It's September now, and a lot has changed besides the season. And yet things don't seem to have changed very much at the same time. This is, I think, a slightly darker chapter compared to the others and is sort of the climax to everything Ataru has been feeling and enduring up until this point. It's also a short chapter, as the last two were quite long lol.

CHAPTER 11: PROMISE

Darkness. And a very heavy silence. These were the things that greeted Ataru faithfully on his every return. He never knew how oppressive a quiet home could be, especially when his heart was already so melancholic. Each day since his unplanned outing in Tomobiki felt longer, and the weight of his isolation seemed to grow. Whatever company his coworkers provided couldn't compete with the absence of his friends and fell hilariously short of the vacancy left by Lum. Not even Yamagata, who had, in his own way, become something akin to a mentor, could make up the difference. In short, Ataru was lonely.

So far, the only one who reached out to him with any regularity was Kosuke, even if his time was devoured by packing and preparing for an exciting year abroad. He'd been the first one Ataru called on a new phone he'd acquired from the local Daiso store (another asset introduced to him by Yamagata), and they made a habit out of touching base weekly since. On that first phone call though, now weeks past, Ataru considered all the changes happening around him and realized that summer was coming to its conclusion. A new season was already lining up to seize the town with crunchy leaves and chilly mornings. And oh, how swiftly it came through! The speed of it nursed by identical days and the all-consuming grind; something he feared he'd never get used to. Before he knew it green faded to brown, and the train he took became packed double with students. Ataru envied their fresh faces and trivial troubles of homework and tests, and he despised the way they passed through the weeks, heedless of how finite they were. One day, though, it would strike them just as it struck him now and every day since he moved away from home.

Twice, after summer faded, life gave him a little surprise. First was the long-awaited invitation from Shinobu, addressed to himself and Lum. Ataru smiled at the sight of their names together, imagining how excited she'd be to attend an actual wedding rather than the ones she visited in her fantasy. Shinobu even included her phone number, something he utilized almost immediately – although, with the nature of her job and planning a wedding, she rarely had time to spare. Such was life.

The second surprise came unexpectedly in the form of an invitation from Sakura requesting their attendance at her own wedding with Tsubame at the Shrine. A very fitting atmosphere, he mused, again lingering on the pairing of names. Ataru and Lum. Now he really needed to get in touch with her, he told himself, lest they miss the RSVP. At least it was a good solid excuse he could wield since, even after getting a hold of his finances and furnishing his apartment to a greater degree, he still found reason to procrastinate. Answering an invitation was better than submitting to the crushing quiet of his apartment or acknowledging the constant longing in his heart that burned for her company had become more than he could handle. She couldn't accuse him of anything humiliating with hard evidence like an invitation, and he could continue nursing his pride while satisfying the urge to see her again.

And yet, even having his alibi, Ataru found that last plunge into commitment to be a steep hurdle. The first time he'd encountered such hesitancy was after acquiring his phone, which he'd told himself would be the final purchase needed to have his life together (after getting a proper stove, a heater for the coming winter, a few extra light fixtures, an actual working clock, and furniture for the living and bed rooms – donations by his coworkers, mostly). Once he had it, however, suddenly he could think of plenty more things his apartment "needed" before it would be good enough. And in this way he could push the inevitable back while still pretending to move forward. But now he had these invitations and their hard deadlines to contend with. They took up semi-permanent residence on his kitchen counter where they taunted him daily. And daily he would say 'tomorrow' or 'over the weekend', only for them to pass by as uneventfully as every other day before. He distracted himself with dates that held less and less of his attention, after-work events with his coworkers, chores, or languishing in front of the TV or, worse, in the dark of his room alone. It was a miserable paradox of solution and conflict rolled into one.

At some point work became all-consuming, which didn't help anything. In the magazine industry they were already neck-deep in holiday planning to avoid any potential hangups. Everything seemed to happen double-time in the world of publishing. And more often than not he and his peers burned the night oil just to keep up. So the grind took hold, ushering days along until they piled into weeks. Thus, Ataru was attacked on all sides, leaving him strung out and exhausted both physically and mentally.

