"Hi Unicorn. You promised that you'd hear me out, and this is my way of taking you up on your offer. Whenever I try talking, it all comes out in a jumbled, incoherent mess. This was the best alternative. If I had to guess, you can understand where I'm coming from.

"I feel like you're an awful lot like me. A lot of the time I am reminded of my past self when I look at you. We both prefer the company of books over others. We're satisfied in our own company. I talk to people in my head, you talk to your little toy. Believe it or not, when I was even younger I was loud and brash. I'd scream at the top of my lungs like any other little kid whenever I was tagged out, and I'd cry at every single knee scrape. My parents have often asked 'where did that sweet little boy we knew go?' I don't know either. I suppose in a sense I grew up, but in many other ways I did not.

"The reason I'm telling you this is because I'm afraid for you. There's someone I knew who I cared deeply about. He went off the rails, and started to post pictures of his box cutters and the view from his twenty-something floor balcony. I did what anybody else would do: I worried for them. Constantly. I made irresponsible promises that I could not keep and gave empty advice that meant nothing to make him 'better.' Nothing changed. Until, of course, he got medication. Right now, he seems to be doing well. I wouldn't know any better. He's forgotten all about me and my worry.

"I'm disgusted by people like him. He leeched off my good will and attention. I've never received a single 'thank you' back. On some bad days, I can confidently say that I hate him. If all that it took to solve his problems were a couple of pills over me, then I wish I never knew him. If he ever runs out of pills and posts that nonsense in my face again, I'd make fun of him. I'd take delight in feigning care until I flipped things on him and showed my apathy. And then tell him exactly how much I hate him.

"This is the person you care about. I'm a twisted person who cannot turn down an act of spite. But now it's me who is at the gallows this time, and it's me who is the parasite. I'm the hypocrite who cries wolf and needs everyone to look at me. 'Please justify me. I want your sympathy, empathy, and attention.' Perhaps I can rationalize taking advantage of others. But I cannot do that to you. Allowing you to destroy yourself like I had — that is a line I cannot cross.

"So this is my offer: stay away. Pretend that you never knew me, for your own good. It's a difficult decision to make and unfair to make for someone your age, but it is something that needs to be said. Even though my base instinct tells me to grapple and drag down everyone with me blindly, it's the warning that I wished I received long ago. Please forget me. Live boldly without anyone holding you back."

The letter was unsigned. Unicorn jumped back to the beginning and read it again, subvocalizing the sentences in the same voice that he had read to her. Bremerton stood against a bookshelf in Unicorn's bedroom, in complete contrast from the usual style of the Royal Navy. Her utilitarian shorts and loose cutoff shirt were incongruous against the bookshelves and candlelight as well as the usual Navy style of flowing dresses and naval uniforms.

Unicorn finished reading it a second time. "Um, why do you have his letter?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"He gave it to me a couple of days ago. He wanted me to read it and depending on my judgement — pass it to you," Bremerton said. "I wasn't going to — I wanted to meet with him first, and talk. But he didn't respond to any of my calls or texts. Eventually he just texted back 'just give it to her.'"

Unicorn's fingers curled around the paper so tightly it began to crinkle. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath.

Bremerton came and sat next to her on the small bed, the springs groaning against her weight. "I was tempted at first to throw it away," she said, leaning back and looking at the chandelier. "But if I did that, I felt it would do more harm than good. And it seems pretty clear that he won't listen to anyone, except maybe you."

Unicorn stared at the commander's juvenile and awkward handwritten words, and dragged her thumb across the ink. "You want me to talk to him?"

"Yeah. I know it's a lot to ask, but can you do that for me?"

"I was going to anyway." Unicorn was surprised by how sharp she sounded.

They were both silent. The window outside revealed a bright and glorious morning, the perfect blue sky unblemished with clouds. Birds could be heard, tweeting in search for mates even through the glass. Unicorn thought that it was a cruel prank for today to be this beautiful.

