April 1, Ma Fille Bakery, Nerima, Tokyo

The time was twenty minutes past midnight. A sparrow fluttered past the front door of Ma Fille, settling on a nearby lamppost.

Yoshiyuki and Ryouko Miyazono were sane people, as far as both of them knew; at least, as sane as human beings were. Many of the people who were close to them, and knew of the tragedy that had befallen them, had warned them about possible consequences, including hallucinations of their deceased daughter, borne from grief and the desire to see their child once more.

For the Miyazono family, however, that moment had not come.

Yes, Kaori's death had hit them hard, as it might hit any parent hard to lose their child. After all, no parent should have to bury their child, let alone because of something they could do nothing to prevent. It had barely happened a month ago at best; the funeral was hard to arrange, and they even ensured Kaori's body wasn't burnt as was usually the custom. The thought of their beautiful daughter, crumbling to ashes in a furnace and being stuffed into an urn, was too hard to bear; she'd already suffered enough without that last indignity to her corpse.

They felt she at least deserved some dignity in death.

They'd since thrown themselves into running Ma Fille, their other 'child' as it were, named for Kaori herself. Yoshiyuki had suggested counseling for the both of them; it might not come up now, but eventually, the pain of losing Kaori would come in force, and they might as well do something about it before it affected their lives in a way both of them would regret. Their therapist had mentioned, in their last session a week prior, that they were doing remarkably well to move on after her death.

Granted, they'd had fourteen years to prepare for losing Kaori. It was only natural they would be ready; her death was slow, creeping and painful. That was the only condolence they had; they at least had more time than other parents who had lost their children to prepare for it. Kaori had not died from a sudden car crash or an overdose; her illness had taken fourteen years to do its deadly work, but do its work it did.

All in all, however, life moved on for the Miyazonos. Ma Fille was doing well, their counseling was working wonders, and they saw the Arima boy from time to time; he was, though depressed, at least trying to move on, and they had spent at least one dinner together reminiscing about Kaori's life. They both viewed Kousei as a son to them, even if he hadn't ever been related to them; he was the reason Kaori wanted to live, the reason she tried so hard to live, and so he was welcome any time he wanted, for any reason. It was the least they could do for the boy their daughter loved so much.

The Miyazonos were, all in all, pretty confident they weren't insane, let alone from grief.

That assumption was challenged when, at twenty minutes past twelve midnight, they looked up from cleaning up the bakery for closing time to see their very much alive daughter, banging on the front door, with absolutely no clothes on.

She looked a lot healthier than she had when she'd passed; her skin was pinker and fuller, and her hair and eyes were back to the vibrant gold and blue they once were. Her knees and shins were a little scuffed and messy, but aside from that, she looked rather clean for someone who'd been running around in a city with no clothes for a night.

"Mom! Dad!" Kaori yelled through the glass, rapping rapidly on the door with her hand. "Could you let me in? It's kinda cold out here!"

Yoshiyuki and Ryouko shared a look between each other, then stared at Kaori, not quite understanding what was going on. For all it seemed, there was an alien dressed in clown makeup offering them tickets to a gun show knocking on their door; such an image seemed to be the best way to encapsulate exactly how bizarre this image was to the Miyazonos.

Of course, this was only the logical reaction; in their experience and indeed in the experience of most of the human race, the dead did not tend to rise from their graves, let alone rise from their graves looking as healthy or indeed alive as their daughter currently did.

"…that IS our daughter, right, dear?" Ryouko inquired, her mouth agape. "That's our Kaori, right? I'm not the only one seeing this? Please tell me I haven't gone insane."

"…..no, no you aren't insane, or else we're both insane," Yoshiyuki replied, stunned as he took the frankly absurd and ridiculous sight in. "That's definitely Kaori. But….how? She's…..but that's not…."

"It's not…..possible. She's…..gone." Kaori's mother couldn't bring herself to say she was dead, even if it was the truth (except it wasn't because Kaori was somehow here, alive, and apparently waltzing around Nerima ward in the dead of night with no clothes). "How can she be here?"

"Hello? Guys?!" their daughter cried, still knocking on the door. "I-I'm kinda naked out here! Can you let me in, please?! It's getting really cold and it's kinda late!"

'Then again, why am I surprised they're so surprised?' she thought to herself. 'Not every day the dead come back to the world of the living, right?

That would make me a zombie, technically. Huh. That's a thought.'

