Desiderium

by RAfan2421

A part of me will always love you, Hikigaya-kun.

oOo

Day One (Morning)

Hikigaya Hachiman's plane arrives in New York two hours behind schedule. In the seat behind him, he hears a couple grumbling about the long delays and the even longer flight. Somewhere, a baby is crying, which makes the dreaded wait for deplaning while sitting on the idling aircraft even more unbearable.

He has not slept on this flight. The total flight time was twelve hours and fifty-five minutes, but with the delays and his hurried preparation for this flight, it has been almost a full day since he has last gotten some sleep. The only thing he is looking forward to is the bed at the hotel that he has booked for this trip, but he knows that there is still quite some time before he can sleep.

He flips open his phone and switches off the airplane mode function to distract himself. He closes out of the puzzle game that he had been playing in the boarding area of the terminal back in Tokyo, and boots up his LINE app. There are a few messages, most of them wishing him safe travels from his admittedly small list of contacts. Komachi had included, as is their tradition, a list of local items to purchase. Usually, she would have added some suggestions on places to visit, but she had refrained from doing so here.

They both know, after all, why he is in New York.

He briefly glances at her list of souvenirs that she wants; most of them are relatively common and expected. A few stand out; for example, what the fuck is a Manhattan cocktail, he wonders.

A quick search yields some interesting recipes; it shouldn't be too hard to find the ingredients. The only issue really is that he wouldn't be able to bring any substantial amount of alcohol through customs back home. Then again, it's not as if he's really stoked when he sees the ingredients for the concoction. It definitely doesn't sound very appealing to him, but if his sister wants to try it then he would, as always, do his best to oblige her.

He flips to the next message. This one is from Yui. It's very short, just a couple of words. There are no emojis or GIFs, which have always been a staple of their private messages. Instead, there is a weight behind those simple letters that he feels, a heaviness that comes across even in text.

Good Luck.

For a brief moment, his mind wanders back to a simpler time. Back to high school, and a park bench in the spring, with cherry blossoms swirling around them as if it were the opening scene to an anime. He still remembers the way Yui had nervously perched herself on the edge of the seat, as if she was ready to bolt away at any moment.

He doesn't remember much of their conversation. He knows that he dominated most of it, that he rambled on and on, and that he was never clear about exactly what it was that he wanted. But he doesn't remember any of the words that escaped his lips. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to remember.

The thing that he remembers though, the thing that always sticks out in his mind when he thinks of Yui, is what happened as he was getting ready to leave.

Yui had tugged on his arm to get his attention.

He'd turned to find that she had scooted over so that they were sitting next to each other, their legs practically touching. She had a blush on her face, and her eyes were upturned so that she was looking up at him through her eyelashes.

It was very unlike Yui; she has never been quite this shy, and he knew immediately to give her his full, undivided attention.

"Hikki…I-I have something to tell you."

He'd known what was coming next. He hadn't been oblivious; it wasn't as if he'd missed the surreptitious looks that she'd shot him, or the way that she had become far more touchy-feely with him. The way that the atmosphere in the club had changed. He hadn't thought that she would ever work up the courage to actually confess, but it appeared that he had been wrong.

"I-I-I… love you, Hikki."

He's shaken out of his thoughts by the movement of the passengers ahead of him. It seems as though they are finally getting off the plane.

He types a quick message back to Yui.

Landed safely.

That is the way he has communicated with her for the past eight years. It is always careful, never straying to sensitive topics. They are old friends; best friends if Yui's way of introducing herself to his acquaintances is to be believed. But not anything more.

He could never agree to be anything more.

As he slowly follows the line of people moving off the plane, he wonders if he made the right choice all those years ago. When he told Yui that he liked someone else; when he told her that he didn't see her in that way.

Sometimes he wonders if maybe he could've been happy with Yui instead.

But deep down he knows that that could never have happened. There is only one person that has ever made Hikigaya Hachiman feel something. Something special.

As he steps out of the plane and into John F. Kennedy Airport, he remembers that he still has to text Komachi to let her know that he has arrived safely. And so he does, although in slightly more words than his text to Yui. It seems as though Komachi has stayed up to wait for his message, as she sends back a cute emoji to acknowledge his text. Years ago, these little conversations with Komachi, however brief, never failed to bring a tired smile to his face.

But those times have long since passed them by.

He closes out of his messages with Komachi, and is just about to head towards customs when someone jostles him, knocking his phone out of his hand.

"Excuse me, oh I'm so sorry!"

It is an older, American woman, clearly in a rush. Before he has the time to consider a proper response in English, she has hurried off to the escalator.

"Probably a connecting flight," he mumbles to himself, as he picks up his phone. The phone itself is fine, but it is open to another message history. He must have accidentally tapped it.

He glances at the conversation and immediately regrets it.

This is his message history with Sensei. They correspond far less than they had in college, but he had told her of his plans. He's not sure why he reached out to his former teacher again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he thought she was uniquely qualified to understand his reasoning.

He has already read the most recent message she sent him. He read it before he ever got on the plane. It's also very short, just a single sentence.

It's never a good thing to be chasing ghosts, Hikigaya.

With a click of a button, the screen turns black.

It seems that he was wrong. Sensei doesn't understand.

She doesn't understand why he is here in New York. Why he has decided, as she so eloquently put it, to chase ghosts.

He has chosen to chase after Yukinoshita Yukino.

Because in the end, it isn't as if he'd had a choice.

oOo

The New York City skyline is actually quite similar to Tokyo's, he decides as he finally gets his first view of the city when he steps out of the airport. If he doesn't pay close attention, he could almost mistake what he assumes is the Empire State Building for Tokyo's Sky Tower. But the skyline is where the similarities between the cities end. Although he has only spent the past four years in Tokyo, he is already intimately familiar with the city. And the first thing he notices is that New York City feels… smaller. That is to be expected; while preparing for this trip he had read that Tokyo is over twice the size of New York by land mass. But he is surprised all the same by just how small it feels compared to the vast city that he knows. New York City is the iconic city of the United States, after all. It feels almost wrong for it to be so small.

He grabs a taxi and, in halting English, recites the address of the hotel that he knows to the driver. The taxi driver gives him a strange look and asks him a question in rapidfire English which he struggles to process. He has been practicing his English, but this trip was hastily cobbled together. He still has many things to work on.

"Sorry, I didn't understand you. Could you say that again?"

The taxi driver mutters something under his breath that he imagines is not very complementary, before responding at a much slower pace.

"The Marriott, yes? You want the Marriott hotel?"

"Ah! Yes, please and thank you."

The driver unceremoniously opens the trunk to the car, gestures towards his suitcase as if telling him to put it in the trunk, and ducks back into the car. He quickly hauls the suitcase into the trunk as instructed before slipping into the back seat.

That is the second difference, he thinks. Americans are quite rude.

The entire ride to the hotel is silent. The streets are quite full; there is quite a lot of traffic. There are constant starts and stops and this, combined with the long flight, is enough to lull him to sleep. It is only after they arrive that the driver wakes him by asking for the fare.

The check-in process goes relatively smoothly. He has a reservation, and the hotel staff is much more welcoming than the taxi driver. He is given a room key and makes his way to his single room. It is a fairly standard hotel room, but it has a bed and bathroom, which is all that he really needs.

He takes off his shoes and flops down on the bed, tired to the bone. It is comfortable; the blankets are soft and the pillows fluffy. Everything is well-cleaned.

It was the right choice to book a decent hotel, he thinks to himself. It might have cost more, but if he wants to make the trip a success, being well-rested will be of the utmost importance. After all, if he is to chase after an impossible dream, he would need to be the very best version of Hikigaya Hachiman that he could be.

She had always demanded that of him, after all.

oOo

It is a letter, of all things, that brings him to New York. A real letter written by hand in a tidy script on a simple piece of loose leaf paper. He had almost missed it in the mail; it had been sealed in a small envelope stuck between a magazine and a Tepco electricity bill. Since the magazine had been for his sister, he hadn't noticed it until his sister had pointed it out to him when she'd come over for dinner and collected the magazine.

He is able to recite the contents of that letter by heart now. He's read it that many times. But he has brought the letter with him all the way to New York anyway. It sits in the outer compartment of his suitcase, still folded inside of its original envelope.

The letter itself is nothing extraordinary. It is a simple missive, but it is written by someone he has not seen for nearly seven years.

Yukinoshita Yukino.

The name, even today after so many years, evokes so many conflicting emotions that he doesn't know where to begin.

All he knows is that he's here now, in New York, because of her. Because of her letter.

The letter is not terribly long. It opens with a few lines asking after his wellbeing, before quickly moving on to a short paragraph about Yukinoshita's own life. She has apparently begun work as an editor of a publishing company and spends most of her days reading manuscripts and drinking coffee at her favorite local coffee shop, called Gregory's. He is surprised by all of this. He had always figured that Yukinoshita was destined for greater things. She had always had grand designs of changing the world; remaking it into what she deemed a better place.

But then again, it is not as if he can claim that he knows Yukinoshita Yukino's daily life very well. Not after everything that happened, or didn't happen, between them.

At this point in the letter, he feels as though it is standard… too standard. Almost as if Yukinoshita had been tasked with writing this letter by her company as an assignment, rather than for herself.

It is not until the last paragraph that something changes. That he begins to wonder and reminisce, that his chest begins to flicker with a tiny flame of hope.

I read your debut work, Hikigaya-kun. It is quite illuminating; an emotional masterpiece. I must admit that I pinched myself many a time while reading it. I had expected you to pursue a career in literature, but I always figured you would have entered the light novel industry. I never knew that you could write so poignantly; so skillfully as to evoke such strong emotions in your reader. And I could never have imagined that one day you would write a love story so brutally, and beautifully honest. Something so gut-wrenchingly sad and yet emotionally uplifting at the same time. A love story, written by the most cynical person I had ever met?

It seems as though I have missed out on a lot of things in your life since we parted ways. How time has flown. It feels like only yesterday when I could confidently say that, outside of your family, I knew you the best.

The letter ends unassumingly shortly thereafter. She briefly wishes him well, mentions that she is looking forward to his next work, and offers praises that his younger self could never have imagined Yukinoshita directing at him.