"I'm sorry for springing this all on you," Bremerton said. "In my line of work, I talk to people about their problems. They talk to me, and I listen. Ninety-five percent of the time, they can usually figure out a solution after blowing off steam and airing out their thoughts. The other five percent, I can only offer an outsider's opinion."

Unicorn listened.

"There are a couple people who don't listen. They're the type of people who won't change and don't want to, either. In that case, there's very little anybody can do. People can only get help only if they want it."

"You think he's like that?" Unicorn accused.

Bremerton sighed. "I don't know much of anything right now. I've been to his door a couple of times and knocked, but he pretends nobody is there. I fear the worst."

"He's not like that."

"I hope that I'm wrong, too." Bremerton sighed again and stood up. "Let me get out of your hair. I'm sure you have a lot of things to think about." She was escorted out by one of the many maids around the dorms.

Unicorn laid down on her bed and held the letter above her head. It was all too much to take in. She closed her eyes and remembered that day on the beach, when everything seemed to be alright. Building sand castles, trying to match the stride of someone much larger than her own.

What on earth was she supposed to do?

The commander felt like lying in bed all day again. Yesterday it had been Amagi who got him up. Today there was no such person. He knew because Amagi said so yesterday.

It was up to him to get up. But quite frankly, he didn't really see a reason. Yesterday's reason to see Amagi today seemed so empty today. It was easy enough to stay. And to be quite honest, he'd forgotten most of everything she said. What remained was the sting of rejection.

When he finally got up to use the restroom, he saw the shards of the teacup he smashed against the wall. It was only then he was reminded of his duty to owe an apology. So he changed slowly and methodically, and was slower still in getting out of his quarters, but he was out of bed.

But even in the sun, he couldn't help but think about how long the whole process took. Were it not for the little ceramic shards, he might have never stood on two feet today. It discouraged him.

At least he was up now. And slowly, lethargically, he dressed himself and meandered outside. He scuffed his heels outside the door where the holotable was. There hadn't been a battle in quite a while. He could only absently wonder if Amagi had started to take on the burden of all the skirmishes herself without telling him. With everything that had happened, it seemed entirely within the realm of possibility.

Outside, the spring which had seemed to be awakening earlier seemed to have hit the snooze and turned over on its other side. The sky, heavy with gloom and clouds, blocked out the shining sun and turned the ocean a threatening dark hue. The wind tore past and stole all the warmth that he collected under his layers. For once, the weather felt like suiting his mood rather than spiting him.

He moved, not being in any particular hurry, towards where Amagi might be. He moved faster when the wind pushed him further along; he stopped when it blew into his face. In truth, he didn't really want to apologize. It was something he should do, rather than what he wanted. And like many things that should be done, it was something he was loath to do.

Regardless how slow he stumbled along, he arrived at the entrance. Strangely, his mind was devoid of any thoughts.

He stood there for a while. He should have been weighing the consequences of entering now versus later, or perhaps devising a proper apology in his mind. But he could only stand there in front of the doorway, numb both in body and mind, holding the door handle but doing little else.

It might have been five minutes, or maybe thirty seconds, but eventually somebody prodded him from behind. A group of five destroyers, wearing thick fur overcoats with their hoods up, seemed equally curious about who this person was standing in the doorway, neither entering nor leaving. He got out of the way and the five got in a single file, each of them passing him a curious look as they passed.

The last one held the door open for him. "Um, aren't you going to come in, mister?"

It was more instinct than cognitive thought which made him shake his head and walk away. His face and ears started to burn. He turned around a bit later, as if wondering if she'd still have the door open even thirty seconds later, but the door was already shut, as if there had been nobody at all.

So he walked away. The little promise which dragged him all the way out this way seemed so small and insignificant now. He meandered along the path he must have come from. In his mind, he wondered if there were other people out there who were born a coward.

