Hi again, guys! An extra long chapter for you today, because I'm just that darn nice. :D Thanks again for all your kind words, favourites, alerts, and hits, keep 'em coming! They make me happy. Don't feel obligated, though. ;P First of all, I think it'd be best if I mention I enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it!

Second, to answer your question, ZxZ, there will be pairings! I think I posted a warning in the first chapter about them. I haven't fully decided, but I know there'll be later slash, femslash and het (rare though they tend to be! XD). That's actually what I want to know - I'm not going to share the pairings, because they're secret so far, and I haven't fully decided yet, as I said, but there are lots of hints, implications and whatnot. So, two questions: first of all, which do you all prefer, Yukiko/Kanji/ Rise/Kanji, or Naoto/Kanji? Because I like the first the most and the latter the least, and I already have an idea for what I want to do about Naoto, but...I'd like to at least act like everyone's opinions will affect my work. :D

Also, I just realised there's an individual review-reply button in the email that comes with reviews, so from now on I'll be less of an idiot and use that. These sections will be shorter. :D

Finally, thank you all for reading! I'd just like to add that pairings are not the focus of this story, they take a backseat to the plot. So, if you're coming here hoping this'll pan out into some overarching romance fic, there'll be romance later, probably, but it's not as important as the terrible mystique or intrigue. :D

FINALLY! - A lot of you are probably put off by the strong Souji-centric nature of this story. What I want you to know is that he is the main character of the game, the focus of social links, the driving force behind so much of the plot. I think it's entirely fair for him to be treated the way I treat him. :D

Also, with the social links, assume that this Souji took every possible social link to its conclusion, and that he did so by taking all the romantic social links to the point where you can date them and then rejecting them. So, during the game, he was single.

At some point, I will be a good writer and clarify this in the plot. But for now, it's Word of God, folks, so...I apologise. XD

God, Yosuke was annoying. He never knew when to stop talking, especially when he went off on one of those tangential rants of his, the ones about this band, that game, or that other movie, that he could never quite stay away from, and always directed at her.

"Yosuke," Chie begged, in her most defeated tone, "please go away now. Please." She hoped that he would listen; she'd pleaded, bargained, manipulated, and raged as best she could for the past hour, trying to get him off the line, and away from her ears, but none of it had been successful, not even when she'd offered to buy him a new bike if he'd shut his mouth for just a moment so she could think. She'd never known anyone, not even Rise, to talk so much, for so long. Now, it had long gone past the point where she could say she'd gone mad.

"But Chie," the voice at the other end of the line whined, "you haven't even heard this next one yet, and it's so good!"

Pulling on the tips of her hairdo in frustration, Chie bit her tongue.

"Hear it once, I've heard 'em all," she whispered ominously. "Hear them all ten times, learn 'em! Yosuke, you haven been bugging me for, like, an hour and a half." She had so much more to say, but she decided to keep it short and sweet. "Are you ever going to just leave me alone?"

She ignored the huff of bitter disappointment from the boy – she'd gotten used to doing just that by now – and set her lips in a thin frown of defiance. Sure, he couldn't see it, but she was certain he'd feel it from wherever he was.

"I'm on duty, " he snipped back after she'd started angrily at the phone for a few seconds. "And stop looking at me like that. It's creepy."

Chie blinked.

"How did you-"

"So I was right!" crowed Yosuke triumphantly. Chie slapped her forehead, embarrassed. "I know you, Chie," he laughed, "so I can tell. You're being even bitchier than usual, is it that time of the month or-"

A few seconds after she slammed the receiver into the cradle, it started ringing again; three beeps, then a pause, then three beeps, then a pause, over and over again. The sound was almost painful on her poor ears, and eventually someone downstairs was bound to get annoyed by the caller who refused to give up (though she wasn't sure there was anyone downstairs...she'd heard the door slam earlier, so it seemed safe to assume she was alone in the house). She answered the phone, albeit as reluctantly as she humanly could.

"What?" she hissed into the phone. She was greeted by an amused sigh.