What day was it now? He worked yesterday (did he work the day before that?) so it was...Tuesday. No, Wed-Thursday. It was Thursday already. Thursday, and Autumn. And he was alone, again, stretched across his bedroom floor in the dark and still wearing his work clothes. Nothing had changed. Though his bank account was finally filling out and his apartment held all the adequate furnishings one might expect of a man living alone, really, nothing was any different. Ataru was no closer to reaching out, stuck in a moment that lasted forever. Just like the hell his sempai had described.

Suddenly his legs grew restless, and the darkness felt tangible, like water, and Ataru was drowning in it.

I need to get out of here, his mind growled like a caged dog.

And go where, he asked himself.

Anywhere, just out.

Ataru stood, the shuffle of his feet across the floor a loud offense against the surrounding silence.

It's late, the responsible side of him piped up.

I don't care.

You'll be tired, it argued further.

I don't care. Anything is better than this.

Ataru snagged his keys and flung the front door open, sending a rush of wind through the apartment in his wake. Outside was like a different world. The night air was cool against his face and crisp with a chill that was strangely refreshing. Heartily he drank it in, filling his lungs until they'd burst and letting it all out in a heavy sigh. Then he took stock of the evening; a quiet neighborhood dressed in shades of black broken up by squares of light seeping warmly through windows. The thoroughfare was a darkened river framed with balls of white lamplight acting as a guide to the very few people he could see walking below, and even fewer cars. Ataru joined them soon, his wandering purposeless, meant only to fill the hours with something other than silence. He had no interest in hunting, and spared very little of his attention to store displays or the inviting glow of his neighbors' windows. Ataru's path may have been aimless but his mind was following a very distinct course, one he'd navigated many times already. It was dumb luck he ended up at Chūōkōen Park. Or maybe he was destined to arrive here. Ataru did all his best thinking in the company of nature after all.

Here the crowd was even thinner, and if not for the lurid glow of various lamps and vending machines, he would have assumed it closed. But that was all fine with him. The people here may as well be shadows, considering what little mind he gave them. He himself drifted like a ghost, deeper and deeper into the park until the view became altogether unfamiliar and little questions began seeping into his mind regarding where to go or which turn to take. Combined, these decisions lead him to uncover a huge lake at the heart of the park he never knew existed. And for the first time since leaving the apartment Ataru's attention was gripped by something other than Lum.

Before him was a world reflected, both space and the distant city of Rokuyō, as if pulled down from heaven by unnatural forces. Together they created a swath of stars cut through the center by a ribbon of twinkling multi-colored lights, transforming the whole horizon from top to bottom into a glittering spectacle. Ataru marveled reverently at the sight, wondering only how he'd missed such a beautiful location, even after coming here so many times before. And as he stared a feeling of loneliness seized his heart, and he longed to share this view with his friends, and with Lum most of all. He could almost hear her voice - actually, he did hear a voice, but it wasn't hers.

Ataru's attention moved to the water's edge beneath him where the land dipped and leveled into another walkway around the lake. There he found two girls, high school age from the look of them, both sharing in his awe over the starlit vista. What they failed to notice however, was the approach of another character up ahead. Ataru recognized the disheveled footing of someone who'd drunken beyond their limits and could only assume the middle-aged man was trying to run from his own demons in a sea of liquid gold. Now he was unleashed upon the world, or the park as it were, and if Ataru's hunch was correct, he was headed directly toward the two girls. Well, that didn't bode well.

Their meeting could go one of two ways, and those odds alone prevented Ataru from acting prematurely. He wanted to have faith the old drunk would keep to himself, but he'd also consumed too much media to be surprised when he didn't. Around them the fool danced, vomiting nonsensical compliments and suggestions while the girls huddled together, squealing, both disgusted and horrified in tandem. Ataru found himself struck by the scene and plagued by a sickly feeling. He couldn't let this stand and moved briskly toward them with a hardened stare. When the older man lapped them again Ataru laid a steady hand on his shoulder, prompting him to turn on wobbly legs to see who'd stopped him so suddenly. Ataru flashed him a frown full of disappointment.

"Hitting on high school girls? Where's your pride as a man?" Ataru's scathing admonishment surprised even himself as it sliced through the night air, cutting his target's resolve to nothing. Under the scrutiny of his dark eyes the old drunk practically deflated beneath the weight of his newly budding shame. He muttered a half-hearted defense, but Ataru just shoved him up the path.