The cold winds that he could once ignore felt stronger. Fingers on his right hand started to feel numb. Despite that, he didn't feel any need to shiver or look for the warmth of the indoors. Everything was in a dull haze, like he was looking at a photograph with a greasy lens. Thoughts were difficult to keep in focus, so he didn't have any thoughts at all. He had an inkling that he was cold, but it was more like reading The Little Match Girl next to a fireplace rather than actually being cold.

He decided to rest at a bench along the way. There was a moment where he wondered if he was suffering hypothermia, but it was only 15 degrees centigrade. He slouched against the cold wood, and gazed at the grey sky and equally dismal sea. He thought that this might have been the bench where he and Amagi had a long talk before talking to Akagi. That seemed so incredibly long ago, when he was an entirely different person. It was a little funny that he was back here by himself, looking to apologize once again. It felt an awful like being at square zero again: being stuck in the beginning in a game of Trouble, or Sorry. After getting sent back to the start by another player and unable to even exit the starting area, the question which popped up frequently was 'why even play?'

When everyone was halfway finished with the game while you were still at the start, is it alright to just get up and leave the game? It's not as if victory was anywhere near feasible. Bow out gracefully, and stop swallowing thumbtacks with every turn. Was it not the adult thing to do? At least it wasn't like overturning the entire game board or being a general nuisance.

Deep inside his own thoughts, he didn't notice someone right beside him until Amagi slid right beside him on the bench. He didn't bother correcting his own posture, or even acknowledge her presence.

"Kisaragi was telling everyone she could about the strange person who did nothing but stand in front of the door just now," Amagi said, noncommittally. "She was wondering if they didn't know how to open the door, but whatever it was, it didn't follow them inside. So now she's telling everyone how she saw a ghost."

It took a few moments for him to respond. "Is the joke that I'm supposed to be a ghost?" he said flatly.

"If you want it to be. I expected that you were curious as to how I found you."

The commander hummed, neither assenting nor dissenting.

"Was there anything you wanted to tell me?" Amagi asked.

"Not really." He had no apology prepared.

"You just walked in the cold just to stand in front of the door, and go back?"

"I guess. Maybe I was on a walk."

She was silent for a while. The commander realized that she wasn't carrying her trademark paper umbrella.

"You should know that Bismarck has created a petition asking for you to step down. She believes you are no longer fit for command."

It shouldn't have been all that surprising, but it still felt like a stab in the back. "Oh," he said.

"It's only recently become popular, because I've only taken command of all the recent battles. People have been asking why they're sticking with this commander when he's essentially invisible and not boosting morale."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Amagi pressed on, ignoring his questions. "For the motion to pass, it requires the approval from the leadership of three of the four major factions. So far, Eagle Union and Iron Blood have voted yay."

He sighed.

"Are you not even in the slightest concerned?"

"Not really," he said. "What you're basically saying is that you can vote yes and get me out of here whenever you want, so you're telling me to do my job, right?"

"No, that is not what I am saying." Amagi turned to face him directly. "I say this because I think you are not happy here. I say this not as the representative of the Sakura, but as your friend. If you feel like you need to leave, then tell me. You can return whenever you feel ready again."

The commander met Amagi's eyes for a split second, then turned away. "I don't know what I should do."

"Is it because you do not want to lose your position and title?"

"I don't give a shit about my rank. I just — I don't know. There's nothing for me here, but there's nothing for me at home either. It doesn't matter what happens." He slumped a little more down the bench. Like a petulant child, he thought, but made no effort to fix his posture. The wind continued to howl and ruffle the trees and their hair.

"Let's get inside," Amagi said quietly. "It's cold out here."

"If I sit down at another table, I feel like I'm going to start throwing around tea cups again."

"I'll use a cheaper set. Don't worry about it." She stood up, and offered her hand to help him up. The commander contemplated getting up by himself, but eventually took it. Amagi's grip was surprisingly strong, and hoisted him onto his feet with no apparent trouble despite his body feeling like lead. She frowned. "Your hand is freezing."

He shrugged.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"No."

"Then let's head inside. I can whip something up for both of us. Or three of us, depending on whether she'll be joining us."

