Author's note: This scene is kinda… pointless? I was on the fence about whether or not I should include it. Then I realized that I wanted to write it, and my entire reason for writing this entire fic is that I want to. So I might as well.

"So. Coffee?"

"Tea is fine," said Mrs. Kiryu, sitting rigidly on the bar stool where her son had so often sat.

He filled a small glass for her. "Anything else?"

"I'm not here for… refreshment," said Mrs. Kiryu, searching for the right words. "I'm here for a talk."

Sanae put the glass on the counter in front of her. "Yeah. I thought you might be."

Mrs. Kiryu pulled the glass closer to her, but did not drink. "You clearly know who I am. Do you know what happened to my son?"

"…I heard he passed away," he admitted. He put a hand on the employee side of the bar and turned sideways, looking out the window. "I'm sorry. Truly."

"Did he tell you?" she asked shakily.

He turned and looked at her, startled. It sounded like she was asking if Joshua had visited him from the Plane of the Dead, but...

"How did you know what happened to him?" she asked, urgent. "Did he tell you what he was planning?"

Looking her in the eye, he replied earnestly, "If Joshua had some much as hinted to me that he was considering suicide, I guarantee, I would've done anything in my power to stop him."

"How did you know?" she challenged, voice full of anger.

"Mutual acquaintances. I have some other regulars that, uh, know Joshua. I heard from them."

"Yes, of course. Everyone is talking, aren't they? A child dead and it's just more grain for the rumor mill, isn't it? Just another thing to gossip about!" She sounded frenetic, growing angrier and angrier by the word. Sanae didn't think he was the source of that anger, not really. If anyone really was treating Joshua's death as an exciting rumor, it certainly wasn't him. He was just a beacon to direct all of those feelings at.

He held up a hand, trying to calm her. "Of course not. I consider Joshua a good friend."

"And isn't that a little weird?" she spat. "What adult makes friends with a middle-school-aged child? What teenage boy chooses to spend all his time in a café talking about his delusions with a barista? What's been going on here this whole time?"

Sanae took a moment to study her, taking in her words, her voice, her facial expressions. He considered scanning her, but dismissed the thought; he didn't need to. Instead, he quietly put himself into her shoes, the mindset of a living human. To Sanae, death could be sad. To the living, it was devastating. Traumatic. Perhaps even unfathomable. She was trying to comprehend something incomprehensible – and of course it was incomprehensible, to her. She knew almost nothing about death. Spending so much time with Joshua had nearly made Sanae forget how most of the living were.

What could he do about it? An array of possible imprints went through his head; it wouldn't be hard to get her to go away, but he didn't want to resort to that. He was here in this plane to understand the lower beings, after all. And that meant sometimes having to deal with things the same way a lower being would.

"The only thing going on," said Sanae, "is that Joshua wanted someone to talk to, and I was willing to listen."

"Why would he talk to you? He's been in therapy since he was a little boy! Why didn't he talk to them? Why didn't he ever talk to me?"

"I don't know, boss. You tell me that."

He meant it as a gentle push, a nudge towards the kind of self-reflection that would probably benefit Mrs. Kiryu in the long run. Mrs. Kiryu reacted as though he'd flung his cup of coffee in her face. "Are you trying to pin this on me?" she demanded, her fury barely held-back by adherence to the norms of proper upper-middle-class society. "I did everything! My entire life for the past ten years has revolved entirely around trying to get my mentally ill child some kind of help for his terrible condition! And then you come along – " Her breath hitched and tears spilled from her eyes as she held back from audibly crying.

Sanae put his coffee cup down and found himself raising a hand, as though he were about to place it comfortingly on her shoulder, but of course, he did no such thing. He let it hover in the air as she shook with suppressed sobs. Then she gathered herself and retrieved from her handbag a familiar-looking green composition book. Slamming it open upon the table, she found the strength to sit up straight and look him in the eye as she demanded, "What is this all about?"

Sanae looked at the open pages for several seconds before remembering to put his hand down. It was Joshua's notes about Pig Smears, theories about why they existed and how they were made. Some of his observations were marked "Hanekoma's theory" or "Hanekoma confirmed."

There were rules about things the living were allowed to know about the afterlife. Exceptions were sometimes made for resurrected Players. Joshua got away with knowing a lot simply because it would be both unethical and pointless to erase his understanding of something he witnessed daily. Neither of these situations applied to Joshua's mother.

Sanae wasn't sure what the higher-ups would do about this situation, but he was certain it would mean a lot of paperwork for him.

"Yeah. I remember seeing that book a time or two," Sanae said, trying to think of a reasonable-sounding explanation on the fly. "Fascinating stuff in there, isn't it? Joshua's Imagination is truly incredible."

"You say that like it's a… talent! Like my son is just some… something to entertain you! Don't you realize how these thoughts tortured him?" She was crying again.

He held up a hand again to calm her. "He did entertain me. That doesn't mean I don't – didn't – care about him. And, as far as his thoughts go – were they really all bad? I mean, sure, he talked about monsters – but he talked about nice things, too. Maybe some of that stuff was comforting to him. I don't think he would've enjoyed talking about it so much if it wasn't."

"You encouraged him! You could've told him to get help! You could've told him he was sick, but instead, you encouraged him, and now he's – "

"I'm sorry," Sanae said, sparing her from having to finish the sentence. "I'm truly, truly sorry about what happened to Joshua. If there was anything I could have done to stop him, I would have. But he seemed happy. He was talking about seeing a new piano teacher the last time I saw him and – I don't know what happened to change that. I really am sorry. I mean that."

The words hung in the air, Mrs. Kiryu staring at him with eyes full of tears and accusation. When Sanae realized she wasn't going to put those accusations into words, he kept talking. "Maybe I did encourage him." He started pacing back and forth along the bar. "The thing is, everyone has a different perception of reality. It's not my place to tell anyone that his or her perspective is wrong. And I could've told him he was sick, but, well – that wouldn't have helped him much, would it? I'm sure he's heard that enough in his life. And maybe I'm wrong, but – I'd like to think I did Josh some good, being a listening ear. Everyone needs someone to listen to them sometimes, right?"

Suddenly springing up from the bar stool, Mrs. Kiryu shoved Joshua's notebook back into her bag and, in one fluid motion, also retrieved a thousand-yen bill. "Thank you for the tea," she said shakily as she held it out. She was out the door before Sanae could give her back her change.

Well, that would cover Joshua's tab from earlier, he thought as he put it in the till.