It was such a cold night. The bathhouse closed early for the winter weather advisory warning. Pigeons cuddled together for warmth and cooed beneath an awning. The alley cats made temporary home beneath a stairwell; a colony of frostbitten felines.

Morgana was happy at home with Haru; warm on the couch as she sat beside him, rubbing his tummy. With her other hand, she browsed flights to New York City on her cellphone. Though she loved Akira, she wanted to show Ann their friendship was just as important to her. She'd go to Brooklyn. She booked a hotel near the bridge. She'd do everything in her power to make him the last thing on her mind. She'd be a good friend.

Winter's Last Stand

Akira was done.

He loved Ann, but the rollercoaster was too much. They stood there in Leblanc, the sudden and brutal cold following in. Akira pulled away from her and closed the door. He shivered. "Ann, take a seat."

"No." She shook her head. Her eyes welled with tears; her face burned red; sniffles. She was dressed rather warmly and so the red of her nose was not the cold. Akira sighed.

Did she not care for his pride as a man? How could anyone feel good to see they were the cause of a person's tears; the disappointment; constantly.

"Stop this. Please."

"Come with me."

"You know I can't."

"I love you." She covered her face with her hands. She sobbed and even the skin on the back of her hands, red. It frustrated him. He didn't resent her; he began to resent that she made him feel he was to resent himself and his decisions.

"Don't say it again."

She stopped crying. Almost. As if to register her state of shock. She felt her chest tighten and though the tears didn't stop pouring she felt all the small details that one used to metaphorically illustrate love, humanity and the like – she missed those. She felt robotic; inhumane. "What?" She asked in disbelief.

"Don't say it again," He worked hard then to keep his upset controlled, "You love me. You love me. It feels like you're trying to guilt me, for doing what you did. I'm choosing me and what I want and what makes me happy and you just come out of nowhere!" She didn't expect that.

"Akira –"

"Who are you to think I should always throw everything through the window for you? I love you – I will never stop loving you - but you can't keep inserting yourself into my life when I have to work hard to move on when you just up and leave. It's not fair."

Ann placed her fingers in her mouth; childlike. She had to grow up again for she was restarting her system. Her thoughts had to catch up to her body and the moment she was in. She couldn't identify how she was feeling. No words came to mind, "I - I didn't mean it – I just. I'm tired of losing you," She could barely make the words out.

"You don't lose me. You leave. Each time. And it's like you want me to follow you into this abyss where it's just us until your life comes in. Right? Your business, your acting. Your life. What about my life? My feelings? Am I just an accessory you forget until you see me again?"

"Never. No."

"I don't want to do this with you anymore. I'm too old."

The tears stopped and it was so quiet one could hear the howl of winter wind. She opened her mouth to say something. To dispute, beg, seduce, convince but she couldn't. All she could say, "My flight's soon."

Just as he knew she would.

Makoto, rolled around in the sofa. Her head pounded as the sunlight poured in. The leather of her sleeping place was nothing like her bed. It was warm but stuck to her skin. Her hair stuck to her face. Her eyes darted about the well-furnished apartment.

Right. Mishima.

She struggled to rise, holding her head and squinting against the brutal sunlight. She'd have to call out sick. Wait – what day of the week was it? Did she have work? She peered around the apartment again but was alarmed when she heard snoring. She looked, unable to find the source until her eyes traveled down. At the foot of the sofa, curled up into a ball; her husband. Ryuji slept close to the piece of furniture. She smiled weakly but held her head in pain. Makoto felt the caffeine migraine that accompanied hangovers.

Mishima poured her coffee. She politely accepted the mug and he shook his head. They stood across from each other in the tiny galley kitchen. She never knew how much money he made, but inferred it was enough from the custom design of his home. She sipped her hot beverage.

"Sakamoto -" Mishima began.

"Yuki, I've known you long enough," She grumbled into her cup.

"Yes, but you're my friend's wife; you wound up at my door last night – and I'm just trying to be respectful. Also – do I look like a marriage counselor? You and Ryuji are far too needy of me."

"Sorry." She whispered.

"I don't even want to know what happened."

"He wants to have a baby. I'm told him I'm not ready."

"I just said I don't want to know!" Mishima shook his head again. Ryuji would have to wake up for this.

