This thing's lengthened to at least six, possibly seven chapters. The end is taking up way more space than I thought it would.

And please review, if you read. Even something short. I don't care if you don't have much to say, or if you have something you didn't like about the story. Feedback is important to me.

Another gust of wind buffeted him, and Watanuki felt hollow and light. He wondered if the next would blow him away completely. This was the only world Yuuko had found for him that didn't already contain another version of him. And it was free of spirits, and he had a place to stay, and he supposed he could live a normal life here.

But there wasn't much to do.

So he was sitting out on the breakwater, watching the tide come in and breathing in sea-scent. Remembering. He'd been here almost two months now, and that seemed to be all he could do.

He would try to think of Kohane-chan with the umbrella, of Himawari-chan and Tampopo with their shared smile, and if he succeeded in doing so would feel at ease because they had given their blessing and he knew that they were doing everything they possibly could to find a happy life. Watanuki thought if he remembered them enough, he could follow their example and have a happy life, too. Both wrote him letters from time to time, all warm wishes and stories and once or twice a photograph.

But often, too often, his thoughts would trail back to Doumeki, and their strange farewell. And he would touch his lips to his fingers and wonder what he had missed in all the time they'd known each other. He would attempt to find the anger, but without Doumeki's presence to make it easier, all he could summon up was a heaviness in his chest that felt too much like regret.

Watanuki wanted to be the kind of person who lived without regret, but he had never had much success. He wondered if Doumeki had felt regret on that rainy day when he'd forgone the umbrella and kissed Watanuki goodbye.

He wondered if it would make a difference, if he hadn't.

There was a letter in his pocket that he didn't want to read. It wasn't from Kohane or Himawari, and Yuuko never wrote. He didn't want to think about the alternative. Living in ignorance, he could at least pretend that the door was not really closed, but to have solid evidence – worse than speech, which could be persuaded otherwise – would end any denial still retained after all this time. He'd had the letter for three days already.

So he played with an edge, stared out at that gray sea, and tried not to think about Doumeki. It was a mission doomed to failure, as the corner of paper kept the memories fresh in his mind without having to find connections. Why should there even be a letter? What was there left to say? Unless there was an explanation, but Watanuki was afraid it would be the wrong one.

There were too many things to explain, and few of the explanations would help him retain any hope.

"Have you decided the answers already?" Yuuko would have asked with the glint in her eyes that hinted at something she knew that he didn't. But Watanuki shook the lingering voice from his head and stared resolutely out to sea.

Oh, hell. He'd know eventually.

With both reluctance and a perverse anticipation, he drew the letter from his pocket and hesitated over the envelope. But he had to know now, couldn't stop the damning process. He opened the letter.

I'm leaving for university tomorrow. Thought you'd want to know.

I hope you're well.

Shizuka

He blinked. The message remained as sparse as before. The back of the paper was completely blank, and the was no second sheaf. "Is that it, you jerk?" he demanded of the empty air. It wasn't the same as yelling at Doumeki himself, but it was necessary and slightly therapeutic. Everything that moron did was so infuriating. Even writing a letter.

He reread the letter and for the first time the message registered in his brain. "Wait, what?" he cried, unable to explain the sudden panic but fearing it had something to do with the fact that Shi – Doumeki, dammit! – was leaving. Had left.

"Leaving? Like you did?" his inner Yuuko inquired nastily. "What, were you expecting him to wait for you?"

He was forced to admit to himself that he had been subconsciously thinking along those lines. But hadn't Doumeki always waited before? It wasn't something he wanted, it was just strange that it wasn't happening.

"So you expect him to wait for you, even when you're completely out of his grasp? When you've left him for good?" the nagging voice persisted.

"I can't even win an argument with myself," sighed Watanuki, resigning himself to failure and feeling decidedly depressed about everything in general. If the letter was getting him down more than anything else, that was purely happenstance. And it's not like it mattered at this point. It was already too late.

Actually…

It wasn't too late. He could call this whole experiment off, doom himself to seeing spirits forever, a lifelong servitude to Yuuko, or quite possibly both. He could do that. He would be throwing away his life's goal of years before, but all things had a price. But for what? A chance to see some jerk when he came home once or twice a year? A chance to see someone he didn't even like? An existence like he'd known before Yuuko's solution, one that involved mortal danger and fear as a daily event?

He didn't know if it was the monotony of this world, or a subconscious suicidal or masochistic streak, but somehow these ideas didn't seem nearly so horrible.

Eyeing the letter, he wondered what going back would mean. An inevitable confrontation, yes. An inevitable conclusion. And things would change, simply because they could do nothing but. Things had already changed, and since Watanuki had orchestrated these changes, he couldn't complain at all.

But at least he would be doing something.

"Yuuko-san," he called, feeling a bit self-conscious. For a moment he didn't think she would appear, but then his employer's face appeared in a puddle to his left.

"Going back so soon?" she inquired knowingly. Once, this might have inspired rage, but Yuuko's mirth was oddly comforting, so Watanuki smiled slightly and nodded. "It took you less time than I had feared."

"Then you knew all along I wouldn't stay here?" he asked.

"I didn't know for sure," Yuuko replied. "But I had hoped. After all, I've never had such good help around the shop."

He ignored the teasing for what it was. "But Yuuko-san, what will I do now?"

The Witch of the Dimensions smiled enigmatically and perhaps kindly up at him. "You'll make it up as you go along, of course," she told him. "Same as everyone else."