The commander turned to see where Amagi was looking and saw Unicorn, out of breath and clutching a slightly crumpled envelope.

Amagi called out, "Would you like to join us for something to eat?"

Unicorn nodded, although she didn't meet Amagi's eyes entirely. She was focused on the ground in between them, expression contemplative.

Amagi led the way back to her dorms, and Unicorn and the commander both followed at a distance. Unicorn walked by his side, not making eye contact and attention focused entirely on the ground. Neither of them said a word to each other, and let the wind fill the silence between them.

People were so strange, he thought. Amagi said that she wouldn't overstep her bounds as a friend, but here she was, going out of her way to find him outside from a rumor she overheard and going to make a meal. He expressly told Unicorn to never see him again for her own benefit, yet here she was. Why were people finally deciding to come find him now, when he finally thought that he'd be okay being alone?

But walking like this, with the company of others with the pace set by someone other than him? It was ill-earned and stolen, but he'd bask in this feeling shamelessly while he still could.

Indeed, he thought when he closed the door behind him, it was a lot warmer inside.

Amagi ushered them both to a room with low tables and mats to sit, and took off her shoes before entering. Both he and Unicorn did the same, and while they found seats, Amagi went into the room in the back.

Unicorn asked if she could help in any way, and Amagi politely declined.

"Whenever I try to make anything in this place, everybody offers to help and I end up doing nothing. No, it's not like I think you'll do the same, dear, but at the same time I want to try by myself. Thank you for offering. Forgive me for my selfish request."

So it was just him and Unicorn, who still hadn't said a single word to him this entire time despite sitting right next to him. Unlike outside, there was plenty of noise to drown to fill the ambience. People talking as they went by in the halls, children screaming as they chased each other: it was not dissimilar to a hotel at the height of tourism near a beach, despite the terrible weather outside. The lights — both oil-lit and electronic — cast a warm yellow glow around the room. The walls had paintings of the ocean and calligraphy of a language he could not read. Although the room they shared only had no one else, it was infinitely more welcoming than the tiled and white canteen. Or perhaps it was only the novelty of the new experience over everything else.

He would have been content with not saying anything at all.

Unicorn suddenly asked, "Are you unhappy from seeing me?"

The commander thought about it. "I'm not really sure how I feel. I'm upset because you did something I told you not to do, but I'm glad you're here anyway."

She took the letter out of the envelope and put it on the table. "How much did you mean when you wrote this?"

"When I wrote it, I meant every single word."

"Do you still mean it?"

"Sort of," he admitted. "I still think that you should take me out of your life. Even though you've been nothing but kind to me and I'd miss you, I think it's for the best."

Unicorn said nothing.

His thoughts ran wild. "I mean, I guess I should've said this or given it in person or something, I guess a letter through someone else wasn't the best thing to do. Or maybe I could have —"

"I wouldn't be happy with you just leaving like that," she said quietly.

"Short term, yeah, but long-term, you would."

"You don't know that."

"I guess you're right. I don't know that."

"So why, please," she said, voice quavering, "do you keep trying to push me away? It hurts me to see you like this. It hurts me even more if I can't do anything about it." She leaned her head against his shoulder.

He broke eye contact, staring at one the ceiling. "Because I made the same mistake you did. Didn't I write all of this in the letter? Aren't you just being a little bit stubborn?"

"I wanted you to talk to me," Unicorn whispered. "Even now, you won't tell me what you're thinking. I told you before that you can tell me anything. I want to listen, even now."

He felt himself growing frustrated, but he was unsure whether it was because of her or not. "Unicorn, you know who people like I am? We're high-maintenance. I require multiple times more attention and care than anyone else. I'd starve if I only got the same amount as anyone else. Being around someone like me, it only makes other people sick. And you know who's fault it is? Not yours. Mine. So please, spend your efforts with someone who would make you happy as well. Not me." The commander felt simultaneously spent and uneasy after his last words.

"Don't you think you deserve to be happy?" she asked.

