4 in the afternoon is a wonderful time. It is when students can burst through their front door, throw their shoes across the room, and forget about the artificial responsibilities of school for a while. It is that breath of life when office workers can stretch their shoulders and crane their neck to see that it's nearly time to clock out. Perhaps plans could be made for the evening: a continuation of a favorite hobby, or a date with a promising other. But eventually, dinner is called from a busy kitchen, plates are cleared and washed, and then preparations must be made for another tomorrow with its own responsibilities. The cycle repeats.

But sometimes a pressing matter enters. An emergency. A family member has fallen sick, a grandparent has suddenly passed away. A fire burns down the home. A messy divorce splinters the family. The carefully constructed schedule and habits dissolve and control shifts from autopilot to manual.

Sometimes it's more personal. A best friend moves away, probably forever. The emptiness after a group of friends doesn't invite that one straggler. The epiphany in the twenties and thirties when the glories of youth have passed by with no memory or friend to share it with. Perhaps someone with more fortitude could brush off these staggering blows, but otherwise many a person may fall low. Sometimes they get up. Other times, they don't.

The sanctity of afternoons melt away with everything else. That magical time loses its infantile innocence and it too is buried under the constant burden of worry and responsibility. And after months and years of wear, it's no wonder some take no pleasure in living. Amagi would know. She'd been in those same straits before. That's why she was willing to go the distance.

They had been sitting in the canteen since four in the afternoon, and now it was six with people starting to stream in for dinner. He'd spent most of the time staring at the table and his hands, only taking a bite whenever he remembered to. Neither of them said a single word the entire time.

She had been waiting for him to speak first.

At about 7 PM, when dinner was in full swing and the chatter of the room reached a sizable din, the commander muttered something under his breath that Amagi could not hear.

"Can you repeat that?" she asked.

He gazed at the tabletop, as if he heard and said nothing.

Amagi waited some more.

He took a heavy breath. "I don't know why you're still here."

"I'm here because I want to be."

He tapped his metal fork against his plate, letting it clatter by its own weight. "You don't have to lie to me to make me feel better," he said slowly. "I'm sure you'd rather be with your sisters, or something."

Amagi took a deep breath and unclenched her fists in her lap slowly. "If I did, then I wouldn't be here, would I?"

The commander ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He drummed his fingers on the table, contemplative. "You know, I thought about just sitting here and waiting until you finally excused yourself and went away. Then I'd get to think, 'well gee, I guess Amagi couldn't spare the six hours for me' and then I'd feel justified that you don't really care at all. You just want to feel good about yourself for helping a —" He didn't finish.

She asked gently, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I felt bad for keeping you here for a convoluted selfish plan that meant nothing. So you can go and not feel bad for me. Let me be." He let go of the fork, and it clattered next to all the stone-cold food left uneaten. In the general din of the hall, nobody paid any attention to the sound. Everyone was still talking, laughing, fighting to be heard over everyone else.

Amagi tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"I hardly think what I think matters," he said wearily. "You should do what you want."

"Ignore what I want. Tell me truthfully: do you want my company or not?"

He didn't meet her eyes and picked at his nails. Amagi wasn't certain whether he was thinking or dodging the question. Then he imperceptibly nodded and said quietly, "Yes."

He dallied a little, pretending to finish his food, but gave up the act and he put away his dishes and dragged his feet outside, where it was already night outside. Amagi followed, and neither of them said a word as he started off towards a direction that was anywhere but towards his quarters. The chatter died, and lapsed into the sound of distant waves crashing and cricket mating calls.

They walked in the dark. The sky was dark and overcast, and the little light they had to see by came from the infrequent street lamps along the way. It was cold enough so that every exhale spouted a little cloud of condensation which ran away faster than the next breath. The commander's heels scuffed against the concrete, then the packed dirt, and eventually kicked up sand as he stumbled ahead. Amagi followed closely behind, and sat next to him on the beach, facing the sea.

They shivered in the cold sea breeze, and it stank of dying seaweed and fish. The commander picked at the sand, drawing spirals in the coarse gravel and uneven shallow breaths. It went like that, the waves crashing in and out and everything in colors of monochrome.

He finally exhaled. "Amagi. If I were to strip and wade out into the ocean, what would you do?"

"I'd stop you before you got that far," she said.

"What if I were to just go anyways, right now?"