There is no invitation for him to come to New York. Nor does she mention that she particularly wants to see him again.

But he can read between the lines now. And he has always understood Yukinoshita Yukino. He knows Yukinoshita Yukino.

She would not send this letter if she did not have a reason; a purpose for doing so.

Those undertones of regret, of nostalgia, of reliving the past.

She must want to see him again.

And so here he is, standing by the window of his hotel looking out over the city. Despite his fatigue, he is still brimming with excitement.

Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow he'll be able to explore the city.

And with some luck, tomorrow he'll be able to find Yukinoshita Yukino. To tell her all the things he wanted to say to her all those years ago.

Hikigaya Hachiman falls asleep with a smile on his face.

oOo

Day One (Evening)

Night has fallen in New York by the time he awakens. His mouth is parched, and there is a sharp pain at the base of his neck. It looks like he has developed a neck strain during his sleep.

He rolls his neck carefully to try to alleviate some of the stiffness and soreness, before heading to the bathroom. He takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth, before dressing casually and heading out. He needs to find some food.

Even at this late hour, the streets of Manhattan are bustling with commotion. This is another difference he has noted. It is far more crowded in Manhattan, the heart of New York City, than it ever is in Tokyo, even in Shinjuku. A part of him begins to wonder if it will even be possible to find Yukinoshita here. A louder part of him firmly pushes that seed of doubt away.

He will find Yukinoshita Yukino. He is going to stay here, in New York, until he does. And once he finds her, once he is sitting across from her, staring into those striking cerulean eyes once more, he is going to tell her what he should've told her back in high school. What he should've told her the last time they met.

But first, he needs to sate his hunger.

American cuisine is foreign to him. He is unsure of what really counts as "American food." Sure, he has eaten quite a few meals at McDonalds throughout his life, but a burger and fries do not sound particularly appealing to him. He wants something better, and his recent novel sales afford him the ability to purchase something better than the fast food that was a staple of years past.

Fortunately, in New York, there is an overwhelming variety of food from all corners of the globe. There is no need to force himself to find an "American" restaurant; there are plenty of other excellent options. The bright signs jump out at him. Mexican tacos, Korean barbeque, Italian pasta, Chinese. The options are endless. He spends nearly an hour wandering around, considering his options.

He winds up in a ramen shop.

It is nowhere near as good as his favorite ramen stall back in Tokyo. The noodles are limp, the broth rather bland, and the chashu has far too much fat. It is also pricey; at least twice what he would pay at home.

But despite all of its shortcomings, ramen is still a familiar taste of home in an unfamiliar place.

It's a comforting feeling, and so he winds up finishing his bowl, despite his criticisms.

It is completely dark outside by the time he leaves the restaurant. Despite the fact that it is already May, the night is still chilly.

Still, he doesn't want to return to his hotel yet. And he is in New York.

He decides to wander the streets instead. Perhaps, if he is lucky, he will even be able to find Gregory's coffee.

oOo

The New York nightlife is something that he has never experienced before. Nothing in Japan is remotely comparable.

When he is in a writing rut, or when he just wants to get out of his small, dark apartment, he sometimes escapes to Shibuya, where he knows that the night will pass in a blur of alcohol. The mornings after are never pleasant, not the least of which because he will inevitably wake up to the sight of Komachi's disappointed face, which, perhaps worryingly, is a sight that fills him with less and less guilt as time passes by.

But he continued to drink, for he had not found any better alternatives to forget her.

Still, even Shibuya's nightlife cannot compare to New York. The streets are packed to the brim, even on a weeknight such as this one. There is a nightclub or bar on practically every block. He feels as if he could spend a year visiting a different area of the city every night and still never visit the same establishment twice.

It is all too much. There are too many people. The lights are too bright; the music is deafening.

It is all too much for him.

He needs his peace and quiet, and so he makes a quick escape.

By the time he finally enters a quieter area, he has lost count of the number of blocks he has walked.

But he finds himself wandering the banks of a river. There are benches situated along the railing, and he decides to rest his legs and takes a seat.

In comparison to the craziness that he has just escaped from, this scene in front of him is positively serene. It is always in these quiet moments that his thoughts slip back to her.

He remembers the day that the Service Club ceased to exist. It is imprinted clearly on his mind. He is sitting across from Yukinoshita in the clubroom, under the dying light of the fading sun. He has just finished informing her that her prom plans were approved. They argue over their little competition, a farce of a contest that turned into something that neither of them wanted to win… or lose. Because winning or losing meant the end of the competition. It meant the end of the flimsy thread that connected them together, that kept them in contact with each other.

It meant the end of the idle days they could spend with each other at school.

But all good things must come to an end. He convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, in declaring Yukinoshita the victor. He wanted to give her the choice; he didn't want to force her into his life.

But he was only running away. It is a common theme; he runs away when things are at their most critical point. When his entire life could have changed for the better with a single decision.

When he has the chance to tell Yukinoshita Yukino that he loves her, he has always run away.

oOo

It is not as if Yukinoshita Yukino has always dominated his thoughts in the intervening years. There are too many distractions in life for him to be so focused on her. Of course, he has never been particularly popular with the ladies, but that does not mean that he is completely helpless when it comes to women.

Or that he is completely unattractive to them.

First, there was Isshiki. It happens in his third year of high school, and it lasts all of a few weeks. Apparently, her standards for boyfriends are considerably higher than "fake" boyfriends that she uses to practice for "real" dates with Hayama. He still grimaces when he remembers that particular episode.

It really was nice, being young and stupid.

But when they became a couple, Isshiki began wanting more from him. She wanted to spend all their time together (and not with Zaimokuza because he's a weirdo, Senpai!), to share their lives with each other. She would talk about how much she adored romantic gestures and loved long walks in the park and him taking a gap year to "wait for her" so that they could go to university together.

All he thinks is, you're not the one I wanted to do all of that with.

So he doesn't really put in much effort, and inevitably things explode. Spectacularly. He can only be thankful that it doesn't occur on school grounds.

Even after all these years, he still finds it difficult to look her in the eye, despite the fact that they have since reconciled their friendship.

After Isshiki there was Orimoto, which had lasted quite a bit longer than any of their friends had expected. They'd been together for almost six months, during university. She had grown up since their middle school days, and although she still took life far too lightly in his opinion, she was no longer simply a nice, rather airheaded girl that he'd crushed on in middle school. He had been startled to hear her strikingly familiar "Why, if it isn't Hikigaya-kun!" on the first day of his Introduction to Literary Theory class. She'd dragged him to a bar afterwards, and that was the start of that.

It had been comfortable with her, but that's all it really ever was. Comfortable.

Never anything special.

He remembers the moment he realizes this. The moment he realizes that he could never spend the rest of his life with Orimoto Kaori. It's the first time that they have sex.

It is not as if he didn't find her attractive. She was cute in middle school, but had filled out and grown into her tomboyish beauty.

But that's all there was to it. Physical attraction.

The epiphany hits him after they have done the deed; when she is sleeping peacefully, nestled into his chest. He realizes that she is not right for him when the only feeling that sweeps through him as he gazes down at her sleeping face is a deep yearning for someone else.

He breaks up with her a month later. The split is in no way less acrimonious than his split with Isshiki, but unlike with Isshiki, they have not spoken since. He wonders if she is still bitter over it. After all, he does still care for her. It is only that he does not love her.

In the years after graduation, however, Yukinoshita has come to dominate his thoughts. He sets part of that blame on his capstone professor at university, who had advised him to base the manuscript for his first novel, which had doubled as his senior project for graduation, on a personal experience that had had a "profound impact on his psyche."

He winds up writing about her. Pages upon pages are filled with all of the times they had spent together.

His professor, upon reading that first draft, hands it back to him with only a single question as feedback.

"Is this a memoir?"

He does not wish to admit it.

So he adds to the manuscript all of the things that he wishes they'd had a chance to do together. All of the places in the world he wishes they could have visited together. He weaves fact and fiction into his plot, until he is almost unable to remember what's real and what only occurs in his imagination.

He tells a story of star-crossed lovers that traverses continents; that spans decades.

Two years and several drafts later, it becomes a bestseller.

Suddenly, he is asked to do book tours. He's invited to awards ceremonies celebrating his work. He is invited to speak as a guest lecturer, and his university even offers him a teaching position.

He turns them all down.

Because… because these offers are not what he wants. He isn't writing because he wants money, although it would be lying to say that the sales of his book are an unwelcome surprise.

No, he is a writer because it is the only way he knows how to express those feelings. It's the only way for him to tell Yukinoshita Yukino that he loves her. That is why he wrote the book, in the hopes that perhaps one day, she would read his work and contact him.

He has not written a single word since.

But he hopes that things will change. He thinks he could write again. Because Yukinoshita Yukino sent him that letter, which still sits safely ensconced in that outer compartment of his suitcase.

He reads it over again, from memory, mouthing the words as he watches the river flow gently by.

He thinks she writes more beautifully than he ever could.

oOo

Eventually, the chill of the night air is enough to convince him to seek warmer alternatives. He considers returning to the revelry that he has seen earlier, confident that those who chose such a life would not be content with only a few hours of entertainment. But he decides against it almost immediately. He does not have the energy nor the desire for that. He might be in an unfamiliar city, but that does not mean that he has given up his natural habits.

Instead he finds another cafe, this time a 24-hour one so that he can stay as late as he likes. He orders a donut and another cup of coffee, heedless of the late hour. The place has some nice decor; it looks as though it has been recently renovated. Despite the hour, there are still a few customers lingering around, and a group of college age kids playing a board game at a table.

He loves 24 hour cafes, not least of which because they had been his favorite place to write, back when he was revising and drafting his novel.

Komachi had been quite upset with him when she'd finally gotten him to admit that he hadn't been sleeping very well. But there hadn't been much she could do. As awesome as his little sister is, she doesn't have the ability to change the past.

Looking back now, he suspects that Komachi had been worried about much more than just his lack of sleep. It had been a difficult time; his editor had critiqued his previous draft harshly, mentioning that it contained a lot of flaws.