Ten minutes later….

"…..and that's how I woke up on a bench about ten minutes away," Kaori finished her story, placing down the mug of hot chocolate her parents had made her, clutching it in both hands to enjoy the warmth, a half-eaten canele sitting in front of her on a cute little decorative plate from the bakery. She was in a pair of plain pink pajamas, the cotton lining for which she was infinitely grateful; after ten minutes in the cold buck naked, warm, fluffy clothes were the best thing in the world. She leaned back in the soft chair she was sitting in, letting out a satisfied sigh. "I tripped a little on the way here, too. That's why I'm all cut up at the legs. Turns out, when you've been dead and not using your legs properly for a while, you kinda forget how to walk properly. Funny thing; you'd think walking would be easy, after doing it for years."

'It's good to be back,' she contentedly thought to herself. 'Even if it's just for a little bit.'

Her parents simply nodded slowly, their facial expressions a mix between relief at seeing their beloved daughter again, confusion at how completely bizarre and improbable her story was, and surprise as to how she came back in the first place.

"So let me get this straight," her father clarified, his voice slow. "So you're here because you've been allowed to finish unfinished business, with us, your friends and Arima?"

"Yep! I'm like a ghost from the movies. Only I don't float. Or pass through things."

Ryouko was simply staring at her daughter, taking in the sight. "…..I still can't believe you're…..here, Kaori."

"It's only for a day," Kaori admitted, a tone of sadness in her voice. Again, not as if she hadn't expected that; her whole life was living on borrowed time and this was no different. "But I have to make the most of it. I'm sorry I can't come back for longer, Mom, Dad, I really am. But I had my time here, and…..the person who sent me back is risking a lot as it is. At least, that's what he said."

Her parents simply stared at her, a look of desperation in their faces as they were reminded of just how little time she had left. Losing Kaori once was bad enough; to see her again only for her to be told that they were going to lose her just as quickly, this time forever, was even harder.

Still, there was nothing to be done. Her surviving for so long was a miracle. Her return for a day was a miracle. To expect any more would be unfair.

Yoshiyuki simply closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to try to hold his composure. "…..are you sure you can't stay for any longer, Kaori?"

His daughter shook her head sadly, her expression looking more and more morose. "I'm sorry. I said I'd only need a day to fix everything. He's probably going to go back for me then."

"You can't just-!" Ryouko interjected hastily, before holding her tongue, a desperate look in her eyes betraying her true feelings as she calmed down. "You can't just leave us again, Kaori. Do you know how painful it was to lose you the first time?"

"Yes, Mom. I know, I know," Kaori choked out, sniffling as she took in the begging, pleading expressions of both her parents. Her eyes began to well with tears; she really hadn't thought about how her parents would react. "I know that it had to be painful, I know, but….I-I can't do anything about it.

I'm sorry, I really am. I wish I could just….stay here and never have to go back."

The true gravity of Kaori's decision weighed upon the young woman for the first time since she'd returned. The absurdity of her nakedness had distracted her from the very weight of her mission and the time in which she had to complete it.

One day. Kaori had one day to finish business with everyone she cared about in life.

One day wasn't enough, even if that group of people numbered only five people.

It could never be enough.

It would never be enough to apologise and repay her parents for everything they ever did for her; all the work and money they put into her hospital stays, all the love and kindness they had lavished upon her, all the support they provided her in all her tempestuousness. It would never be enough to tell Tsubaki and Watari how much they mattered to her, how much their friendship mattered to her, especially when she was in the hospital, how much that having them around, however little it helped, made her life just that bit brighter before the end.

It could never possibly be enough to be with Kousei.

It would take a lifetime for Kaori to express everything she felt for him; how much she admired him as the musician who'd drawn her into a world of beauty, liked him as the best, most understanding friend anyone could have, loved him as the sweet and kind man who'd tolerate her no matter what, who would never, ever stop loving her even when she called him at odd hours, threw things at him, hit him or demanded caneles of him. It would take her a lifetime to make up for the relationship they almost had.

She had, at best, less than twenty-four hours to do it.

And like that, Kaori began to cry for the first time since that fateful day on the rooftop.

Her parents held their daughter tightly, hugged her close, held onto her for dear life, as if the very act of crying was going to take her away from them again.

For what felt like an eternity, the Miyazono family simply sat there in silence, nothing but the sounds of tears hitting the surface of the table they sat around as they held each other close. It was all they needed, all they wanted.