"I'd have to run and get search-and-rescue to haul you back."

"If I said everything is alright, and then started to drink as much alcohol as I could when you went away, would you come back for me?"

"Is that something you would really do?" she asked.

"Maybe. I might. I might go around in the dark and try to choke to death the first person I pass. I might steal a boat and ride to the first island I find and live there. I might go on a drinking spree and die of alcohol poisoning in two nights."

Amagi said nothing.

"I want to do something stupid. I want to do the most outrageous, stupid things since I couldn't do any in my life before. I don't know what exactly, but I'll do it when I think of it."

"And what is my role in all this?"

"I dunno. If you want to, you can join in. It'll be less lonely for the little time before I irrevocably ruin everything."

"You're not worried about everyone else?"

"I've spent a lot of time thinking about what others thought," he said, eyes closed. "I realized only recently that nobody cares about other people. Everybody else cares more about themself and maybe two or three other people in their life. Nobody has ever turned to me for help, so I couldn't turn to anybody else either. When I do eventually break my neck, no one will come to my funeral and cry. I'd be lucky if they remember my name."

"That's not what I meant. There would be several people who wouldn't like to see you throw your life away like that."

"Yeah? Who would that be?"

"Your parents. Some of your friends who you claim never cared about you."

"My parents definitely don't care. They told me so many times. But I'm surprised you didn't list yourself."

"Who said I didn't?"

"What — oh. I see."

The waves crashed and washed over the beach. The tide was coming in; the water lapped at their shoes from where they were sitting.

"You know," Amagi said. "There's almost certainly someone you know who has been in your position before."

"I know."

"It's not impossible to climb out of the hole you've dug yourself into."

"That's what haunts me. The fact that there is someone, somewhere, who probably has done more with less than I have makes me so unbearably worthless. Either I'm special enough to be the only person to be like this, or there's someone out there making a better name for themself. And I already know that I'm not special."

"Then what's your plan? Are you planning on leaving things as they are?"

"I might as well. There's nothing else I particularly want to do in life. Maybe I can go to Paris and scam tourists. That sounds mildly interesting. Or maybe find a girl in the woods and then marry her."

"If you talk about running away one more time, I'm going to punch you in the stomach as hard as I can," Amagi said.

The water washed up around the commander's shoes and soaked his socks. He sat up and opened his eyes and saw that Amagi was already standing, away from the ocean that was at his feet. Her hardened gaze softened a little. "Come on. Let's get inside. It's freezing out here."

He briefly contemplated staying anyways, watching the water go in and out. Perhaps it might consume him entirely and wash him away. But in his drenched pants and shoes, he slowly got up, dusted off what sand he could, and let Amagi lead this time.

Back at his quarters, he sluggishly changed into dry clothes while Amagi made a pot of tea. Usually his mind would be racing, his head was empty from any thoughts. The silence wasn't necessarily any better than the usual self-monologues, but it was a change of pace.

He went into the main space where Amagi was already sipping at her own tea and sat across from her. He dully watched the amber liquid being poured and accepted the cup.

"Do you take any sugar in yours?" she asked.

"Haven't drunk enough to really find out," he said. He took a sip. It was bitter and burned all the buds on his tongue.

On their third cup, Amagi asked, "How are you feeling now?"

The commander considered spinning his empty cup on its side for a second. "I thought that I'd feel better. Relieved. But to be honest, I feel the same as ever."

She hummed and poured him another cup. He held the porcelain in his hands. It was already chilled. "Would you have actually punched me if I kept going on?" he asked.

"I would have."

"Why?"

"Some people need a physical stimulus to restore their nerves. For you, the threat of one was good enough." Amagi tipped all the last dregs of the pot into her cup with all the tea leaf fragments. "But I'm glad it didn't have to go that far. Participating in a fistfight between two infirms would have not ended well for either of us."

"I guess you can punch me right now then. For the near future. It's all that's ever on my mind these days."

She put down her cup. "Do you want my perspective, then?"

"Yes."

Amagi stared into his eyes, then broke eye contact. It took a moment for him to realize that she was uncertain. "Yes, a lot of people only act in their self-interest. Yes, people have miraculously fought tooth and nail under dire circumstances with nothing but their own force of will. But I find it hypocritical when you drone on and on about people not being selfless when all you talked about was how you want to run away to an island or forest and leave everyone else behind."