She'd said something along the lines of, "Nobody would ever find the amount of self-pity that the main character exhibits as attractive. Women don't like men that make excuses and beat around the bush too much with their feelings. She'd probably kick him to the curb forever after he runs away from her in Paris."

So he'd gotten to drafting the third revision of his work. And all throughout the writing process, he is plagued by dreams.

In his dreams, he is always running. Chasing after something, or perhaps someone. He doesn't really remember it, but there is always this feeling. There is always this sense that he is falling further and further behind; that he is letting someone get away that he'd never be able to get back.

He takes those feelings and writes them into his protagonist, in the corners of Shibuya's 24 hour cafes. Suddenly, it is his protagonist, chasing his lover across the world. It is his protagonist who tries to make up for his mistakes, when he was young and stupid.

And it is his protagonist that winds up catching her, years later, in a small, cramped corner bookstore in New York City.

Is this a memoir?

Maybe he wishes it was.

oOo

He winds up spending most of the night at the cafe. He finds the neighboring table's board game to be mildly interesting. It is some role-playing game; there is a whole storyline, with each participant playing a specific character, and what appears to be significant worldbuilding created by the "gamesmaster", whatever that meant. He doesn't quite understand the gameplay mechanics, only that events seem to be determined by rolls of dice.

Wouldn't that be nice, he thinks to himself, if a roll of the dice could determine his life. At least then, he could say that he's simply been unlucky. At least then, he'd have an excuse so that he could live with himself.

It is only when the game wraps up that he realizes just how long he has spent in the cafe, watching strangers play a game into the early morning hours. He feels a sense of guilt. There is no way that he will be able to wake up early the next day. This means that it is unlikely that he will see Yukinoshita Yukino at Gregory's coffee tomorrow. The thought fills him with an indescribable disappointment that nearly crushes him.

He decides to hurry back to the hotel.

He arrives just as the dull, red glow signaling the arrival of the dawn begins to spread across the sky.

The bell jingles as he enters, and he is greeted by the receptionist.

"Welcome back, sir."

He gives a nod and a smile of acknowledgement, suddenly too tired to hold a conversation, much less in a foreign language. It seems that the night has finally caught up to him. Unfortunately for him, however, it seems as though this receptionist has just started his shift, for he energetically continues the conversation despite his silence.

"Did you enjoy your first night out in the City of Dreams? You must have seen something special to be getting back at the crack of dawn, haha!" The receptionist laughs heartily at his own joke.

He smiles back politely, if not a little confused. Had he simply misunderstood the man? His English was, after all, not quite up to par.

"Ah, yes. I'm fine. I had good time in the city, but I'm tired now."

He excuses himself as quickly as he can and marches to the elevator.

The elevator slowly trundles its way to the fifth floor, depositing him in a familiar hallway. He quickly reaches his room and upon entering, realizes just how drained he feels.

So he falls onto the covers of his bed without removing any of his clothes, only bothering to kick off his shoes and socks.

Before long, Hikigaya Hachiman is asleep.

The only thing that he sees in his dreams is her face, beckoning him to her.

oOo

Day Two (Afternoon)

When he awakens, refreshed and full of energy, he begins to look upon the day more optimistically.

It is just past noon. There is time for him to find the coffee shop. There is time for him to meet Yukinoshita Yukino.

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, he carefully chooses his attire. It is not really his own efforts; Komachi has given him a week's worth of what she deemed acceptably fashionable clothing and taught him the intricacies of clothing combination.

Most of it is entirely lost on him, but at least he knows some basics, such as the fact that green and orange clash horribly, but that blue and orange actually work quite well together.

He has never cared for his appearance before this, but he has put everything into looking his best.

Once he is satisfied, he prepares to leave the hotel. Just as he slips his hotel key card out of its slot by the door where it switches on the power in his room, he pauses.

Maybe… just maybe…

He strides over to his suitcase and digs through it. At the very bottom of the suitcase sits a notebook. A notebook that he has not used in a year, ever since his novel was published.

A drafting notebook.

He stares at it. He's not written a single word since he submitted his final revisions. But maybe… just maybe… he'll be able to write something today.

So he tosses the notebook into his backpack over his shoulder and heads off into the bustling city. All the while, he keeps his eyes peeled for Gregory's.

It is very easy to become distracted in New York. The sights, the sounds, the smells; it is as if the city is always trying to overwhelm its inhabitants with sensory overload. He bears with it though, and diligently checks the signage of every establishment he passes.

As he walks, he wonders what will happen when they finally meet. He imagines the look of surprise on her face, and smiles despite himself. In all of their little battles; their verbal spars and their clashes of ideals, he rarely gets the chance to surprise her.

On the rare occasions that he does, she almost always wears what he terms her "shocked" expression. The one where her gorgeous cerulean eyes would go wide, and her rosy pink lips would part into an "o". It is unbearably, unfathomably cute.

He hopes that he will get to see that expression today.

The streets of New York are very orderly, in stark contrast to what he knows in Tokyo. It is easy to keep track of the streets that he wanders through as he searches for Yukinoshita's elusive coffee shop. He never feels as though he is lost.

It is in the fourth hour of searching that he finds Gregory's Coffee. It is a very small shop; there are perhaps only five or six small single-person tables within. There is a small sign outside proclaiming the name of the establishment, along with a branding logo which appears to resemble the hairline and glasses of a young man.

He peers through the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the slim figure and waist-length raven hair that so often haunts his dreams.

He is not quite so lucky; it appears as though Yukinoshita Yukino is not a current patron of the cafe.

He enters anyway, carefully opening the door and slipping inside quietly. At any rate, it is probably for the best if he can scope out the shop first.

The single barista behind the counter welcomes him with a few words and a kind smile. He smiles back awkwardly and peers at the chalkboard behind her, which displays the cafe's menu, written entirely by hand. There are plenty of choices on there, but the rather fancy script makes it difficult for him to comprehend any of it. He picks the first drink that he is able to make out properly.

It does not take long for the barista to make his drink, and before long he is sipping the cool, bitter coffee as he slips into the chair at the corner table. It is no MAX coffee, but the drink is surprisingly pleasant. Despite the bitterness, there is a creamy undertone to the drink that takes away most of the unpalatable parts of black coffee.

This shop suits her, he thinks to himself as he continues to sip his drink. It is small, quaint, and out of the way, but there is a sense of elegance; of quiet, assured excellence here. The ambience is nice and relaxed. It is easy to imagine Yukinoshita Yukino quietly reading a novel at one of the tables. In fact, he is willing to bet that if she were here at this very moment, sitting a couple tables down to maintain some distance with him, it would be a scene quite reminiscent of their idle afternoons at Soubu High.

Figuring that he might be settling in for a long wait, he pulls out one of his notebooks. He had not initially planned on doing any writing on this trip, but Komachi had forced him to take his notebooks.

"You're going to New York, Onii-chan! It's one of the most romantic cities in the world. And you're going for a really romantic reason too. You're bound to write something mindblowingly awesome there! So write everything down, okay? That way, even if nothing happens, you'll be able to tell all your stories after you come back!"

He is fairly certain that, at twenty-six, he has still yet to win an argument against his sister. Perhaps it is for lack of trying, but whatever the reason may be, the result does not change.

He has his notebook with him. He takes it out.

His mind wanders.

Despite its supposed allure, he does not find much of New York particularly interesting to write about. He supposes that he is not very familiar with "tourist locations", or any particularly notable areas in New York that he would visit if he had come to New York as a writer, instead of as a lover. Perhaps, at a later date, when he is happily reunited with her, he'll be able to come back, or perhaps even move to the city. After all, it would be very much like Yukinoshita if she forces him to move overseas for her.

To be completely fair, he thinks to himself, it is not as if he would protest very much.

Instead of the city, he begins to think of Yukinoshita Yukino. This has not been an uncommon occurrence recently; he finds that when his mind wanders, they almost always wander to her. It is as if his thoughts are all moths, and she the flame that inexorably draws them in. Even if he doesn't want to think of her, even if he would prefer to think of literally anyone else, he cannot. His mind is consumed by thoughts of Yukinoshita Yukino. Of why she contacted him. Of what he should say to her. It is as if his very existence is defined by her.

As he has grown older, he finds that he thinks of Yukinoshita Yukino far more fondly than he had in his youth. It wasn't as though teenaged Hikigaya Hachiman disliked Yukinoshita, far from it. Even back then, he was always entranced by her.

But the Hikigaya Hachiman of back then was a coward. And so there was always an excuse; some flimsy reasoning for why things would never work out between them. Some vice, real or imagined, of Yukinoshita that he convinced himself was a dealbreaker. So he never reached out to her, never confessed to her, never told her his genuine feelings. And before he knew it, they had graduated and she was bidding him and Yuigahama farewell before boarding her plane that was headed across the Pacific.

Ever since then, the only things that he can remember of Yukinoshita are her virtues. How beautiful she looked, illuminated by the lights of the amusement park, right as they reached the apex of the waterfall. How hard his heart pounded in the infirmary, right after she'd finished patching up his knee. When their gazes had met and he'd so very nearly kissed her. When he should have kissed her.

He clenched his fist as his heart squeezes. He's thought of her for years now, but the pain is still fresh, the regret still ubiquitous.

He wants a second chance. He wants a second chance with-

The bell by the entrance to the cafe jingles. He startles at the sound, his eyes raising from his coffee cup. They said that speak of the Devil and He shall appear. But perhaps… perhaps they had it all wrong.

Perhaps the saying had been supposed to be: Pray for a miracle and an Angel shall appear.

Because the woman that enters… it is unmistakably her. She looks very different from how he remembers; very different from how she appears in his dreams. But even so, he would recognize her anywhere.

He stands up, his heartbeat rapidly increasing. The world becomes blurry and unfocused; the only thing that he can see is her.

And as he walks towards her, his mind can only think of one thing.

Is this a memoir?

It has to be. It just has to be.

oOo

"Yukinoshita?" His voice comes out lower than intended, almost raspy. He sounds very hesitant.

He winced. This was not how he'd imagined things would go. But then again, when had his imagination ever manifested itself into reality? He'd only ever been able to disappoint himself.

