,,It is raining," she said.

,,Yeah, it is," he answered, and she walked away.

It is morning. The streets of Kabuki District are not dusty and filled with rushing people for once; instead they are empty and covered in puddles colored by low-quality signboards damaged by the night typhoon. Rain season here is as bad as anywhere else. The scent of rain mingles with a smell of uncollected trash, sweat and cheap booze. Bars will not stop working for such a petty reason as storm.

She is going home from work.

She takes this route every morning, few minutes before sun fully rises from beyond the horizon. At least he thinks it is every morning; his patrol schedule allows him to meet her only three days a week. She is never in a hurry. No one is in a hurry so soon, in the time that is not night already but not day yet. She walks slowly. She stumbles once or twice, head probably spinning from all the drinks she has drunk with greedy guests. She should be used to it already, but he likes to think that she does not want to get used to. She surely does not plan to spend her whole life in those glittery, yet smoky and tiring night clubs. She is strong. She will reach her goal.

She always talks to him.

One or two words. Nothing important, only usual conversation between two acquaintances. Yet it is morning and he is sleepy and weary and everything around him is grey, because that is what mornings look like everywhere in the world. And here she comes, in pink kimono and fake smile she forgot to take off. She remembers him, most probably as the annoying subordinate of her even more annoying stalker. The one that smokes and swears and solves problems with his katana, because, let's admit it, it is the easiest solution. They have never talked much. Yet he knows everything there is to know about her – her daily routine, her cooking, the colour of her favourite hairpin. Damned Kondou-san, he thinks and continues to watch her umbrella disappear beyond the corner. It is not like he asks to know all those things. She will think he is a stalker as well and will never talk to him again. He needs those few words in the morning. Warm, so warm.

He knows that warm feeling. He knows it far too well.

You idiot, he whispers. Her umbrella is nowhere to be seen, but he still hears her steps in the wooden sandals. You idiot, he says aloud. That is how it started before. Clutching of sandals and words spoken by the warm voice and those useless feelings. The rhythm of their steps is almost identical, so are their eyes and voice and-

She is not Mitsuba, he says and does not believe it at all.

…

,,How is Kondou-san?" she asks.

,,The hell should I know," he answers, and she walks away.