning new things! I definitely made the right choice calling you, Yuigahama-san."

She offers the woman a half-smile. "There's no need to say thank you Yukinon, but… how come you're in Meiji-jingu and not at the firm-"

"Besides, I'm glad you mentioned that. That I don't need to deflect around 'someone like you,' I mean. It brings me back to the original question: just who exactly are you?"

"Who exactly am… ah, Yukinon… I'm your friend. You know that. I'll always be your friend-"

"Oh, stop being so drearily metaphorical. It mean it quite literally: who exactly are you?"

"… Uh…" Yuigahama glances to the side in confusion, only now picking up on the woman's strange leaps in logic. "Who exactly am I? I, uh… weren't you crying just a moment ago? Surely we should be talking about that-"

"No need to worry. I was just crying over the cat."

"The cat?"

"Yes, the black and white cat. It was exceptionally beautiful…" The woman sighs dreamily, and then snaps back to attention. "I see what you're doing. Trying to distract me with the innate cuteness of my favourite animal! Such a cunning scheme will see no favour with me, Yuigahama-san. I'll ask you again: who exactly are you?"

"… Is… Has something happened, Yukinon? I mean…" She laughs nervously. "I thought I'd seen you in every mood possible since we became friends, but this is kinda unnerving-"

"Please do not misunderstand me. I have absolutely no intention to unnerve you, Yuigahama-san. It is self-evident from the way you have treated me thus far that we have been very dear friends for a long time. Going off what I know, I am not the kind of person who makes "dear friends", so you must hold a special place in my heart. You see, my logic is sound. There is nothing to worry about! So would you answer the question now…?"

"… Um… alright." She narrows her eyes at the woman suspiciously. "But y'know, if this is some kind of prank, I'm gonna be really annoyed at you Yukinon-"

"Please, go on."

"… I'm Yuigahama? Yuigahama Yui? Your best friend? Uh… we met at Sobu High? The Service Club? We've been friends for something insane, like, ten years or something-"

"The Service Club! The Service Club…" The woman toys with the name on her tongue. "Yes, I would say that's definitely familiar to me. Could you elaborate on that a little more?"

"On the Service Club? … Okay. It's the club we were in for two years at high school, yeah? We helped other students with their problems? 'Teach someone to fish' and all that… Me, you, Hikki, sometimes Iroha-"

"Hikki? That couldn't possibly be short for Hikigaya, could it? Hikigaya Hachiman?"

"… What's going on here, Yukinon? You never mention Hikki. I wasn't allowed to talk about him for ages… Is this you trying to tell me something? Something that you're feeling or… something about you and him, maybe?"

The woman comes to the conclusion that it will be difficult to squeeze any more details about Yukinoshita Yukino's personal life from her old friend. I shouldn't bite the hand that feeds me. If I carry on, Yuigahama-san may end up taking me somewhere I don't want, somewhere not fun, the woman thinks. Besides, she's already told me more than enough! It may even be plausible that this Hikigaya Hachiman is an old flame of mine. Meeting him will be very intriguing.

She pretends to drop her head shamefully. "My apologies, Yuigahama-san. I'm afraid I've been rather frank with you so far. Such a dear friend deserves better, especially since you came so long a way to be with me."

She refrains from mentioning that she was eighteen minutes late.

"No no no, you don't need to be apologise Yukinon!" The woman is enveloped in another bearhug, thankfully shorter this time. "It's so boring working day in day out in that reception, anyway. I'm glad for the break! And seeing you makes my day brighter, even when…" Yuigahama pauses awkwardly. "Even when you're down, and… well, y'know."

"Of course. You are a true soldier for putting up with me! I'm sure Yukinoshita Yukino can be tiresomely dry."

"Of course not! I just said… Hey, uh… hehe, could I just change the subject for a second?"

"You may."

"It's only, I know this is really selfish and all, but… You've always had so much going on in your life, so much that I dunno how you've managed it for so long, but… I just need to get this off my chest, y'know?"

"Take as much time as you need."

"… When you… when you go through the stages you've told me about… The ones where you retreat into yourself, and you go through those blank stages… The times where you struggle to get into work, or get of bed, or… or call other people, or… Look, I… I don't blame you for being selfish. I know being selfish is all someone can do to handle things, at least sometimes, but I… I just need you to try and… To stop and remember that there are people who care about you far more than they should. Not just because it will help you, but because… because I can't stand waiting for you, Yukinon. I can't stand waiting for you to call or text or facetime me, and knowing full well that something dreadful could have happened, or could be happening right now… could be… could be happening right now to someone I care about so much." She sniffs. "What I'm… I know it's selfish and horrible of me, but what I'm trying to say is that I'm always going to be here for you. I'm always going to be the one who drops everything and runs to your side, because you're Yukinoshita Yukino and I'm Yuigahama Yui and what are we gonna do without each other… I'll come to you if you're in Meiji-jingu, or Kyoto or outside of the country for all it matters. I promise. I'll always promise. Just try to remember me. Remember how much I'm hurting for you…"

The woman hates herself for zoning out half-way through. Well… that's probably a lie. I don't hate myself for zoning out. As touching as I'm sure that was, that black and white cat really was beautiful…

"… Yukinon?"

"Oh, right, I… I deeply sorry, Yuigahama-san, it's hard to know what to say when you're confronted with something like that. I don't quite know how to articulate my feelings, but… please take to heart that I'll do everything I can to remember what you've told me, next time I go through one of those, um… those blank stages."

Yuigahama-san sniffs again. "Thank you, Yukinon…" She draws the woman into a third hug, not aggressive this time but tender, chock full of the companionable feelings that the woman cannot relate to but is aware must be a part of every friendship this deep and long-lasting, feelings of affection and trust set loose like a shower of arrows on a medieval battlefield.

"… Do you want me to stay with you?" Yuigahama-san asks.

Partly. But not really, the woman thinks. She settles for the much more negotiable response of, "For an hour or so. I'm feeling a little worn out."

The last part of that isn't entirely untrue. She does feel worn out, but she cannot tell whether this is physical, emotional or mental tire. Perhaps it is bludgeoning combination of all three, interlocking with such mechanical efficiency that the woman's perception could be limited in the severe manner that it has been. Her agenda though, entailing that she should not only have fun but learn more about Yukinoshita Yukino, is being followed admirably well. The woman resolves to resist the tire keeping her sat on the bench in Meiji-jingu, and to continue with her day valiantly once Yuigahama's desire for her company has been satisfied.

"…"

"… Yuigahama-san?"

"Yes, Yukinon?"

"This may not be suitable for the atmosphere of our conversation, but… my, that really was a beautiful cat."