The woman turns to him, a look of surprise crossing her face, presumably at hearing her name in the coffee shop. He gets his first proper look at Yukinoshita Yukino in nearly a decade. And he realizes that his earlier impressions of her are true, that this is not the same Yukinoshita Yukino, or at least not the same girl that he remembers. She looks different. Even if most of her physical features are the same, there are differences. Her hair, for one, is shorter now, tied up into a simple ponytail instead of free-flowing down her back. Her trademark ribbons, the ones that he remembered so vividly from high school, are also absent. And her clothes, a standard T-shirt and jeans, looked so foreign on her; he was so used to seeing her dressed in clothes of a higher standard.

Overall, there is just this air of maturity to her, an air of having become an adult.

It looks as though Yukinoshita Yukino has grown up, properly.

"H-Hikigaya-kun?" Her voice, however, is as light and breathy as he remembers. It had always managed to evoke strong emotions from him, and he clings to that now. This familiarity in the face of unknowns.

He tries for a smile, hoping that it is not a grotesque one. He has not had much of a reason to smile for a long time.

"Yo." He responds by way of greeting, hand raised in an awkward wave. "Long time no see, Yukinoshita."

He's not really sure what he expected, but what happens next certainly exceeds his wildest dreams.

Yukinoshita rushes at him, enveloping him in a warm embrace. It is so sudden, so utterly unexpected, so unlike the Yukinoshita Yukino that he remembers, that he freezes in place, his brain unable to process the feelings that are flowing through him.

And yet… Yukinoshita Yukino is hugging him. He feels as if his heart might burst.

When they break apart, she is beaming at him. He knows that he is smiling widely too. It's a feeling that feels foreign to him, smiling, as the muscles of his cheeks are reminding him of how much he has neglected them.

"How have you been, Hikigaya-kun? How did you even make it to New York? Oh, and did you receive my letter?"

The questions fly at him thick and fast, and he must have looked not a little overwhelmed because Yukinoshita noticed.

"Oh, my apologies, Hikigaya-kun. I did not mean to pepper you with so many questions. Please spare me a moment to place my order and then I will be with you. We have so much to catch up on, and I'm hopeful that we'll be able to get through it all."

She gives a little bow (Yukinoshita is still as formal as always) before heading towards the counter.

He stands there dumbly, still in shock at her sudden appearance. This was what he had hoped for when he arrived in New York. A one in a million chance to meet the girl that he loved.

The start of a new story, or perhaps an omake of the old.

And so he stands there and waits patiently as Yukinoshita places her order in perfect English. Watches as she collects her drink from the other end of the counter. And walks in silent companionship with her back to his table.

"Well isn't this nostalgic, Hikigaya?" Yukinoshita laughs as they sit across from each other at the tiny table. It is so small that his notebooks take up about two thirds of the available space.

Her laugh is still the same. It's not very loud or boisterous, just a light, lilting expression of mirth that always made him feel irrationally happy. Maybe it was because, back then, she so rarely expressed herself so freely. But just hearing her laugh would brighten his day immensely.

"I-indeed," he stutters, cursing his own nervousness. "How many of these little cafes did we wander into back in high school? Although since it was you… there were usually a few additional feline companions."

Yukinoshita laughs again. For some reason, the sound does not bring him as much joy as it did years ago.

"Well, those little trips were certainly a highlight of my high school days, Hikigaya-kun."

"Yeah, I really liked spending time with you too, Yukinoshita."

She smiles at him. "I'm glad to hear that. But enough about bygone days, Hikigaya-kun. I would like to know a little bit more about what you have been up to since graduation. After all, you're an award-winning novelist! When I first saw that, I must admit that I was dumbfounded!"

He ducks his head in embarrassment. "It's not that impressive, Yukinoshita. I was simply lucky."

Yukinoshita shakes her head. "That's simply not true, Hikigaya-kun. As I mentioned in my letter, I am an editor. I have read thousands of manuscripts during the course of my work, but I doubt that I have ever come across a work with as much breadth of emotion as yours. In fact, when I first read your work Hikigaya-kun, I couldn't help but wonder if it was actually, truly written by Hikigaya Hachiman. You had changed so much so as to be unrecognizable to me."

She paused, as if realizing something, and hurried to add, "Oh! But that's not a criticism of who you were in our youth, Hikigaya-kun! I still look back very fondly at our time together."

An awkward silence settles over them. Yukinoshita, it seemed, was too embarrassed to say more. Or at the very least, she was waiting on him to continue the conversation. For his part, he wasn't sure how to respond. He realizes the difference now; the reason why she felt so different when he first saw her properly.

The Yukinoshita Yukino in front of him is too nice. Too outgoing, too capable of carrying on a conversation and switching conversation topics. It's almost as if Yukinoshita has transformed into her Nee-san, into Yukinoshita Haruno. She has all of her charisma, all of her looks except one prominent feature, and she's even wearing makeup. The Yukinoshita Yukino that he remembers had only the looks.

In lieu of anything better to say, he simply states the obvious.

"You've changed a lot too, Yukinoshita."

"Have I?" She looks pleased, almost relieved to hear him speak. As if she was getting worried that their conversation would peter out.

"You're more…" He struggles to find the words.

"You're more outgoing," he finally finishes lamely.

She laughs a little bit. "I suppose it's a bit of a geographical hazard. Americans are… Well they're quite sociable."

"Do you… like it here?" He hesitates. "In America."

She paused, looking down as she sipped her drink.

"For the longest time, I hated it here." She said, and her tone, for the very first time, turns somber. "I missed Japan, and I especially missed you and Yuigahama-san."

His heart skips a beat.

"You missed m-us?"

"Of course! You two were my dear friends. I missed home terribly. I remember after my first semester, I nearly begged my parents to transfer me back to Japan."

"But you stayed…?"

She nodded. "I stayed. I was always serious, Hikigaya-kun, about my desire to stand on my own two feet. And if I couldn't even make it through four years of college abroad without relying on Yuigahama-san and you, then how could I ever expect to do that? And so, having realized that, I decided to stick it out. And it certainly helped that, towards the end of my junior year, I met Takaki."

"Takaki?"

"Oh, yes! I almost forgot that you two haven't met. How silly of me! Takaki is a second generation Japanese American. His parents emigrated over in the 90s from Osaka. And he's also my husband. We got married last year."

When he was young, the Hikigaya family took a trip to Fujusawa. It was a classic summer family vacation. His parents had somehow managed to secure a three week expenses paid vacation. It had truly been a miracle. He was pretty sure that they'd had better odds to win the lottery.

The trip was, for the most part, uneventful. It was meant to be a rest and relaxation trip, for every day they toured around sightseeing landmarks like the Enoshima Sea candle, they'd spend two more simply lazing around on the beaches. Everything was idyllic; a perfect vacation for a couple of overtime-working corporate slaves with their two young children.

Except, of course, the moment when everything went wrong.

The day had started bright and sunny. It was supposed to be just another fun day at the beach. He and Komachi had been having a lot of fun riding the gentle waves of the sea as they came sweeping onto land.

But then, the wind picked up. At first, it wasn't noticeable, but the waves slowly got bigger. They got rougher. And at some point Komachi, who was still only three at the time, started crying as she was jostled by a particularly rough wave.

A crying three-year-old tended to attract a parent's attention. And so their father turned towards Komachi, aiming to steady her and calm her down. But in doing so his grip on the swimming ring that Hachiman had been in loosened. And then another wave broke. And suddenly, his world was filled with water.

He had lost his hold on the swimming ring, on the one thing that kept him afloat.

He hadn't gone near water since. Shallow water was fine, but he did his best to avoid anything deeper than two meters. Because he never forgot that feeling. That feeling of being washed away, of losing control of his own life.

He felt that same way now. Yukinoshita's words crashed over him.

Married.

She was married.

It was as if his tether, as if his anchor to the world had been torn away. The hope, the longing, the desire he placed on his dream; this dream of reunion, all of it went up in smoke.

He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle the weight of the world crashing down on him. Or maybe he wasn't strong enough; wasn't ready to let go of his youth.

Yukinoshita was still talking. She was still saying something. Gesturing. Smiling that smile that came so naturally to her, but looked so unnatural to him.

He stood up suddenly. Yukinoshita cut off midway, staring up at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"Hikigaya…kun?"

"I'm sorry." He barely manages to get the words out before he is running. Running for the exit.

oOo

Day Two (Evening)

His lungs burned. He'd been running and running for so long that he'd lost track of time. There had been no considerations of direction. He simply ran in a straight line, as far away from the cafe as possible, dancing around pedestrians and bikers and cars like some grotesque performance art.

Run. Get away.

Those were the only thoughts that filled his mind.

It is not until night has fallen over New York, and the streetlights have bathed the city in a silvery glow, that he finally slows to a wheezing, gasping stop. He is at an intersection of two wholly unfamiliar streets, doubled over and gasping for breath. He has not run like this in a long time, if ever.

When he has managed to recover somewhat, he takes stock of his surroundings. He knows that New York City can be a dangerous place, but there does not appear to be any immediate issues. It seems like a nice enough neighborhood, and if there is any suspicious activity occurring he probably made for the easiest suspect, considering his physical state.

He finds himself fully at a loss for what to do. When he nearly drowned as a child, he remembered the moment he'd been washed overboard. At the beginning, there was the struggle. The initial, innate instinct to live. He'd fought and fought, unsure of what he was even fighting. Unsure if what he was doing was even beneficial; if it could even save him.

But after that initial instinct wore off, things became more peaceful. It was easier after all, to slip away into the waves. To let what must happen, happen.

And maybe it was that time now. To let the tides of Fate carry him away. After all, his last, best tether to this Earth was gone.

He decides to wander. There is, after all, very little rush. It did not really matter when, after all, his head would slip beneath the waves. And so he would wait. Find the right place, or perhaps the right moment.

Or maybe he's still just a little bit scared.

But if it's fear that he's feeling, then perhaps what's really needed is a bit of courage. A bit of liquid courage.