When Kaori left the first time, they never even had the chance to say goodbye to her. She'd flatlined on the table, and that was it. No chance to see their daughter off, no chance to comfort her in her final moments. The doctors had simply come out, announced that they couldn't save her, and gave them a time of death, offered them a weak, hollow apology; it could never, ever be enough to make up for the loss they'd suffered. They hadn't even seen her corpse until hours afterwards, when they cleaned off the blood to return some sense of dignity to her.

The image of their dead daughter haunted both their eyes to this day; Kaori, so lively in life, so vibrant, so colorful, was drained and pale as a sheet. Her eyes were lightly closed and her mouth in a tiny 'O'; in any other setting, she might have been sleeping. Her corpse looked vulnerable, so fragile, so weak wrapped in a simple sheet, a pale imitation of the girl to whom it had once belonged.

This time, the Miyazono family did not waste time. There were no words; there weren't any needed. Their tears were enough. This time, they had a chance to say goodbye to their daughter properly, to see her off as the girl they loved; strong, colorful and beautiful, not the weak, inadequate remnant they saw off the first time.

And they would not waste it.

The clock had struck one by the time someone spoke and broke the spell that had hung over the room. It was Kaori.

"…..do you mind if I….use my room, one last time?" she asked plaintively. "I'm not sleeping, not tonight, but…..I just need time to be alone, is all."

'I need time. I need to figure out how I'm going to talk to the others, to Tsubaki, to Watari…to Kousei.'

She needed time. To calm herself down, to assess her situation, to figure out what to do next. Even half a day was enough time to have a few conversations, after all. She had to think positively and creatively; at least this time, she knew what limit she was working with.

Maybe, if she begged, she might even be able to get that duet in after all.

'Better to go out with a bang than going out with a whimper, right?'

Kaori nodded, determination returning to her eyes as she asked her question and the thought crossed her mind.

She and her parents had had their time to say their goodbyes, now it was time to do what she came here to do.

This was her last dance, her swan song, the final sprint to the finish line, not the time to cry about what could have been, what should have been. And Kaori Miyazono would be damned if the last thing she did in life was to mope around about her failures. Especially not the last thing she did in her second life.

Dying and coming back had a way of pointing out one's priorities.

Her father stood up, dusting himself off and wiping his eyes. "Of course. It's your room. We haven't touched it at all."

"Not since you….left," her mother added. "We couldn't bear to do anything with it, not so soon afterwards."

"Alright, alright," Kaori nodded, before standing up, her now-cold mug of cocoa in her hands. "You must be tired. You two should sleep. I'll leave first thing in the morning, see if I can't find Watari or Tsubaki around."

"Not staying for breakfast?" her father inquired. "At least stay for that. For us. We'll make you caneles, or anything you like."

Kaori thought about it for a few seconds. This would be the last time she would eat with her parents, after all. She couldn't deny them that.

She smiled at her parents.

"Sure. I'd love that."

…

The next seven hours passed in a blur for Kaori.

Her old room was, true to her parents' word, exactly as they'd left it when she was carted off to hospital at the beginning of the year; her bed had been fixed, in expectation she might return from the hospital this time, but aside from that it was untouched, clothes, books and all. She found herself grasping instinctively for the handrails that she once used to help herself up and grabbing them for dear life, before realizing her legs were now strong enough to carry her weight. The gray-eyed man had promised to cure her of her illness, to make it fairer on her, and it seemed he had truly followed up on his promise.

And so she lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts speeding through her head at lightspeed as she grasped at idle thoughts, trying to figure out what to do and what to say to the other three members of her circle of friends. A nervous energy filled her, banishing all thoughts of sleep and rest.

Kaori suspected Watari would have forgotten about her, except as a wistful note in his memory. He was the kind of boy who moved on quickly, too confident and too manly to grieve for very long. She suspected it would be a lot easier for him to let go of her once more. She could talk to him just casually, say her goodbyes properly, and that would be that. He was a good friend, but he was probably less in need of a proper farewell.

