Days pass. Snow falls. Yousuke's so busy he doesn't notice it's December until the ads go up.
"Do I have a girlfriend or anything?" he asks, one quiet evening.
Naoto peers at him strangely over his book, but it's okay. Yousuke already knows the answer. A girlfriend would have visited him in the hospital. Called, at least.
"Never mind," Yousuke says. "Forget it. What about you? Don't you have anyone to visit during Christmas?"
The phone rings. Yousuke never gets an answer; there's a rich man with a knife in his chest. Crime doesn't take holidays, apparently.