He finds a bar.

oOo

On first glance, the bar is nothing special, a hole in the wall joint with only a small sign advertising its existence. The inside of the bar, however, is cold. Far colder than it had any right to be, considering that it was spring and nearing summer soon. The lighting is also quite dim; he can barely make out the faces of the other patrons, even though they were mere feet away from him in the gloom. The only person that he can see rather clearly is the bartender, a pretty, young Caucasian woman with auburn hair and striking yellow eyes who looked quite young to be working as a bartender. He's not ashamed to admit that his eyes linger for a bit, but in the end they slide away.

He's not in the right state of mind for that.

Despite the bar's shortcomings, however, the place suits him because it is rather quiet for a bar in New York City. There are a few patrons, but they don't pay him any attention. The entire place is fairly quiet; there's none of the raucous debauchery that he'd expected from these sorts of establishments. It's the perfect place to drink alone.

He signals the bartender and orders.

"Something strong please."

"Anything in particular to avoid?" She is short and to the point. A true professional, he thinks.

"No."

When the drink arrives, he knocks it down in one quickly. He wants to get drunk, and fast. It's a decision he comes to regret, because the drink is strong and he starts to cough. A third of… whatever it was probably winds up on the table or over his pants.

The bartender is quite close and witnesses the whole incident. He winces, sure that he is about to receive some warning, or perhaps even a request to leave the establishment. But instead, the girl simply pulls a cleaning cloth from underneath the counter and begins to clean up his mess without a word. And yet somehow, watching the girl dutifully wipe down the bar as if nothing had happened only made him feel worse than anything she could have said to him. As if he didn't deserve this sort of kindness.

"Sorry," he mumbles. The bartender barely acknowledges his apology. Only the slightest of nods indicated that she had even heard him. Before long, she was done cleaning up after him and he was ordering another drink. This one, he drinks at a more sedated pace although before long the glass is empty once more.

Time slides by. He signals for refills whenever he finds his glass empty. He can feel his thoughts grow murky and his mind become dull. The alcohol is working as intended. Everything is slipping away. Thoughts of Yukinoshita. Thoughts of the future. There is only the glass in his hands, the burning sensation in his throat, the increasing feeling of nausea within his stomach, and a strange, floaty feeling in his head.

Another couple of drinks later, and he's finding the cool wooden surface of the bar table to be quite soothing, because he's absolutely certain that his head is on fire. The world is spinning, spinning, spinning, and the only thing that makes it stop is this nice, slick, and cooled bar table. So he presses his face further into it, while his right hand scrabbles for his glass. Through bleary eyes, he manages to make out that it's empty. Time for a refill, then.

He tries to signal the bartender, but he finds that his arms won't cooperate.

"Just… one… more," he tries to slur out, his words distorted and almost impossible to understand. He feels himself slipping, slipping, slipping and he reaches out to try to hang on. The glass winds up skittering across the table, miraculously coming to a stop before it slides off the edge and breaks on the floor.

There's someone holding the glass; someone preventing its fall. He looks up, ready to apologize yet again to the bartender for causing trouble.

But the one that has caught his glass; the one that is then catching him as he begins to fall from his chair, is not the remarkably patient bartender that has been with him the whole night.

No.

Instead, the only thing he registers is the sweet smell of vanilla, tickling his nose as he slips into this mysterious woman's arms.

Vaguely, he hears a voice say his name. It's a familiar voice, so achingly familiar to him that he feels a sharp pain in his chest, even if he cannot discern the reason why.

"It's okay, Hikigaya-kun. I've got you. I won't let you go."

How do you know my name? That was what he wanted to get out, but his voice wasn't working. His mouth wouldn't open. The world is rushing past him.

He blacks out.

oOo

Day Three (Afternoon-Evening)

The first thing that he registers when he regains consciousness is that he is sleeping in his own bed. Or perhaps that is not quite the correct terminology; he is sleeping in the bed that he paid for back at his own hotel. For a brief moment, he wonders how on Earth he managed to make it back home the previous night, considering his state of intoxication.

But any and all critical thought leaves his mind as the splitting headache makes itself known deep within his cranium. "Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," he groans out, clutching at his head and curling up into the fetal position. It's as if someone had driven a spike through his brain, and then twisted it. He rolls around his bed, twisting together the blankets and pillows, trying and failing to find a way to soothe the pain.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Just as he's on the verge of doing something drastic, such as trying to knock himself out by banging his head against the headboard until he passed out, relief comes in the form of a cool compress, pressed gently against his forehead, followed by a cup of some fruity liquid being lifted to his lips.

"Drink," the voice commanded, and if it weren't for the pain still lancing occasionally through his brain, he might've compelled himself to stop and consider the question of how on Earth could someone be in his hotel room. He might've stopped and considered that perhaps it wasn't a great idea to simply follow the instructions of a stranger that had ostensibly broken in.

But in that moment, with his hangover as severe as it was, Hikigaya Hachiman might as well have been a child. And so he drank.

The drink does settle his roiling stomach. And the cool compress pressed to his forehead is being refreshed fairly often, bringing further relief to his head. After some time, he almost feels well enough to sit up properly and get a proper look at the person who had been taking care of him. And so he does just that, removing his hands from his head and attempting to open his eyes.

His room is dark. The curtains had been drawn, likely in consideration of his current physical state. And while he is immensely grateful towards the person who had performed so many kindnesses for him, the darkness of the room makes it impossible to fully make out the features of the person that is sitting across from him. And in the dim light of the room, he's only able to make out two things through squinting eyes.

First, that it is a woman. The long hair falling past her shoulders all the way to her waistline makes that very obvious.

And the second thing… the second thing that he briefly manages to catch is a cerulean blue.

oOo

He falls asleep once more, not long after he tries to figure out the identity of his savior. Another wave of nausea and pain had arisen within him not long after he'd squinted at the person sitting by his bedside tending to him.

The next time he awakens, it is dark outside. There is no sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains. He takes a look around the room. There is no woman sitting in the chair next to him caring for him. Perhaps that had all just been a hallucination; it made no sense for someone to have snuck into his room to take care of him only to disappear, after all.

But then, how had he gotten home? Maybe someone from the bar called him a cab? He'd given them his card to open a tab, perhaps they'd used that to also call him a ride home. He'd have to thank them for their kindness.

Thankfully, the worst of his hangover seems to have passed. His head, for the most part, feels fine. He's clear headed for the first time all day. His stomach, too, seems to have settled. He no longer has to worry that any slight movement would result in him ruining the carpet of his hotel room. The only real symptom left over is the disgusting taste in his mouth; the aftertaste of one too many drinks. But that could be resolved quickly and easily by simply brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth out.

He rolls out of bed and carefully stumbles his way to the bathroom to do just that. He nearly trips on his suitcase in the process, but manages to make the journey unscathed. And once he's there, he pulls open the door to his bathroom without hesitation.

The bathroom is empty, as expected, although the light within has been turned on. If he was at home, he'd likely wince at the waste of electricity. Despite his newfound wealth, Hikigaya Hachiman hasn't forgotten what it feels like to be a poor college student, after all. But this is a hotel in New York. So he lets it pass with only a mental note to be more mindful of waste.

It takes him a little longer to clean up properly, but eventually he manages to make himself presentable. Of course, the downside to this is that his mind is once more forced to remember the events of the previous afternoon. After all, it's not something that a single night of alcohol can erase.

He's had a day to adjust, to digest the situation, but even still, the idea is still so foreign to him.

Yukinoshita Yukino is married.

See, when the two of them were in high school; when they were still both young and dumb, when they were still dreaming of their future, they'd talked about getting married a lot. He'd espoused his desires to become a house husband for a rich lady, and she responded with dreams of marrying someone who understood and shared her desires to make the world a better place, after denigrating his life choices first of course. But of course, they both knew that the partner they ultimately wanted in their lives was someone difficult, perhaps even impossible to find.

And so they'd both always agreed that it was probably always going to be Yuigahama who would be getting married first. Indeed, when they graduated, Yukinoshita had even cracked a rare joke during their farewell; that she would be returning to Japan sooner rather than later to attend Yuigahama's wedding.

And yet, here he stands in the present. Yuigahama Yui is still very much unmarried. But Yukinoshita Yukino is.

The thought never fails to spark a sharp pain in his chest; he desperately tries to push it away.

His stomach growls. He is hungry. He has not had any food since the sandwich that he'd ordered at Gregory's, which is quite a pitiful amount of food considering the copious amounts of alcohol that followed.

He grabs his backpack from the chair where he had evidently tossed it the previous night before heading out into the city once more.

oOo

This time, it does not take him nearly as long to find a place to eat. He's hungrier, and therefore less picky. Anything halfway decent will do.

He finds a decent izakaya. There is certainly something to be said about being in a foreign country and yet still eating mostly Japanese food. But he isn't really able to help himself. He doesn't really want American food.

Besides, the reviews for the izakaya are quite nice. And even though the greeter does give him a rather strange look when he informs her that he would be dining alone tonight, she does not question it and merely leads him to a small table. It is a very small, intimate space, and looks much like it was designed for couples on a date. For a brief moment he wonders what it would look like if s-

Better to not think about that.

The menu is surprisingly complex. He orders a sakura cocktail and a rather large sampling of most of their menu items. The price tag on food is quite a bit steeper than what he is used to at home, but it is nothing he can't afford. The food is quite good, and he finds that some of the foreign influences in it are not quite as bad as he had feared.

Even if he still prefers the yakitori that he can get in Tokyo.

Once he is finished, he pays and wanders out into the streets again. There is, in actuality, very little that he wants to do here. His objective in coming to New York had always been her, but she is ostensibly out of reach now. With very little to do, he ponders his next step. This directionless wandering, how long could he really keep it up? How long could he float away on the ocean of Fate before he inevitably slips away underneath the waves?

He starts to walk with no particular direction in mind. As he crosses another intersection, he marvels at how much the city changes at night. The crowds have not dispersed, but their composition noticeably changes. Gone are the tourists, the families, and the office workers. Their places are filled by what he can only describe as creatures of the night. It is easy to discern the difference; despite the late hour, the people that he now sees in the streets do not seem weary or lethargic. There is a boundless energy to them, as they laugh and shout. The night is their domain; the time when they are most alive.