"That hurt my ears, you know. Anyway," but he didn't have time to finish: Chie had already thrown the receiver across the room, at the wall. It bounced off harmlessly, with an audible crack, then rolled across the floor until it came to rest at her feet. She hesitated to pick it up – what if that fatally annoying moron was still on the other side, biding his time for an opportunity to start talking again and melt her fragile, traumatised brain? She couldn't take that chance.

Slowly, ponderously, the brunette leaned down to grab the phone. She lifted it to her ear; no one was there. Good. Maybe she was free.

The silence was golden, relaxing in its wholesome, blanketing nature. Carefully, she pressed the 'disconnect' button on the phone, heaving a sigh of overjoyed relief when no evil laughter or pointless, idle chatter broke the quiet. All was good.

Of course, all that was only temporary, and Chie hit the floor when the sudden buzz of her phone in her pocket snapped her back into the real world. Clumsily playing at the keypad she noticed Yukiko's name spelled out in brightly shining letters on the screen; assuming it meant caller ID, she connected the call. A little bit of happiness revived itself in her stomach. A call from Yukiko was certainly unexpected, never unwelcome, and always nice. They'd need each other even more than before since Souji had left, anyway.

"Looks like I win!" cried the very unwelcome, unexpected, and definitely not-nice voice of Yosuke, that moron, from the speaker in her cell phone. Chie managed to subdue the urge to roar furiously, but only by the skin of her teeth (quite literally, at that).

"Why am I speaking to you?"

"I switched Yukiko's number with mine in your address book when you told me to fix that bug you had on your cell, for just such an occasion!" He sounded so proud, like he'd done something astonishingly clever; she couldn't fault his enthusiasm, she supposed.

"So what happened to Yukiko's number? What if I need to call her? If there's an emergency or something?"

"You're not her mom, Chie," he replied off-handedly, "and I'm sure you know her number off by heart by now!" She knew he was rolling his eyes on the other side, and she wanted to hit him for it. So what if she was, maybe, just a little bit clingy? Maybe she did know Yukiko's number, but it wasn't her fault she worried about her closest friend, liked to keep tabs on her, right? So he could keep his nose out of her business and his grubby little hands off her stuff, thank you very much! "Anyway, I put her number under my name, so, I dunno, just...switch 'em back, I guess?"

"And how do I do that, Yosuke?" she snarled.

"Figure it out yourself! It's simple, rename the contacts or something. Not very promising for a cop, Chie."

"Fine, whatever." A thought occurred to Chie then, a sickening one that filled her with dread. "You didn't take Yukiko's number, did you?"

"Nah," he laughed, and Chie breathed yet another sigh of relief. "I figure, if I'm gonna get Yukiko's number, it's gotta be the same way partner got it, straight from her. Pass the Amagi challenge, just like everyone else."

Despite her annoyance with Yosuke, and the way he talked about that stupid Amagi challenge joke, Chie couldn't help grinning.

"I always thought," she crooned sweetly, preparing herself for immediate retribution, "you were more of a Seta challenge guy, Yosuke."

"What?" the boy yelped. She could practically see him jumping back into a defensive position, so she chose to take the offensive, maybe drive Yosuke away instead of ignoring him herself.

"But then, even with that whole 'partner' handicap," the mockery oozing through her syrup-sweet tone, "sometimes we all wonder if you could do it. I mean, better to try a hill before you scale Mount Everest, right?"

Holding back the tides of laughter that threatened to burst from her throat at any time was a challenge indeed, but she pressed the advantage, knowing she had Yosuke by the balls (though not literally, never literally, that would be sick).

"Maybe you should start small, work on one of Kanji's Souji dolls before you move on to the real th-th-thing!" Her cackles were getting to be too much. She had to stop, before Yosuke exploded-

"What are you talking about? Don't turn this on me! I didn't, I never, what are you..." She could do this. She could hold it in. Yosuke sounding like someone had filled him with helium, squeaky, humiliated, and shocked, wasn't enough to get her. "I just, I never, there was no, I mean, we only hugged that one time!"

Nope. Not happening. The last little noise Yosuke made, a mixture of 'argh' and 'hngh' at a higher pitch than even Rise could reach was the straw that broke the metaphorical camel's back, and this time, Chie simply wasn't strong enough to spare his feelings any more. First came a snort, then a snigger, then she positively erupted into a torrent of laughter that eventually devolved into fits of giggles, hoots, and guffaws.