"Go home before you embarrass yourself even more." The disgust he felt was a real, tangible thing, and not born from his own selfish lust the way so many of his chivalrous actions were. Ataru was far too wrapped up in a battle against his own fears to succumb to the same trappings of that drunk old man. The lamentation, no, the warning of his sempai echoed through him, and Ataru was reminded of that great trepidation hanging over his head of waking up in his thirties with a cold bed, without Lum, or any woman in his life save the one who birthed him. He swore he wouldn't become that man, nor the man staggering off into the darkness. Not him. Not ever.

Once the threat was gone the girls descended upon Ataru with feverish thanks, enough to almost make him doubt his resolve. Still, he valiantly fought their praise and his desires with both hands raised to keep them at bay. It was nothing, he'd said, and bid them safe travels for the night with a parting suggestion of home as their next and final stop. They giggled at him but seemed receptive to the idea, wishing their savior goodbye in an unexpected way; "Have a good night Mister!"

Mister?! He was still technically a teenager, albeit standing on the edge of his twenties! Did he really look that old now? Maybe it was the bags under his eyes? Whatever the reason, Ataru never felt so old in his life. Off they walked though, none the wiser to the wound they'd left on him nor the vestiges of his pride slowly mending it. If nothing else, he'd done a good deed of his own accord and proved himself to be a good man. A better man. A man who didn't deserve the self-inflicted loneliness he endured.

Again Ataru cast his gaze out over the star-struck canvas. Now, even more than before, he was determined to share this view with the friends and loved ones he'd left in Tomobiki. The thought alone left him feeling refreshed and renewed with purpose, and on the way back to his apartment Ataru busied his mind with hypothetical scenes of his triumphant return into their lives. Would they gasp at the sight of his refined and dignified features, hallmarks of age and maturity? Would they fawn over him, wishing he'd returned sooner to fill their lives with the kind of joy only he could provide? Maybe they'd celebrate with a round of drinks or noodles at one of his favorite stands? Oh, if he were lucky maybe they'd even offer to pay! Naturally he'd be treating them when it was their turn to visit him.

On and on like that his mind spun thoughts and daydreams until at last he'd arrived at his door. Darkness as always was there to greet him, only this time, it didn't bog him down. Soon enough there would be light in these rooms, he told the shadows with a determined grin. Then, as if driven mad, he ran through each room and flicked on every light, even the TV, stopping last at the kitchen where something caught his eye from the tiled floor. Stooping closer he realized it was the invitations, most likely tossed from their perch when he opened the door hours ago. Ataru turned them over in his hands, his face softening as he read their names in his head: Ataru and Lum. Carefully he placed them back on the counter, lingering a little longer on her name alone. Lum.

Like an animal in the throughs of death, unwilling to go quietly, his mind fed him more of the same tired fears to combat his joyful daydreams. Surely he couldn't expect things to go well. Not after so many months without any word from himself. Through short conversations with Shinobu he'd learned more about Lum's state of mind. By her account Lum still defended her husband, granted, she did not hide her displeasure at the lack of communication on his end. And, according to Shinobu, her eyes would shine deviously whenever the topic of his return came up. Just based on his own history with her Ataru could easily imagine the myriad ways she could torture him. Lightning, biting (heaven above, those damn fangs), more lightning, and she'd probably have a few conditions for forgiveness that would no doubt leave him embarrassed and humiliated. At these thoughts his stomach twisted into knots, and he could feel the foundations of his decision quaking once again. Only this time, Ataru refused to let any doubts take root. He shook his head violently and clenched his fists. Coward, he called himself. And spineless, too. Is that the man he'd become? After everything he'd gone through? No. No he wasn't. He was not weak, he was not a coward, and he would never be a depressed and unmarried thirty-year-old hitting on high school girls. All the dogged pride and stubbornness that was within Ataru roared forward and he gripped the invitations in both hands so that he might look upon the names again and remember what he was fighting for.

Tomorrow, he told her, as he had a hundred times before. Not as a balm to his fickle heart, not this time. This time, it was a promise.