The three sat together at Mishima's glass dining table, coffee in each of their hands; a bowl of hangover stew Mishima whipped up. He learned the recipe from his Korean girlfriend, Hae-rin. He was grateful she was too busy working to be around to meet his embarrassing married friends. He was more grateful to himself for holding off on introducing them to her. She was great. Them – not so much.

"Here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to work." Ryuji arched an eyebrow. He felt personally attacked. Makoto felt some shame; she did get drunk on a weeknight as a married woman, "When I come back, you'll both be gone. And a month from now, we won't even laugh about this awkward morning after, because I'm going to force myself to forget this whole thing." He stood up and gathered his things. As he walked towards the door and pulled on his shoes he shouted, "I am not a Sakamoto caretaker! Okay? Wash the dishes before you leave and have a good day." He exited the apartment with a slam of the door.

"He's pretty mad, huh?" Ryuji joked. Makoto continued to sip her coffee. "We should talk, now – don't you think?"

"You left first," Makoto replied.

"I wrong."

"You could have talked then – and you left - so what is there to talk about now?"

"Compromise."

"I don't want to compromise my dreams for a husband who won't even talk to me." She covered her face with her hair. Ryuji felt such hurt then. She had nowhere to hide her pain; so she fled to Mishima to hide from him. Mishima, who she scarcely spoke to. When that failed, she hid behind her hair. Could he really be a father, when he felt he was hardly a husband?

"Don't compromise your dreams, for anyone. Not for me. Not for a cowardly man like me." Ryuji stared into his mug. He wanted Akira to make him a cup. He wanted something to comfort him more than Yuki's angry pot of dark coffee. He was about to make the hardest decision of his life; but God, he loved Makoto too much to make her anymore unhappy and hold her back, "Go to America. Even if we split, I'm still rooting for you. I want you to be happy."

Makoto moved the strands of hair she used to curtain her face, as if to unveil herself to him; new vows. Ryuji smiled to the sight of her eyes. She was beautiful even then, with puffy eyes and dark circles around them. "You look awful," he said to her. He rested his chin in his palm and could only smile with all his pearly whites. She blushed and giggled.

"You look awful too."

"I feel awful. Mishima does not have comfortable floors. You think he'd offer me a futon or something."

In all their frustration and hurt, they shared laughter. Somehow they knew how to comfort one another; something particular to them. Makoto reached out and squeezed Ryuji's hand. She'd tell him later that she knew he'd be a great dad. She knew because he was the type to find her when lost; stay by her side in the darkest places, despite his hurt. He'd choose her over himself at the end of the day. Never less brave than when they were teens; Ryuji was amazingly selfless.

"I want a boy," She said to him. Hearing those words brought tears to Ryuji's eyes, "and I want him to grow up and be pure of heart, just like you." Ryuji buried his head in hands and cried loudly. Words he never thought he'd hear were finally said and he was overwhelmed with joy.

Futaba rolled over and stared at her phone. She had numerous missed calls from Tyrell. She rolled over once more and saw Yusuke's pale and beautiful face at rest. His long lashes like curtains on his cheeks; his dark hair tossed in various directions. His lips were pinker than even her own. She wondered what lip balm he wore. He was always more put together than she was.

Strange, how she noticed and did nothing about it; but this time she was compelled. She caressed his cheek. She was grateful to Yusuke for allowing her to fall apart in his arms. She knew she didn't deserve him. She knew she cost him relationships. She knew he was in love with her.

She knew there'd be no going back if they became a thing. Though she loved him back – the risk was greater than the return. Futaba leaned in close to him; her lips grazing his. She lightly planted them against his own. It didn't take much time for him to awake and the things that followed were natural for a man and woman.

He kissed her back, carefully. He pulled the blankets over their heads and the layers of their clothing reached the floor quickly. His kissed her neck and she ran her fingers through his hair. Her legs circled around his waist and they stared into each other's eyes. He paused.

"I love you." He admitted.

"I love you." She responded.