"Stop laughing at me, you, you, I don't even know what you are but it's awful!"

Now the tears streaming down her face, multiplying with every bout of childish glee, were turning into a nuisance, so she reined herself in, exercising a little self-control. She hoped she could do it.

"Sorry, sorry," she mumbled sheepishly, "I forgot we weren't allowed to mention your little crush."

"Chie, you're on speaker-phone and I'm in the middle of Junes here, you evil-"

There they were again, stoicism giving way to uncontrollable titters that shook her body from head to toe. If she didn't stop she'd be as bad as Yukiko.

"Anyway," she started, wiping the tears out of her eyes, "Yukiko's a pure, innocent, traditional, demure girl. You've got more of a chance tricking her into liking you than you ever did Souji, and you've got no chance with her!"

She caught Yosuke's sniff, making her wonder if she'd pushed it too far. Then she realised she was talking to Yosuke, who didn't even understand the meaning of 'limits'. He deserved everything he got!

"I was never even," he stopped, sucking in a breath, "interested in partner like that anyway. I'm not...not...not like that. He's just my best friend."

"Sure," she shot back, "and Kashiwagi's Inaba's beauty queen. I'm not that stupid, Yosuke."

"I don't want to talk about this. I never wanted to talk about this!" Chie imagined the boy's arms flailing above his head in disbelief. It was one of the nicer images she'd had of him recently. She was willing to drop the subject if he was (it wasn't the best territory for her, either). "I still haven't told you that joke, have I? It goes sorta like this-"

"Yadda, yadda, yadda," Chie groaned, waving a hand in the air as if to dismiss the question as she flopped into a nearby beanbag, "the woman, probably a blonde, gets it. C'mon, Yosuke, do you really have to keep boring me with these stupid dirty jokes?"

"I guess not," he said, and there was much rejoicing.

"So why have you been harassing me for so long, huh?" Chie was genuinely curious, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. The same reason Yukiko, Kanji and Naoto had plunged into their work, Rise had gone off...somewhere, and she was at home, wasting time. Boredom, sadness, and a noticeable lack of anywhere to really be. Who knew where Teddie had disappeared to, because she couldn't feel him in the TV world.

"Ever since you guys took Nanako home, I've been bored stiff," Yosuke moaned. Chie understood; she'd given working at Junes a try, and it had been one of the most harrowing, tiring experiences in her life – ranking just below fighting Izanami and just above eating a full Super Rainy Day Meat Bowl on her list of Things Never To Do Again. "Usually I'd get partner to come by and help me out, or I'd be on the phone to him, but...you know."

"Miss the free labour?" she teased, throwing one of the cushions from her bed aside as she leapt into it. She wanted to pull the quilt over her head, but she'd left the light on, and it'd just get on her nerves with all the natural lighting.

"Hey, we always tried to pay him!"

"I know, I know," she said, chuckling softly. "He's just not the type to accept anything. What can you do? He's Souji, pig-headed stubbornness and all."

"Voice sold separately," Yosuke quipped in an advertiser's deep, throaty voice, making Chie smile, "though sometimes I feel like I can't get a word in with him. Now that's weird, right?"

"Not really." Chie felt the same way sometimes. "When he starts talking, sometimes he just won't stop, right?"

"Yeah," Yosuke said glumly.

"This is depressing."

"What's depressing," her personal bug moaned, "is that I'm still working when I should be at home, talking to my partner. I feel like such a needy housewife, you know?"

"No, I don't," she said, leaning back to rest her head on the wall behind her as she crossed her legs. "But I always thought you liked it."

"Alright, Chie, I'll go," came the reply, conciliatory but mirthful. She cheered. "But I swear, you have to work the next shift with me or I'll die, and haunt you from the grave!"

She couldn't stop the howl of laughter that ripped itself loose, but she did vow to never, ever, ever let Yosuke call her again.

"No way! Get Teddie to do it!"

"He's gone somewhere, probably back into the TV. Plus, he's always flirting with the customers!"