"I don't think anybody deserves to be happy. It's one of those things that people talk on and on about but never do, along with solving world hunger and global peace. Nobody deserves the right to be happy. Some are, some aren't. That's how it has been, and that's how it will always be. And I was just unlucky."

Unicorn said nothing for a while, but began to clutch his arm tightly. His attention began to drift off to the fragrant smell of curry from the back room where Amagi disappeared. A small part of his mind wondered if he had said too much to Unicorn, and felt shamefully justified. He still couldn't bear to turn his gaze back to her even as she cut off his circulation, sniffling quietly. There was not a single thing he could think of to say that would help.

She felt warm. Even with the indoor warmth, his fingers still felt cold from the elements outside. When she continued to not say anything, he felt a hint of regret. Before that regret deepened to remorse, she whispered quietly as a mouse, "I don't know if you're right or not about people being happy. But at the very least, I think you deserve to be happy. Nobody deserves to be like this."

He was tempted to say, "Don't make promises you can't keep." It was the first thing that jumped to his mind. But it was also incredibly tempting to take her word as fact. It was something he wanted to hear for a very long time, even though it came from someone who was infinitely younger and inexperienced than he was.

He considered it for a while, and let the idea roll around in his head. Then he said softly, "I don't know if I'm right either. But I think I'd be happy to be wrong. I'll try keeping your words in mind."

"You promise?"

"I can't promise anything. But I'll try."

"I'm really happy to hear that," she said. He could almost hear her smile.

The logician in his mind started to speak. "You know, Unicorn, I'm really afraid. We've done this before, but it led nowhere. What if this leads to nothing again?"

"Promise me then you'll talk to me. Or Miss Amagi, or anyone else. Please talk to anyone, and we'll listen to whatever you have to say."

He found it in himself to weakly laugh. "I already said I won't be making any promises. But those are good words. I'll try."

Unicorn's vice grip on his arm relaxed. "I was so scared that you wouldn't listen to me," she admitted.

"All I did was listen."

"You weren't listening last time."

"I guess you spoke a lot more sense this time around. When did you grow up so fast? You're hardly the same person I thought I knew."

Unicorn smiled and looked at him. "I must have grown up."

"I feel a little funny taking advice from someone younger than me, to be honest."

"I was worried about that too."

Amagi came out holding two bowls of curry rice and set it in front of them. "I'm sorry for the long wait. It's not up to my usual standards. I'm much rustier than I expected."

Neither of them said anything, and simply looked at the picturesque bowls.

Amagi stifled a laugh. "I'll fetch you two spoons in just a moment."

When the table was ready and set, they ate.

"How's the food?" Amagi asked.

To tell the truth, the curry was a little watery and the rice was a little overcooked. It was hot enough to scald his tongue. But despite that, it was still one of the tastiest things he'd eaten in a while.

"Good," he said.


A/N: It's been a while. Welcome back.

I know I haven't responded to reviews in a very long while, but I did enjoying reading all of them. I got a lot of warm reviews, along with analysis. I tried to respond to the ones I could, but in truth I was unable to find anything sincere to respond with. I hit bad lows once or twice a month. They're draining, but I swore to finish this, so whenever I do have the energy for coherent thoughts beside my own well-worn cycles, I do try to write.

I'm awfully embarrassed by a lot of the stuff I wrote, both in the long past and in the recent past. But I do sometimes think I'm improving, which means more than it really should. Practice makes perfect, but even these sort of aphorisms seem to be easily forgotten. After a long time in a rut, I think I've figured out the direction I want to take. I've started to construct a concrete ending. I still have zero clue when I'll finish. I know a lot of people work with deadlines, but I find that breaking deadlines kill motivation faster than anything else, without the benefit of harried work the days leading up to the deadlines. So I'll continue to eke out word by word. Figure things out, like I have been for a little over an year now.

Thanks for sticking with me for yet another chapter. I greatly appreciate the following I've gathered over these past months, despite my muddled, tasteless writing unfitting for fanfiction. I'll see you all for the next one.