Shortly thereafter the alarm of his cellphone rang. Yusuke looked for it and saw a sleeping Futaba. She lay beside the phone and was unmoved by the noise. He smirked. She stirred a bit and he felt his heart stop as he heard her, "Tyrell…" she mumbled. He frowned and grabbed the cellphone, dismissing the alarm. He raised the blankets to look down at this morning manhood. It was so vivid a dream. He was miserable, but he accepted his fate. Just then he received a text message from Ryuji; a group text with him, Akira, and…Mishima? It read, "I'm going to America."

Epilogue (Vernal Equinox)

Applause sounded throughout the small theater. Ann squeezed the hands of her costars and they bowed. They arose and bowed once more. She didn't know the sound of praise in this capacity. It was new to her. It was everything, but perfect.

The foot traffic backstage was something she still wasn't used to. Being crowded and pressed into a small isle like hallway; costume, set designers and actors running back and forth. Indie production was another world. She was used to bigger venues and more glamour behind the scenes from her days of fashion. Normally she'd be primping behind a mirror and an intern would bring her ice water or champagne. Now she had to wait in line for the bathroom to change out of the wardrobe. This new world challenged her. She loved it.

"Annie!" A young Afro-ed girl ran up to her as she stood backstage. It was her costar, Shelly-Ann, who also directed and produced the project. The two embraced each other and Ann loved everything about the young woman. She admired her greatly as a single mom from East New York, who raised her son on her own, worked full time and still fit her dreams of acting, writing and producing into her life.

"It was so good Shell!"

"I know. A full house, three nights in a row. I was just saying to Jeff, he just has to let us do more shows. I'm thinking in the summer, once it's warm enough!"

"That'd be great!"

"I'd love if you stayed on board!"

"Yeah! Of course, I'm in!"

"Great! Listen, we're all going to that tapas place in the Lower East Side, the one that Jeff likes. The first round of drinks is on me, just to thank you guys for such a great production. Say you're coming!"

"I can't. Not tonight. Next time for sure."

"Your cute Asian man waiting for you at home?"

"I wish I had any man waiting for me at home."

The women laughed together and shared another embrace. Though Ann missed her friends and the streets of Shibuya, it was good to be in New York; her new home.

She was tired of stairs though. New York had many a walk up and she regretted canceling her gym membership just the month before. She figured spring started and she'd go running instead, to save money. She was wrong to think she would. Now, the stairs were kicking her ass. She thanked God for her naturally slender frame. But maybe she had a little bit of a tummy. She blamed it all on the pizza they kept eating at rehearsal.

"Meow."

She looked at the cat that met her on the third floor. She had no idea there was a cat in her building. She was sure there was a no pet policy on the lease. Was he a stray? Oddly, enough he favored Morgana.

"Hey, you." She said and pet the feline. He purred deeply and fled up the stairs. She sighed. One more flight to go. As she finally made it up, she saw in the hallway a familiar face. He fiddled with the cat's ears and she wasn't confident it was him.

"Stop!" Morgana cried. "I think you're enjoying my torture too much!" The cat snapped.

Ann couldn't believe her eyes. She never thought she'd see the day. Akira was so – simple. He liked his coffee a certain way; dressed monochromatically and didn't even get a new pair of glasses when his frames broke; he just bought the exact same pair. Yet, there he was. He stood in front of her apartment door, with luggage, Morgana at his feet and a bouquet of red roses. He looked at her and that mischievous grin - his trademark of being Joker - seemed almost dreamlike.

"You're gonna just stand there? I'd like to tell you congratulations."

Ann slowly made her way to him and dropped her bag by his feet. Morgana shirked as it almost crushed his tail. After his narrow escape, he looked up to see his friends. Akira and Ann embraced one another and she cried tears of joy. "You saw the show."

"Yeah. We all did. We sat way in the back. You were spectacular."

"I didn't see you."

"You were so focused there's no one way you would have." She sniffled and tried hard to fight her tears. He ran his fingers through her long blonde locks. He moved a strand away from her face and pressed his forehead to hers, "Congratulations." She lost the battle, and the tears kept flowing. She didn't know how long he'd be with her, but him being there meant he wanted to be together; he wanted to try.

Together, with their friends, they saved the world once. They could make long distance work.