"Really?" Chie was surprised; either Teddie had gotten very good at hiding very quickly, or she wasn't as capable a scanner as Rise had made her out to be. She chose to pass it off as the latter, as that seemed far more plausible. "Last time I checked, the only things in there were Shadows."

"Somebody needs to check your head for damage, Chie," Yosuke sighed, "must have taken one too many punches!"

"Hey!" she cried back, not sure whether to be insulted or ashamed when his meaning finally clicked in her head. Duh. Of course there were only Shadows in there! Teddie was a Shadow at heart, right? What else could possibly explain how she'd missed him?

"Don't feel too stupid, Chie," was the last thing she heard from Yosuke. She knew he was right, but she'd have to get around it eventually (could a cop get by, being so dense?).

Her eyes flitted around the room, first to the clock on the opposite wall, still ticking rhythmically, then to the TV suspended in the air on a shelf at her bedside. She could call Yukiko, make sure she was feeling alright – she had been struck pretty hard by Souji's departure, after all – or she could wait for Yukiko's inevitable call and not come across as overly clingy and possessive. Or, at least, not any more so.

When two minutes, then five minutes, then ten minutes passed after the usual time her phone would ring to tell her that Yukiko was in need, for whatever reason, she began to grow impatient, and a little anxious. They'd agreed to a routine for a reason. They both liked order, predictability, stability (even if they both wanted some degree of danger and excitement in their lives), things peaceful country life had drilled into them until they were too normal to want much of anything different, and it worried her that somehow, for some reason, the norm was no longer the norm.

In the end, after a minute's deliberation, she didn't call. There must have been a reason Yukiko hadn't rung her yet, probably an important one to do with the inn, and it'd be a bad idea to forcibly involve herself in it, and by extension, Yukiko's private business. Instead she contented herself with the TV, fiddling with the remote as she surfed channels.

The first was met with a resounding vote of no. Some age-old show, probably a Kanji thing, airing reruns on a channel she didn't even know her family had. People dressed up in elaborately designed, garishly decorated samurai costumes performing choreography routines that were decidedly despicable, almost horrific to watch, made her want to hurl.

The next lot were pretty much all the same thing, boring stocks-and-shares business reports for the aspiring merchants in the region. None of them were in Inaba, she assumed, so why there were so many of these channels eluded her...but if they were running, someone had to be watching them, enjoying all the complicated numbers, graphs, and economical treatises. Just not her.

Sports! That was something she could get behind. Watching boxers, martial artists, and wrestlers duke it out live was always fun, a good way to get her blood pumping. Except all that was on now seemed to be a 'best of' video about the local baseball team, whom she knew for a fact had never actually hit any highs (or even been in range of one, having never even made the lower leagues), so why they had a 'best of' video was beyond her too.

She skipped a few more channels after that. She'd seen Dragonball, after all, and Nadesico, and probably a lot of other animated stuff too. Period dramas were a no-no; they all had the same plot anyway. Foreign movies and sitcoms would have been pretty good, if they weren't so badly dubbed before being aired. Personally, she preferred the original English or Cantonese releases, subbed, and that was fine, despite Rise's complaints, or Naoto's smug translation corrections. The local network never seemed to do that, though. She didn't quite get how people couldn't watch the shows in their original languages, where they were best; Souji, shockingly, had expressed a defiant opinion on that, 'not quite understanding' how someone could prefer something in a language they had no understanding of, to something in a language they did. But hey, she'd responded, their prerogative, right? Maybe they were just smarter than him. Or spoke English, or whatever, better. That had earned a laugh from her grey-haired friend, so she'd taken it as a win.

When the news flashed on the TV, Chie's first inclination was to ignore it and move on. It didn't matter, right? Anything she needed to know, she'd be told later. She'd had enough of watching the news obsessively, anyway, and that awful commentator had driven her to despair ten times over so far. The problem was those thoughts, appropriate though they were, ended up being drowned out by the abrupt screeching of a loud voice in her mind, that kept repeating 'How can you impress Dojima-san into training you if you don't do anything to impress him' like some sort of wicked mantra. If she'd taken the time to understand Latin at all, the way the school had suggested, she was sure it'd have been a chorus of eerie monks, chanting obscene insults at her in her own head. That wouldn't be cool.