It is not until he passes by a logo of a young man's hairline and glasses that he realizes he has subconsciously retraced his steps from the day before. Indeed, he is once again back in front of Gregory's Coffee. Everything is dark; nothing is open on this particular block. The entire place looks foreboding; indeed, it is night and day compared with his experience the day before.

It's fascinating, he muses to himself.

It's fascinating how something so similar can become something so different if he looks away for long enough.

He doesn't linger; in fact, he thinks that he might have been better off if he never passed by Gregory's at all.

At least, he snorts to himself, his liver would've thanked him.

He slips into the first bar that he can find. It's another of those small, hole-in-the-wall types. At least this one has better lighting and decor, he thinks to himself as he slips into a seat at the bar and waits for the bartender.

It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually the bartender returns behind the counter. A strange sense of deja vu slips in as she approaches him.

That auburn hair… those yellow eyes… he felt as though he'd seen her somewhere before.

"What will it be for you tonight?" She asks, but he can't hear her. He's still trying to place that face.

After a few moments, the woman waves her hand in front of his face a couple times.

"Anyone in there?"

He jumps, a little startled.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I was just… you looked so familiar to me. Have we met before?"

She studies him for quite a while before shaking her head.

"No," she says quietly. "I don't think I've seen you before in my lifetime."

"Really? I must have mistaken you for someone else then."

He orders his drink, but decides to practice a little bit of moderation tonight; even if there is comfort in oblivion, he's not sure he wants to wake up like he did today again.

When it arrives, he gives the bartender a smile and thanks, and takes a sip. It's much nicer than whatever it was that he was drinking the night before. There's a hint of citrus, and it's quite sweet. This is a dangerous drink, he thinks to himself, examining the glass in his hands.

He orders another.

As he waits for his drink, he casts his gaze over the rest of the customers in the cafe. There aren't many; once again, just like the previous night, it's not a popular bar. It's not one of those high-end establishments that he's seen walking around outside earlier; the ones with hundreds of patrons, booming music, and enough noise to probably blow out his eardrums within minutes of arrival. Instead, it's a small establishment with only the bar and a few tables. The few patrons here seem to be quite comfortable, leading him to believe that they are probably regulars. This isn't exactly a tourist attraction, after all. Most visitors probably had better nighttime entertainment lined up in New York.

At this time of night, it seems as though business is rather slow. There were only three guests: a couple sitting together at the intimate corner table, making quiet conversation with each other, and the definition of the tall, dark, and brooding man archetype sitting at the other end of the bar, glaring sullenly at the bartender. He absentmindedly wonders if perhaps they'd known each other in the past; surely a mistake with an order wouldn't warrant that much anger and regret?

Just as he is about to give up on trying to figure that relationship out and move over to the couple, however, the door to the bar opened. He merely gives the new customer a cursory glance; they are well-dressed, with an elegant, high-class air about them. That is about as interested as he gets in the new customer, however, because the bartender chooses that moment to swing by his seat and place down his order for another drink. It's different from the previous one; much more fiery with a lingering, burning aftertaste. He takes a sip, winces, sets it back down on the table.

Moderation.

.

.

.

He's just about to turn his attention back to the couple in the corner when someone sits down next to him. It's the customer that had just entered.

The customer slips into the seat next to him, and he gets his first proper look at the newcomer.

What he sees makes absolutely no sense at all, and so he pinches himself, wondering if he's already had too much after only two drinks. But that's impossible; his tolerance is quite high after all, as the previous night showed.

"Good evening, Hikigaya-kun. How are you feeling tonight?"

He's frozen in place. It's as if the world has once again narrowed down to just him and her. If he closes his eyes, he can replace the smell of alcohol with coffee; the bar and bottles along the wall with coffee machines. And it's almost like he's back there in the cafe again. Back living out a dream of his… or perhaps a nightmare instead.

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. This is so far beyond what he expected on yet another night out at a bar in a foreign city that his tongue is tied.

Because this woman… their relationship had truly ended, less than forty-eight hours ago. The last bit of hope had finally disappeared. That is why he is here, after all. Turning to drink, a tried and true coping method.

So why is Yukinoshita Yukino sitting next to him at some random, no-name bar in the middle of the night, staring at him as if he is the most important person in her life, when he should be very far removed from that position?

oOo

How did he get here, he thinks to himself. This… this is an impossibility, something that should never have been possible.

He should never have met Yukinoshita Yukino here, in this bar, or indeed ever again.

But here she is, sitting next to him, looking as if someone had plucked her straight out of his memories and into his life.

Because this Yukinoshita Yukino; she looks quite similar to what he remembers. Her hair is braided, but it is in a style that he remembers. The same way that she used to do her hair when they went out to cafes together in high school. Her trademark red ribbons are also present, tied neatly into loops just as he remembered.

She is dressed in a light blue dress, a summery number that he'd seen her wear once before. It was during one of the last of their little trips, before the Service Club had come to an end. They'd gone out for some bubble tea, and then wandered the park by the beach. It was a quiet little outing, and although the air hung thick with tension over the impending prom and all the ramifications that the end result of that would have, he still found that spending time with Yukinoshita was what had made him happiest.

He hadn't wanted to end things with her back then. But he couldn't say that. He couldn't force that decision on her; not with her request hanging in the air.

And now, here in a small bar in New york, it is as if the Yukinoshita of years ago had materialized from thin air and barged back into his life.

"Yukinoshita…how?" He's unsure of how to even ask the question.

She gives him a little smile, not unlike the ones that they used to share in the clubroom, much to Yuigahama's chagrin.

"Ordinarily, Hikigaya-kun, I'd ask you to be slightly more specific, but in this particular case, I find that perhaps being difficult would not be conducive to a night that the both of us would prefer."

"...What?" He struggled to make sense of her words. It had been a long time since he had spoken to this Yukinoshita, he'd almost forgotten how circular and formal her speech could be.

"The short of it is that I've been waiting for you for a very long time," Yukinoshita said carefully, staring up at him from her perch on the barstool. "How much time has it been? Close to five years?"

"You've been… waiting for me for five years?"

She nodded, her expression deadly serious. "Indeed, Hikigaya-kun. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up."

"But then, how is that possible? I… met you, didn't I? I met you at Gregory's yesterday and you told me that you were married. Was that all a lie?"

She shook her head.

"No. The meeting that you had with… well… me, was very much real, Hikigaya-kun. In fact, it would probably be accurate to say that it was the true meeting between us."

"The true meeting between us? Are you saying that this… whatever this is… is fake? Is this all supposed to be a dream?"

Yukinoshita paused, almost as if she'd never considered the question.

"This meeting is not fake," she finally answered. "I am Yukinoshita Yukino and you are Hikigaya Hachiman. You are also not hallucinating; what you see before you is indeed reality. That much is the absolute truth."

"I don't understand then. Shouldn't you be at home right now? Shouldn't you be with your husband, enjoying your newlywed life?"

"I suppose I am, in a sense, doing exactly as you suggested."

"But you're not! You're here, in a bar, meeting someone that should, for all intents and purposes, be a stranger in your life. Are you saying that this is how you should be enjoying your newlywed life? That you should be liaising with strangers in a bar? That does not sound very much like the Yukinoshita Yukino that I met at Gregory's."

"...But then what if I am not the Yukinoshita Yukino that you met?"

He stares at her uncomprehendingly.

"What… do you mean? Are you not… Yukinoshita Yukino? But you look exactly like her. And your voice… your speech patterns… even your mannerisms and your accessories." He gestures helplessly at her.

"You have to be Yukinoshita Yukino… right?"

She cuts him off by taking both of his hands in hers. Her hands are soft and warm, and they feel wonderful in his. How many times has he dreamt of this moment? About reconciliation with Yukinoshita?

"You are not wrong, Hikigaya-kun, but you are also not fully right. Perhaps it would be best to say that you lack information. But I can promise you this. I am the same Yukinoshita Yukino that you remember. The same one that sat across the table from you for all those idle afternoons in the Service Club in high school. The same Yukinoshita Yukino that went on all of those mini-dates with you that we could never call dates as high schoolers, because we were too stubborn, too shortsighted, too firm in our belief of what our future should look like to find each other."

She takes a deep breath and then smiles. It's a fragile smile, one that looks as if it could crack at any moment.

"I am very much Yukinoshita Yukino, Hikigaya-kun. And I am here in this bar with you because I want to be. Because a part of me has always lingered behind; has always wondered how things might have turned out if things had been just a little bit different. If we hadn't been content to just let things slip away between us. If we'd been a little more brave." Her eyes are shining, a gorgeous cerulean blue, and they are laser-focused on him. He feels the pressure of her gaze and of her words, the enormous weight of what she is saying crashing down on him.

"But then… who did I meet yesterday? If you are Yukinoshita Yukino… then who was the woman in the coffee shop?"

Yukinoshita falls silent at his words, turning her face away so that he is unable to make out her expression. The silence between them drags on until it is uncomfortably long. He wants to break the silence, but he has nothing to say. He can only wait for her answer.

When it comes, it is not an answer at all.

"Would you perhaps be amenable to taking this conversation elsewhere, Hikigaya-kun? I would prefer to discuss things with you without the distractions of alcohol."

"I'm not drunk, Yukinoshita."

"That is besides the point. You have a glass of what I can only assume is whiskey in your hands and you have quite the track record of being quite irresponsible with your alcohol intake if the previous night was any indication."

"Previous night…? Wait. Are you saying that you were the woman from last night at that bar?"

Yukinoshita nods. "Indeed. How else do you think that you managed to arrive at your hotel?"

"I thought that the bartender called me a cab or something like that!"

Yukinoshita gives a little laugh. "That's quite the amusing thought. I suppose that she would have been willing to help you if you'd been able to accept it."

"Been… able to accept it?"

"But to answer your questions, Hikigaya-kun… I'll try to explain everything in due time. I promise you that. But first, let us head out. As they say over here in the city, the night is still young. I would rather not spend it entirely at this bar. As I've said, I've waited a very long time to see you again. And even if this night does not end up as I have always dreamed it would, I'll be happy if I get to spend some time in the city with you. Besides, don't you want to go out and explore?"