Ryuji drank his beer and walked around his hotel suite in his new 'I LOVE NYC' boxers. He sat down and flipped on Saturday Night Live. He hoped they'd get a chance to see it live, or a Broadway show, once Makoto finished her tour of law programs. He was excited. When he saw Ann acting, he felt such joy for her. Going after her dreams inspired him and helped him gain an understanding of his wife, who pursued her own dreams.

"Koto…" He called. The other Sakamoto was in the bathroom blow-drying her hair or so he thought. She had been in there for quite a while and though he wasn't worried, he did wonder why she refused to share a bottle of champagne with him. He complained a bit. They were in a nice suite in New York; wasn't champagne appropriate?

Makoto finally opened the bathroom door. She walked out in her robe and her eyes puffy. Ryuji looked at her, shocked and filled with concern. "God, did something happen?" She shook her head. "Are you mad with me for yelling at the bellhop? He had no business looking at your ass like that – I just put him in his place, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I still tipped him."

"No."

"Then…?"

"We're pregnant."

"We're what?" She nodded and Ryuji wasn't quite sure how to process that information. "But you're on the pill."

"I actually haven't been. I meant to change my prescription before we left...I just ran out of time with all the planning for our travels and the schools and - "

"Oh God. Oh God, baby, we're pregnant. We're – you're –"

"I want to keep it. Who said I couldn't do both, right?"

"Are you sure? This isn't for me – is it? Whatever you want to do, it's fine. I'll support you."

"I want to keep it. That woman on stage with Ann, I read her actor's bio. She's a single mother with a great job and put on that production herself. If she did that - alone – imagine what we can do together."

Ryuji stood up. He placed his beer on the nightstand and held his wife. They hugged each other tightly. It was the beginning of both their dreams come true.

Futaba stood on the balcony of her suite. Sure she was blowing through money by booking such an expensive room, but what did she care? She was jobless and had nothing to return to. Why not spend a little extra change on overpriced hotel champagne and a room with a view. It was chilly, but somehow, the New York spring wasn't as cool in the night as the streets of Shibuya. Or perhaps it was, but she had experienced so many things, she needed something to be different, but the same; familiar.

Yusuke lay on her bed. He planned on going back to his room after Ann's show, but somehow he ended up doing a few shots at the hotel bar and ordered more to drink by the time they made it to the room. He drank a lot more than he anticipated. He struggled to stand up straight but didn't want to admit it to her; himself. He held his hand over mouth; beads of cold sweat stuck to his pale skin. The bathroom was too far away. Would he make it?

Futaba made her way back in and helped him to his feet. It was a struggle as she was smaller, but one she'd go through, just for him. He made it to the toilet bowl and threw up so much he began to feel sorry for himself. Was he drinking this much to distract himself from his feelings for her? He sat on the warm tiled floor and rested his head against the toilet bowl. She stood by the door.

"Thanks." He told her.

"You would have done it for me."

"Futaba – I love you. I have for a long time, and I didn't want to say it and ruin things between us, but I can't go on like this, so I'm letting you know. I love you. I'm in love with you."

She stared at him. His back was to her, head rested against the toilet seat. The back of his head showing his dark, lengthy hair; they dusted his shoulders. She smiled.

"I know. Thank you." Nothing would change after that. They both agreed on it, silently, in the hotel bathroom.

Haru sat at the hotel bar, the only one there with a cup of coffee; iced; how coffee drinkers in New York announced spring. She fiddled around on her tablet, working. Though the evening was leisurely, she had much to do in the week she'd be there. She was glad she got to see Ann's last show; she rescheduled her flight to be able to travel with their friends. They made in just in time.

"Anything else, chica?" The bartender asked. She looked up at him and realized he was much younger than the man that served her previously. She heart skipped a beat. He was handsome with green eyes. His Spanish accent was heavy.

"No. I mean – unless you have some recommendations."

"Well, you seem to be working. So let's keep you sober with a refill?" She giggled. He smiled. His full lips parted and she was drawn in by pearly whites.

"Sure."

"Alright. This refill is on me." Haru pulled out her wallet as he took her glass. She placed a $100 bill by his hand, straighten her posture and twirled her fingers in her bouncy hair.

"I tip well." She said. He smiled, winked and headed off to refill her drink. As he disappeared to the kitchen, Haru exhaled; she didn't realize she was holding her breath. She giggled. "I still got it."

~ Fin