"Hypocritical? I'd just be doing what anyone else —"

"Let me finish. If, like you expressed, you were to eventually get yourself killed by risking your life over and over, how would everyone feel? Do you think we would be glad that you were gone, despite the multiple attempts others have made to help you? Some of us have gone to great lengths, but if you refuse to change anything about yourself, how do you think we would feel when our efforts were for nil?"

This time he could say nothing.

Amagi continued, "But do you know why I'm still here? Because despite it all, it's still worth it to try. You're never in too deep to try digging yourself out. As long as you can believe you can wake up tomorrow and realize you can do better than in the past, you're still salvageable. Learn to take responsibility for yourself. Take failures in stride."

He held his face in his hands and massaged his eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He was still blocking his eyes when he said quickly, "If that's true, then promise me that you'll never leave my side. Tell me this whenever I need it, whenever I need it. Sear into my mind that it's worth trying."

"I think you know as much as I do that I can't be that person," she said quietly.

The commander tasted bitter despair.

"There are some things a friend can help another with, but there are many other decisions that you can't pin on a friend. I can't tell you to wake up everyday and eat, nor can I tell you to finish your work. I'll be here whenever you need to get something off your chest, but that's as much as I should do. Any more, and I'd be overstepping my own boundaries as a friend." She smiled tiredly. "Does that sound fair for you?"

He stood up and hurled his cup against the far wall. It shattered into several hundred shards of porcelain which scattered themselves all across the floor and left a dent and wet stain against the wall. He breathed heavily from the exertion.

Amagi didn't seem to be all that surprised. She stood up and bowed politely. "I see. In that case, I'll be going. Good night, shikikan." She picked up her things and began to leave.

Right at the door, she heard him whisper, "It's not fair. Why do things always have to be this way?"

She turned around and smiled forlornly. "I hope that one day you'll understand why I can't be the one beside you, telling you everything you wanted to hear. But until then, I'll be seeing you."

Amagi left, and closed the door quietly behind her.

The commander couldn't fall asleep very quickly. His shoulder was stiff: he hadn't needed to throw something that hard before since third grade. He could have easily attributed the sleeplessness to the ill-consumed tea laden with caffeine, but he knew that wasn't the truth.

He knew why Amagi couldn't stay forever. It wasn't her duty to shore up every single problem he had. He briefly considered throwing the teapot as well as her cup against the wall as well, but the heat of the moment was gone. He was spent.

Amagi had said that people can change and improve. But he was essentially the same person since he was a middle school kid. It frightened him that he would remain the same person he was, ten or twenty years down the road. People couldn't change. Or at the very least, he couldn't.

That made him want to roll out of bed and wade into the ocean until he couldn't find his way back. There really was no point in another ten or twenty years of this life.

Then he remembered Amagi's threat to punch him right in the gut. She was too kind to him. If there was nobody else at his funeral, then she would walk right up to his open coffin and mutilate his corpse. The thought of that made him laugh. He laughed until he started to cough violently. And it was as he recovered he realized he really couldn't pull that kind of stunt now. Not after Amagi had put in the effort to talk to him. So instead he chose the alternative. He'd go and see Amagi tomorrow, and maybe they could talk again. It wasn't right to leave things off with a shattered teacup.

Tomorrow. There was something to do tomorrow. "Did I make the right choice?" he asked, alone in his dark bedroom. As expected, there was no response from the inanimate walls but somehow he felt exonerated as he fell into an easy sleep.


I've received several reviews expressing concern over my well-being. I do feel a little better since then, but not by much. That's been a constant ever since one year ago, when I published the first chapter. Sometimes I get better. A lot of the time I get worse. But never do I stray into "good". That's just me.

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, there's a lot of things I do want that are impossible to attain like several reviewers have called out. In lieu of spilling everything, all I will say is that I know. It hurts precisely because they are unattainable. This is a story which is all about that.

I do not mean to disparage anybody who told me what I should be doing. Your words were definitely correct, but it was me who was the fool who can't learn until I've learned things via experience in the most difficult manner possible. You are all right, but it simply sounds hollow in my own head. I meant to write this both for my past self and anybody else who can't seem to see over their own ego to look towards others for help.

Thanks to everyone who managed to stick with this difficult story for over an year. Here's to another year, and perhaps the eventual completion of this.