Tsubaki was her best and dearest friend. Kaori's lie had been intended in part to protect her, and she wasn't so blind as to see what her relationship with Kousei had done to her. It hurt the young woman to think that, as much as she loved Kousei, she had to let him go for Tsubaki; unlike Kaori, she didn't currently have the approximate lifespan of a mayfly. Kaori suspected that she would be teary, but she would be strong; Kaori had always respected that about Tsubaki. No matter what happened, no matter how bad the situation was, she could pull herself together, get herself back up and continue fighting on. Kaori reckoned that, between her and Watari, Tsubaki was the one who was doing the legwork keeping Kousei's spirits up after she'd left.

'I suppose that makes her a better person than me, in the end. At least she didn't break his heart. She didn't die on him.'

Even if Kaori had to give up Kousei's heart, she was at least comforted by the idea that she'd given his heart up to a girl who would have his back. Kaori knew what she'd say to Tsubaki now; she'd wish her luck with Kousei, maybe threaten to haunt her a little if she didn't do her job, and then say a proper goodbye to her.

Kousei, however, was a different matter.

It was difficult for Kaori to figure out what she'd even say to the boy who had essentially changed her fate, how she could say goodbye to him again without breaking his heart again, throwing him back into the dark sea that she'd pulled him from.

'I broke his heart once. I'd be a terrible person if I did it again.'

Kaori didn't need to ask around to know what effect her death had on him. He was likely heartbroken, grieving for her.

Don't. Be. Dead.

Those were the first words she'd heard in the afterlife, and she knew Kousei had uttered them. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that they weren't some figment of her imagination, created by her mind to claw itself back to consciousness with the last thing she'd ever thought about.

Kousei's grief had reached her, even in the land of the dead, just as his music had reached her on her way to the afterlife.

Her chest seized a little bit, realizing it was her fault. It wasn't just that she died, but that she'd loved him back, loved him so dearly she'd spent her last years alive trying to reach him, and yet never once said the words 'I love you' to him in person, never once even hinted a single thing about her feelings for him. True, she'd told him how much she loved him in her final letter. She still remembered writing that; five times, she'd thrown the paper away, sometimes because she didn't quite get it right, sometimes because she'd cried on the paper, ruining it entirely. It was a hard thing to make a child write, a letter they knew would only be read long after their death.

But a letter was a poor substitute for hearing it from the person themselves. Kaori felt even worse for that; what kind of a coward couldn't even admit they loved the man they loved?

'I needed to do that. I needed to lie. I couldn't tell the truth, right? It'd just leave a mess. It would've killed him if I didn't. I did the right thing.

Right?'

Her lie seemed less and less necessary, less justified by the minute. Kaori had managed to convince herself, over and over, time and time again, that telling the world 'Kaori Miyazono likes Watari Ryota' even when her true object of affection was entirely different was the moral thing to do. It would mean limiting the pain Kousei felt when she went; at least he wouldn't try to pursue her, thinking she loved another. It would mean leaving the path clear for Tsubaki; if Tsubaki didn't see her as a rival, then Kaori could get close to him, and at least she'd be safer once she was gone.

She'd convinced herself it was better for Kousei if he believed she couldn't love him back.

But did it even really work? Kaori wasn't blind. Kousei had fallen in love with her regardless, and Tsubaki still saw her as a rival for Kousei's heart. Both things hurt her terribly; because she couldn't return his love knowing she'd die, because she couldn't stop loving him anyway, knowing her love for him was utterly doomed.

It was selfish of her, in a way. Knowing she'd be dead soon, knowing all that, she couldn't stop herself, couldn't quite extricate herself from Kousei's life. It was the right thing to do, the unselfish thing, to spare him pain.

But she hadn't.

'I only did what anyone else would do, right?'

By the time the sun had risen far above the horizon, and the clock on the wall read eight o'clock, Kaori didn't have an answer to any of her questions.

Breakfast, too, passed in a blur. She and her parents simply ate in silence, not saying a word; everything had been said last night. By nine o'clock, they were done eating, and Kaori had dressed up to go meet her friends.

It was the same dress as she'd worn a year ago, when she first met Kousei. Kaori couldn't resist the poetic touch; she'd leave the world in the same clothes as she'd really entered it in.

Her parents hugged her tightly as the whole family prepared to leave; Mr. and Mrs. Miyazono were leaving for work, Kaori was leaving to fulfill her final mission. They knew this was the last time they would see her, and so the hug seemed to last forever, as if their desire to hold their child close had bent time and space to their will, to delay time's movement just long enough to prolong it.

"I'll see you later," Kaori promised as she prepared to walk out the door, looking one last time at her parents.

