To Hachiman, the text-message was an instrument of pure logic and rationale. A perfect, convenient method of communication for those ever instated in the immortal business of solidarity. That much, was indubitable. A simple click of a key could eradicate any leech of foolhardy business, a simple line of characters capable of invoking the attention of pig-headed classmates. Indeed, text-messages were ever practical, impersonal, and straightforward. They allowed communication without the undignified stuttering of the tongue.

"If only they were free," muttered Hachiman, phone in hand, an empty text document ready to be filled.

Now, it was during one of a long, dreary line of grey mornings that he lamented on his squabble with Yukino. There sat Hachiman, ever busy, reading a novel in the club room. You see, Hachiman was never one to mince words, especially when Yukino was involved. However, it seems he had gone too far this time.

"Hachiman, you're an idiot,"

At the time, this sudden declaration did little to tug on Hachiman's mind. It was only when the despondent gloom lied thick upon the streets, and when the murky skies held back its tears, did the slow turning of pages seem small and lost in the silent club room. Initially, he opted to ignore the gloom, and read on, tirelessly. Hachiman was not one to allow a brief pang of emotion to manifest into anything of note.

The hours toiled on, and the club-room's clock struck thirteen. Yuigahama was gone on a month-long family excursion, while the aforementioned Yukinoshita was scowling somewhere else.

"Why do I bother?" a defeated Hachiman concluded. He gathered his belongings, and prepared to walk home.

His walk back was one shrouded by cold, bleak, wintry weather — he hoped that the heated kotatsu and Komachi's smile would offset his icy disposition. He slowly trudged through the snow-laden promenades, passing by glassy sheets of ice where water once flowed. Soon, he arrived at his house, unlocking the door with a single pair of keys, and leaving behind only one set of wet footprints on the doorstep.

In his room, Hachiman caught a glimpse of the photograph frame sitting by the mantle, illuminated by the midday sun.

It was a picture of a boy and girl, the boy smirking sarcastically, the girl sporting a sweet smile. He inwardly cringed at his expression. Honestly, if he cut his head out, it would make for a great picture.

"Goddamnit, Yukinoshita," he grumbled to no one.

Hachiman closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and let out a heavy breath. The whole thing was a jape of the cruelest kind.

As the week progressed, he found himself imagining the swell of the warmth that once existed at the other end of the clubroom table, always happy to serve him a cup of tea. Her ice-blue eyes, cold but understanding, haunted him. It was a sort of harrowing experience, one Hachiman, heated in dismay, ever despised.

It wasn't until Friday evening that Hachiman was obliged - reluctant as he was - to write a letter.

It was, of course, proper conduct after all! Dealing with women required tact, a business Hachiman had perfected with his skill at texting. He shivered, both from the cold weather, and the remembrance of a bitter past. Orimoto was not a pleasant memory.

Hachiman began typing.

Yo, Yukino,

No.

He drummed his fingers on the wooden table. He was apologizing, not inviting her out to drink, Hachiman thought.

"Maybe I'll use that one with Sensei sometime."

Sighing, he quickly deleted the blasphemous line of characters. He flinched at his sudden incompetence.

Yukinoshita Yukino,

That being said, he did miss her a lot.

Yukino,

Yes. Direct, yet familiar.

You are missed…

Hachiman cringed.

I require your presence, for I am at a loss…

Both emotionally and socially, he mused. He meant it first as weak humour, yet the thought echoed bitterly in his mind.

I must concede — no, confess: the very notion of you hating me petrifies me.

Hachiman bit his lip, and then continued.

I'm really sorry for showing you that jump-scare cat video.

And with that, Hachiman, his hand slightly quivering, hit the send button, quietly grumbling about the costs.

Hikigaya Hachiman,