"Not particularly," he replies bluntly.

She gives another one of her little laughs, raising a delicate hand to her mouth. "Oh my, but I'd quite forgotten how contrarian you could be. It's one of those little things about you that used to annoy me to no end, but I've strangely grown to miss it over the years."

"Yukinoshita… don't you think you've deflected enough? Can't you just tell me the truth of what's going on? Can't you just tell me… if all of this is real?"

"I promise you, Hikigaya-kun, that everything will be explained. But first, I want you to come explore the city with me. If only as a request from an old acquaintance, could you please grant it one more time?"

oOo

In the end he agrees. Even after all these years, he's still unable to refuse her. And so he finishes his drink, pays his tab, and with a slight wobble, manages to follow Yukinoshita out into the city.

Together, they walk down the streets of New York. He has no idea where they are going, and all attempts at trying to pry the answer out of Yukinoshita were swiftly rebuffed.

"I'm going to show you the city," was her coy response.

Against his better judgment, he lets her get away with that explanation and simply follows her through the streets. After all, he's sure to get answers out of her eventually, right? He reassures himself that that must be the case.

"We're here," Yukinoshita announces a short while later. He stares at the bustling street with the glaringly bright lights and the cacophony of hundreds, perhaps thousands of conversations.

"And where exactly is here?" he asks, although he thinks he knows the answer already.

"The night market!" Yukinoshita says, her small smile once again returning to her face.

"And what exactly are we doing here?"

"To check out the stalls of course? Think of it like the stalls at a festival back home, except with more of a focus on art and merchandise rather than food and games."

"But how exactly does this relate to you? I thought you were going to explain this whole… situation to me."

"And I will. But let's have some fun first, Hikigaya-kun. I mean, don't you think that this… that this all feels like a dream? The fact that we are here together in New York City? I never thought, after graduation, that this would ever be possible. So please, allow me to indulge in this moment. Allow me the chance to indulge in you."

Without waiting for his response, she grabs his arm, trapping it between both of hers, and drags him into the crowd.

The crowd at the market makes him a little nauseous. He's never been a big fan of crowds, but this is far worse because there are people all around him. He barely has enough room to maneuver through the crowd.

He clings onto Yukinoshita's hand. There was a time in the past, a lifetime ago, where he would have wanted nothing more than to walk around a market hand in hand with Yukinoshita, just as he was doing at this very moment.

But he can't concentrate on her at all. The crowd of people, the myriad of sights and sounds that surrounded him, and what on Earth is going on still swirling about his head made it impossible for him to focus. He was little more than a passenger as Yukinoshita led him from stall to stall.

There are food vendors, arts and crafts vendors, street performers, and much much more here. He buys crepes with Yukinoshita at one stall, then watches as Yukinoshita pores over some wood carvings at another. They listen to a street performer sing a couple of songs. They're quite catchy, even if he can't understand the lyrics very well.

Despite his worries, it becomes easy to lose himself; to enjoy the festivities with Yukinoshita. To pretend that they were both high schoolers again, wandering around Chiba and just enjoying being together.

"Have you decided on anything you'd like to purchase, Hikigaya-kun?" Yukinoshita asked after the performance had ended, as they threaded their way through a throng of people. He was rather embarrassed to admit that he'd clutched her hand tightly while they navigated the crowd.

"Huh? Anything I'd like to purchase?"

"For your family, Hikigaya-kun. As I recall, you would always purchase little trinkets and souvenirs for Komachi-chan, or have you somehow changed your siscon ways since we last met?"

The barb is familiar; a common refrain from days past. But there's a teasing note to her voice now that rarely showed up back then.

"I'll have you know that I've got an entire wishlist of items from Komachi and I plan on fulfilling every single one of them." He retorts.

Yukinoshita places her head in her hands in response, sighing with disappointment.

"To think that you still take pride in the wholly suspicious amount of sibling love you hold even after all these years is quite a disturbing thought, Hikigaya-kun. I find myself wondering if perhaps reacquainting myself with you was a mistake after all."

"You might be right about that, Yukinoshita. But Komachi's all that I really have left."

She pauses at his response. Stares at him with a strange expression on her face.

"You've changed, Hikigaya-kun."

"You've said that before, Yukinoshita."

She pauses. "Have I?"

"Yes. Yesterday. Or well, Yukinoshita Yukino has said that to me before."

"I see. Well I suppose the sentiment must be true then. You are different from the Hikigaya Hachiman that I remember. Not overtly so. But you are different."

"Eight years can change anyone."

"Indeed. I probably should have expected some differences, but I was also hoping … I was also hoping that you would be the same boy that I remembered. The same boy that took care of me so tenderly at the bookstore when I fell asleep. I guess I was just hoping that you would hold onto our past."

She trails off, a conflicted look in her eyes.

"So you wanted me to be hung up on our past together? You wanted me to be stuck living in the past?" There's a hint of anger bleeding into his voice. She backtracks immediately.

"Forgive me, Hikigaya-kun. That was unbecoming of me."

"I want you to answer my question, Yukinoshita…-san. Did you just want me to pine after you for my whole life?"

She winces. The honorific does not slip her notice.

"Not at all. I suppose it's just that… I didn't want to reunite with you, only to find that you had already moved on."

"That's pretty selfish of you, Yukinoshita-san. Considering that you are married and all."

She stares at him before reaching out and slipping her hand back into his.

"I'm not married," she says.

It does not sound like a lie.

oOo

After leaving the night market, Yukinoshita drags him to a park. It's a little ways away, so they take the metro. Even late at night, there are plenty of passengers. Even more so than in Tokyo.

On the ride, his mind wanders back to what she had said.

I'm not married.

Another mysterious statement, or rather, another statement that runs directly contrary to the Yukinoshita he had met the day before.

Things simply aren't adding up, he thinks to himself. He has met two Yukinoshita Yukinos, or perhaps he has just met Yukinoshita Yukino twice. But they are so different that they could easily be mistaken to be two separate people entirely.

So which is the real Yukinoshita Yukino. Or rather, who really is Yukinoshita Yukino?

A tug on his arm drags him out of his thoughts. He looks over at his companion to find her indicating that this is their stop. They disembark shortly thereafter and his mood is uplifted despite himself when he feels her hand slip into his once more.

He's becoming more and more unsure of this whole thing; of just who this woman really is.

But he can't deny that something about holding her hand just feels so right. The way her hand fits in his, the way their fingers intertwine together, the very idea of holding hands with Yukinoshita Yukino.

It feels as though something that had once been missing from the puzzle has finally slipped into place.

If this is a dream, he thinks to himself, then he never wants to wake up.

They stop at a strangely shaped building. It is unlike the others; there is a rounded dome crowning it instead of the usual rectangular shape.

"Where are we?" He asks, for lack of a better conversation starter.

"A planetarium."

"Planetarium?"

"Yes. One of my favorite places in the entire city. I used to come here alone, all the time."

"Err, and what exactly did you do here?"

Yukinoshita tugs on his arm, leading him into the building.

"That's what I want to show you."

Inside, Yukinoshita has a few words with the attendant on duty. Money changes hands and before he knows it, he's being led inside to a darkened room. There is no lighting, and the only thing he can make out in the room is the blurry outline of Yukinoshita.

"What…are we supposed to be doing, Yukinoshita?" He asks in a whisper. He's unsure of why, but somehow it seems appropriate to keep quiet here.

"Here," she replies in equally hushed tones. "You can lie down here, I believe. I've never bought a ticket for one of these bean bags before. I always got a solo seat."

Then, to illustrate her point, she pulls him down next to her until they are lying comfortably on the soft bean bag, staring up at the dark ceiling. He shifts, suddenly very aware of the fact that this bean bag is not very large in size. He can feel Yukinoshita pressed up against him, and he's more than a little worried about touching that which he should not touch. Had Yukinoshita mentioned that these bean bags were made for two? Because if so, then they must have been made with very small people in mind.

It was either that, or they were meant for…. meant for couples.

"Err-"

But just as he is about to voice his thoughts, Yukinoshita also speaks up.

"Have you ever been to a planetarium, Hikigaya-kun?"

"No. What exactly is a planetarium?"

"It is traditionally a place to view the stars and the sky. In a few moments' time, the projector will project the current night sky onto the ceiling for our viewing pleasure."

"I never knew you had an interest in astronomy, Yukinoshita. Is this something that you became interested in in college?"

She shakes her head. "It's not really astronomy that I was interested in back then, Hikigaya-kun. I was never very interested in studying the stars."

"But then why did you come here? Did you not say that this place is meant for people to view and study the stars?"

"Traditionally, that has been its purpose. But for me, well, I always came here for a different reason."

"A different reason?"

There is slight movement against his shoulder. She must be nodding, he thinks to itself, but he doesn't glance over at her. He's not sure if he'll be able to handle seeing her so close, curling up against him.

"As you might know, Hikigaya-kun, the light pollution in large cities such as Tokyo and New York City is terrible. Ordinarily, it would be impossible to see the stars from these cities."

"I hadn't noticed."

"No?" Yukinoshita sounds a bit disappointed, but continues nevertheless.

"And because of that light pollution, it's almost impossible to catch a glimpse of the stars here."

"But I thought you held no interest in astronomy, Yukinoshita."

"Indeed, Hikigaya-kun. But you see, for the longest time when I first arrived here, I was desperately homesick. I missed Japan, and I especially missed you and Yuigahama-san."

His heart almost skips a beat again. But then he frowns. There's something oddly familiar about those words. But he's not quite able to place why.

"You two were my best friends. I missed home terribly. I never told you this, Hikigaya-kun, but after my first semester, I nearly begged my parents to transfer me back to Japan."

"But you did tell me that!" He blurts out. Of course. How could he have forgotten?

Yukinoshita Yukino had told him this exact story, a mere thirty hours ago or so.

Yukinoshita is clearly surprised by his outburst.

"Have I? I don't recall-"

"You told me yesterday. At the coffee shop. If that was even you. You told me about how much you missed home, at least until you met your future husband."