She paused, turning away. She couldn't look them in the eye anymore. She didn't want to see the looks on their faces, though she already knew.

She owed them this much.

"I love you."

Her parents were simply silent, but their glances told her everything she needed to know.

They loved her, loved her too much to let go, loved her more than words could possibly express. Remaining silent was the best they could do to stop themselves from begging Kaori, begging God, begging anyone that would listen to let her stay on the earth she'd left too soon.

Kaori felt tears well up in her eyes again. She closed her blue eyes, breathing in deeply, trying to master her emotions. She just needed to hold on a bit longer.

'This isn't the time to cry, Kaori. We need to finish what we came here to do. We're soldiers today, soldiers on a mission. We can't break down yet.

Just a little longer. Just a little more.'

After a few more moments, the young woman set off.

April 1, the Arima Residence, Nerima, Tokyo

The time was ten minutes past twelve noon.

Kousei Arima lay on the floor of the room where he kept the piano, staring up into the blue sky beyond the large window, the sun's ray shining on the polished black wooden body of the instrument he owned and mastered. Musical notation sheets lay scattered around the floor as they always did; he'd spent the night and the morning just reading through notes. He didn't know why; perhaps it was to distract himself, perhaps he was chasing some sort of clue after something else.

Not much was going on with the world around him, he'd learned from the newspapers. A politician had said something or other about the economic state of the country, another interview with an idol, another news story. The only new thing he'd found was something in the back, something about some place in America called Echo Creek, something about a possum statue being destroyed and the resulting town uproar. He hadn't paid very much attention to it; he still didn't know why he'd read it at all.

Kousei hadn't made any plans for today either. Not that he had anyone to spend it with, even if he had; Tsubaki and Watari were away on tournaments involving the sports they loved; after all, they weren't like him, weren't utterly lost for how to keep going. Life had moved on faster for them than it had for Kousei, but then neither of them were nearly as close to Kaori as he had been.

He didn't know Takeshi or Emi well enough, and he very well couldn't just call up Hiroko for some casual hang-out. It would really weird for him to call anyone else; most of the people he knew were students he taught piano or just acquaintances he knew the names of and not much more.

And it was another way of forcing him to visit Kaori again. If he had no excuse to forget to visit her grave, then he'd have to do it.

He didn't know what he'd do once he was there.

He exhaled deeply. The only sound Kousei could hear were the movement of cars in the far distance and the repetitive chirping of cicadas somewhere next door. A cherry blossom leaf sailed in through the open window, and a sparrow fluttered onto the windowsill, tilting its head at Kousei, seeming to study him.

Don't. Be. Dead.

The words he'd said yesterday echoed in his head.

Kousei didn't understand why he'd said that. Logically, he knew it was impossible. The dead didn't come back from their graves for anyone; that was just the law of the world. No matter how many laws of musical decency Kaori broke, she couldn't go against the law of the world itself. She was gone, and that was that.

'Look at me. I'm looking down again. Kaori would kill me if she saw me like this.'

He was grieving. In a sense, he'd never really stopped grieving, not since his mother died. The happiest days of his life were brief and few in number; those were the days he'd spent with Kaori. When she fell ill, he'd returned to the gloom that had once been his life, sunk into his own despair.

He'd left Kaori all alone to deal with hers.

'Is that why? Why I want to see her again so much?'

Guilt gnawed at Kousei's mind. Yes, he had suffered, but so had Kaori; after all, he wasn't the one with the terminal illness. When she needed him the most, he'd hid away, avoided her, did anything in his power to keep away from her. He'd already lost one person to illness, but his mother was a different matter; she'd beaten him black and blue, broken his will, molded him into the perfect musician at the cost of his spirit.

Kaori had done her utmost best to fix what his mother had done to him, to restore him to at least a semblance of the person he once had been. He owed her more than he'd owed his own mother and he'd repaid her by abandoning her when she most needed him.

He was a coward, and he was ashamed of it.

'She'd never forgive me. She shouldn't. I'm not worth it.'

If Kousei had a second chance, if he could do everything over, he knew what he would do; he would spend every waking moment he had by Kaori's side. He would stick as close to her as was humanly possible; he'd never, ever let her doubt that he loved her. She wanted 'Friend A', he'd be the best damn friend she could ever ask for.

There were no second chances in life and death, no matter how much he begged.

All he could do now was pay his respects to her memorial and hope that, wherever Kaori was, she would know just how much he regretted what he hadn't done for her in life.

'If she showed up at my door right now, I wouldn't even know what to say. 'I love you'? 'I'm sorry'? 'I'll buy you more caneles?''

Kousei closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It was no use clouding his mind with 'what-ifs' and 'what-should-have-beens'. He was right; Kaori would kill him if she caught him like this. If nothing else, he could respect her memory by trying to move on, and sitting around moping like this wasn't going to do it.

Despite his resolve, Kousei still couldn't find the strength to pull himself off the floor.

No more than ten minutes had passed before the doorbell rang, snapping the young man out of his fugue. Wrenching himself off the floor with a grunt, Kousei almost stumbled as he made his way towards the front door.

"Must be the old couple next door," he muttered to himself. Hiroko would've burst in by now, as would have Tsubaki, and Watari wasn't in town anyway. There was, indeed, an old couple, by the name of the Hondas, who moved in next door in the month after Kaori's death, and they occasionally went and knocked at his door to ask if they could borrow spices or salt. Kousei was happy to oblige, of course; they seemed nice enough, and it would be rude of him to turn such a lovely old couple away.

He made his way to the door, a practiced smile on his face to greet whoever was at the door, and opened it. It was probably Mrs. Honda; she was the one who went next door the most, and he knew for a fact Mr. Honda was at work most days.

"Good morning, Mrs. Honda," Kousei started, a practiced, polite tone to his voice. "What do you need-"

"Hey, Kousei. Miss me?"

Kousei's eyes widened as the girl in front of him spoke. His speech failed him, his smile fading into an expression of absolute shock, and he choked out the last word of his sentence as he stumbled back, realizing who had just spoken to him.

"…..today."

The girl who stood in front of him was too young to be Mrs. Honda.

She was, at best, fourteen, maybe fifteen years old, with luxurious golden hair that shone in the spring sun. Her eyes were shut, but he already knew for a fact they were a light blue, once clouded grey by illness. A sweet smile was spread across her face, as she slightly tilted her head in that way that lent a childish innocence to her. She was wearing the very same dress she'd worn when they first met, two layers of billowy white and pleated pink, blowing gently in the calm breeze travelling through the street behind her.

She was tempestuous, hyperactive and made the worst impression.

She was the most beautiful woman and the most passionate person he'd ever met, and he owed her more than words or actions possibly ever express.

"Don't just stand there and gawk at me like some perv. Aren't you going to be a gentleman and invite me in, Friend A?"

The girl who stood before him was undeniably Kaori Miyazono.

And just as he'd imagined, Kousei had absolutely no idea what to say.

It was impossible to mistake her for anyone else. He'd know her face anywhere; he could never, ever forget her. To forget a face was one thing, of course; to see a dead person standing before him was entirely another.

'That's…..impossible,' Kousei thought to himself, his body frozen in place as he took in the sight before him.'I'm going insane. I must be. That's not Kaori. It can't be. She's…..gone.'

He had to be insane, to be seeing her again, as if nothing had ever happened, as if she hadn't died barely a month ago. He knew she had to be dead; he'd seen her vanish before his eyes, he'd seen her grave not even a day ago. He heard about this kind of thing happening to people who'd recently lost loved ones; they'd see hallucinations, living in denial that their beloved had died, insisting they hadn't died, hadn't left.

That was the only logical explanation to explain what Kaori was doing at his doorstep.

But he wasn't insane, he knew in his heart of hearts. That smile, her voice, her very presence, it was too real to be denied, too real to be a hallucination derived from guilt or grief, too real to be anything but the woman herself in the flesh.

Kaori had returned from the dead. Just as he'd begged her to a day ago, she'd come back from the land of the dead.

And she was standing before him, stealing his heart all over again, like she'd done a year ago in April.

He'd reached her.

The time was twenty minutes past twelve noon, and for the first time in a year, spring had bloomed in Kousei Arima's heart.

April 1, Nerima, Tokyo

Twelve hours and forty minutes remain.

Eurydice

Summer

A/N: Not much to be said here. Just laying the groundwork for next chapter, which should be a doozy. After all, any good couple goes through problems, and Kaori and Kousei won't be any different in that respect. Also, I did say this was a dramatic fic, or at least my attempt at one.

So, I hope you enjoyed that, leave your ideas, comments, suggestions, reviews and thoughts, and I hope you have a GREAT day! Until next time!