"Ah. Shimenawa-san." There is something in her voice. He's not quite able to place it. But it tickles the back of his mind, almost as if he's heard it before.

"Shimenawa-san?"

"Yes. Shimenawa Takaki is his name. I met him at the end of my third year."

"...And? You've said that… that you've waited for me all these years, Yukinoshita. But you married that man. So how can you say-"

"I waited for you, Hikigaya-kun," she says, and Yukinoshita's voice carries a weight that he has not heard from her in a very long time. Not since a late afternoon, with the sun already set, in an empty classroom sitting across from each other…

Not since the very end of their youth.

"But then-"

Suddenly, there is a click and the ceiling that they have been staring at is lit up. Despite their conversation, he is distracted. Awestruck by the starry night sky that appears as if by magic.

"Wow…" He breathes out. He never knew that the night sky could be so utterly breathtaking.

"Indeed. This scene never fails to take my breath away," Yukinoshita's voice, so close to his ear, also carries that note of amazement. He shivers.

"I don't know much about the constellations, Hikigaya-kun," she continues, even as she raises her arm to point at the projected sky. "But I believe that that is the Summer Triangle. You'll know Altair and Vega the best."

"Orihime and Hikoboshi, right?" He asks.

He sees her, out of the corner of his eye, glance over at him. He can't make out her expression.

"Indeed. The forbidden lovers."

He's silent, even as Yukinoshita rattles off a few more constellations that she knows.

"And that's pretty much all I know."

"That's still quite a lot. As to be expected, I suppose, from Yukinoshita Yukino."

"It's really not that much. There are far more impressive astrophiles in the world than myself."

They're quiet for some time, simply admiring the sky. Eventually, he breaks the silence.

"You never did tell me why you always came here, Yukinoshita."

"Ah… right. Where were we?"

"Your homesickness."

"Yes. I was very homesick, and I missed you, Hikigaya-kun. I missed you a lot. And so I went out of my way to try and find bits and pieces to connect myself back to home. Anything that had a connection to home, to us, I cherished beyond all else."

"And… that led you here?"

"Not at first no. My goodness, this would not have been my first thought at all." She gives a quiet laugh.

"At first, all I really had were my Pan-san plushies and a few of the novels we used to hold discourse over, back in the Service Club. But unfortunately, Japanese literature options are quite limited overseas, and Pan-san is also shockingly unknown here. So it was very difficult to find anything that connected me back home. Back to you. And that only made the homesickness worse. I was really struggling, the first semester of my second year."

He feels more than hears her take a deep breath. Her fingers are still interlocked with his and, despite himself, he gives her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Forgive me, Hikigaya-kun. I'm not…- I don't very much like talking about that time. But eventually, I visited this planetarium on a whim. It's quite famous, the largest planetarium in the world. And when I first saw the starry night sky, the only thing I could remember, the only thing I could think of-"

"Setsubun, right? The festival…"

She nods, a fragile smile adorning her face.

"You are correct, Hikigaya-kun. I'm…- it makes me really happy that you remembered. Because for me, that is one of my most treasured memories. I had always been terribly jealous, knowing that you had gone to a festival and seen the fireworks with Yuigahama-san and even my sister. And celebrating Setsubun with you; that honestly might have been the favorite thing we did together. I'm sure you remember what happened, after the temple visit and the bean-throwing. You walked me all the way home. It was a really cold day, especially for setsubun. We didn't say much, but we were… we were walking close together, staring up at that starry night sky. It was so beautiful… do-do you remember that, Hikigaya-kun?"

"I do," he responds quietly.

Her smile is a little stronger this time.

"I remember very clearly that, towards the end of our walk, I was shivering. And you noticed. You slipped your coat over my shoulders. And then you reached down and…- And that was the… that was the only time-"

He raises his right hand, still enjoined with her left.

"That's right, Hikigaya-kun. The first and only time you held my hand."

oOo

"Where would you like to visit next?"

Her question comes suddenly, without warning.

They've just made their way out of the planetarium and are now standing by the entrance, staring out at the flashing lights of New York City at night. It seems that, despite the late hour, the nightlife shows no signs of slowing down.

Even more so than Tokyo, this is the city that never sleeps.

"I thought you wanted to show me around the city."

"Have I not been doing just that, Hikigaya-kun?"

"You have, but it was only the two places. Surely your eight years here have amounted to more than two places of interest?"

"Well, of course not! But…-"

He doesn't miss the way her eyes flicker away from him for a brief moment.

"But?"

"But this is all that I can show you tonight!" She continues hurriedly. "The hour is late. Most establishments have already ceased operations for the day."

"Hmm…okay."

He doesn't push. And besides, it's not as though he can't take a good guess at her reasoning.

The other places in the city… must just not be for him.

He fakes a yawn.

"Well, I'm feeling tired anyways."

"Oh." Yukinoshita looks taken aback. "I suppose that's understandable. Should we say our farewells, then?"

"Not quite yet."

"H-huh? Is there somewhere else you would like to visit after all, Hikigaya-kun?"

He shakes his head. "No Yukinoshita. The only thing I want… is the truth. The truth of why you're here, with me tonight. The truth about everything that you've been saying. About how you're not married. About how you waited for me."

He takes a deep breath.

"Who… really are you? And… how do you really feel?"

For a long time, only silence blankets their surroundings. The other people walking on the sidewalk, the cars driving by on the road, they're all muted to him. The only thing he awaits is her answer.

"You're… so hyperfocused on that, Hikigaya-kun. Is this all that matters to you? I can promise you, Hikigaya-kun, that I am exactly who I say I am. I am Yukinoshita Yukino. Soubu High School Alumnus. Ex-Service Club President. The same girl that you remember from our high school days."

"I need to know the truth, Yukinoshita."

She sighs, "Very well then. Let's head somewhere a little more comfortable."

oOo

They end up at his hotel. For a brief moment, he had thought that Yukinoshita would be inviting him over to her place (the thought made his heart pound unreasonably fast), but in the end she had looked expectantly at him and he had simply called a ride back to his hotel.

Yukinoshita Yukino, in a hotel room with him. Alone. The scene is somehow familiar yet unfamiliar.

Is this… a memoir?

She sits down primly in the only chair in the room, leaving him to settle himself against the headboard of his bed.

The single bedside lamp is the only illumination within the room. There are other light sources in the room, but he has kept them off. He prefers things to not be too bright, and besides, it is nearing three in the morning.

"So…" He says, for lack of a better opening. It's always been like this, their conversations whenever the topic turns serious. The awkward silence, the waiting, the expectation that the other person will say what they want to hear. He's done this song and dance with her so many times.

He doesn't want to dance around the issue any longer.

"So… where do I start?" Yukinoshita, it seems, is also being more proactive than usual.

"From the beginning. What happened to you, to Yukinoshita Yukino after we parted ways at the airport after graduation?"

Yukinoshita took a deep breath.

"I think, to provide you with context, it would be better to start when we parted ways. When we agreed to sever whatever connection we had between us, after the prom."

"Ok. Start there then."

"Well, as you know…"

oOo

Her story goes as he mostly expects. A new country; a completely new environment, leading to loneliness and homesickness. Yukinoshita, however, being the stubborn girl that she was, struggled through it. And given her talents and beauty, it isn't long before people take notice. Before people started reaching out; before she began to make friends and attract admirers.

He clenches his fist.

None of this is a surprise. All of this is exactly as he expected, after he met the woman from the cafe.

None of this answers his question. The question that's causing his heart to squeeze within his chest; that's kept him awake for almost ten years.

He needs to know the answer. And so he interrupts her.

"Yukinoshita… why are you here? That's what I want to know. Your story… all of it is pointing in one direction. And that direction… it lines up with the woman that I met at Gregory's yesterday. Not the you that's in front of me right now. Why is that?"

She regards him carefully, before responding in a quiet, almost tremulous voice.

"I had a dream once, Hikigaya-kun. I had a dream, right as I was graduating with my Bachelor's. At that time, Shimenawa-kun had been pursuing me for about a year. And I remember that, at the time, I wanted to accept his confession. He was kind and handsome and most importantly, an American citizen. And since my parents have had aspirations to expand their business abroad, Shimenawa-kun, to them, was a good match for me.

But in my dream, I saw you. I remembered all those times we spent together back in high school. And I saw, in my dream, a life with you. A what if story, played out before my very eyes. And perhaps it was silly of me, a twenty-two year old with a career and a future laid out before her, still reminiscing, still pining for someone from the distant past. But Hikigaya-kun, I could never forget you, because you made me into the person I am today. You gave me the strength to stand on my own, the conviction to see my desires through, and the confidence to chase after what I wanted out of my life. You complete Yukinoshita Yukino, in a way that nobody ever could.

And because of that, I realized that a part of me would always hold a special place in my heart for you.

But life is never perfect, Hikigaya-kun. Life waits for no one and I had zero information on what you were doing. You never reached out, and I never did either. But I suppose that was always to be expected. We were never good at communicating with each other, after all. And so, in the end, I accepted Shimenawa-kun's feelings."

She feels him slowly slip away from her. He doesn't want to hear this. This isn't how he wanted this trip to go. This isn't like how it happens in his novel.

But she grabs hold of him. Doesn't let him run away. Not again.

"Listen to me Hikigaya-kun. Please. You asked, didn't you? How could I be here, if I chose Shimenawa-kun in the end?"

"Does that even matter?" He asks. His voice is hoarse, as if he's barely managing to keep his emotions in check.

"Even if everything that you said was true. Even if you dreamed of being with me. In the end… you chose him over me. Isn't that all I need to know? Isn't that… the end of the story?"

"No," she says, and it is with such insistence, such conviction, that it gives him pause.

"A part of me will always love you, Hikigaya-kun."

Her eyes are wide. Pleading. Begging for him to understand.

"You asked me who I am. Hikigaya-kun, I am the part of Yukinoshita Yukino that will always love you. The "other" Yukinoshita Yukino, she's all grown up. She's put the past behind her. But me? I am the one that waited, because I wanted to realize that dream."

"I wanted to see the future where we were together."

oOo