The voice resonating in her head seemed to come from somewhere near the back, where Chie found Suzuka Gongen clamouring for her attention. She gave it, though slightly unwillingly, focusing on the Persona as she tried – futilely – to shut out her other thoughts.

What is it? She thought at her Persona. Geez, it'd been more than a year, why wasn't she more used to this by now?

The part of her that was less Chie and more Suzuka yammered on mindlessly, unaware of Chie's distraction. When she finally recollected her thoughts, her Persona had spun some wild diatribe about the news, how she needed to shape up and be self-sufficient if she wanted to protect anybody, a constant uphill battle against the weakness of the self. To be fair, Suzuka didn't need to be so blunt and mean about it. Chie totally got how important all these concepts were; unfortunately, by the time her Persona was finished ranting she felt like someone had torn her body open before telling her she was a complete monster for having body fat. She couldn't help the way she'd been made! So what if other people had it harder than her? It just wasn't fair, that was what was up, you unrelentingly stupid Persona!

After a little more chastisement, Chie dismissed Suzuka Gongen. She'd gotten bored of being told off anyway; everyone else did that often enough. Her hand said otherwise, though, and she found it using the remote, entirely without her brain's permission, to put the news back on right in the middle of the ultra-cool fight scene she'd managed to find (on Takeshi's Castle, yeah, but come on, she was entitled to at least that, right?).

"Stupid Shadows," she muttered, "with their stupid demands about stupid self-betterment or whatever."

Right now, what passed for news out in the boonies – she'd learned that turn of phrase from Adachi, regrettably – was a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, accompanied by an overtly upbeat tune and a droning voice-over 'extolling the virtues', as Naoto had once so eloquently put it, cat ownership. Naoto probably liked cats, Chie mused, and she probably watched her TV in English too.

Chie yawned. She was more of a dog person anyway.

As if by magic, summoned to her side, her dog bounded through the flap in her door, jumped up onto her bed, and proceeded straight past the pleasantries to madly licking her face. Despite the wetness, and the dog's disgusting breath, her mood brightened considerably.

"Hello, boy!" she said, in the sort of voice people tend to use when speaking to dogs (nasal, high pitched, overly infantile), pulling it into an embrace as she rolled onto her side. It barked, then carried on licking her. "Who's a good boy? You are! I missed you, yes I did!"

They carried on playing for a while. Chie never missed an opportunity to pay some attention to her favourite boy in the world, after all. He was getting old, and he'd never let her down; she'd vowed never to hurt him either, when she was younger, and she meant to keep her promise. Eventually, they settled down, Chie lying back as she stared at the screen, still displaying a cat, proudly bouncing around a ball of yarn, now with the image of another cat superimposed over the top-right corner. The dog was quiet, lying down next to her, snout by her face; one of her hands began petting it idly, as the other scratched behind one of its ears. It whined softly, so she switched to the other ear, as it moved closer to her, laying its head in the crook of her neck.

When the bulletin finally finished, leading into a string of advertisements for cats and cat food, Chie yawned again, eliciting a yawn from the dog. That made her laugh, and as ads for more useless things flashed by her face, she entertained herself with her pet's company.

The sudden sound of the news program's musical theme caught her attention moments afterwards.

"And now," the anchor said, shuffling some papers around in his hands, "back to today's top news story."

"I wonder what that could be?" she whispered into the dog's ear. It panted ever-so-slightly, pushing a little further into her hold. The cold touch of its nose on her cheek made her gasp a little. Weren't dogs supposed to be clairvoyant, or something? What could make her dog seem so...scared?

"Earlier today," said the presenter, as if in response, "an accident occurred that destroyed a train on the Okina city line."

"Oh no," she mumbled reflexively, hand rising to cover her mouth as her stomach jumped into her throat. It couldn't be. Her thoughts went out to the poor people, suffering, before realising that Souji had been on a train on that line earlier. But...no. There was no way something could have happened, not now. She prayed, harder than she had ever prayed before; it didn't help the sinking feeling, one synchronised to her pounding heartbeat that screamed 'heartbreak'.

"It was believed that there had been no casualties." Relief pumped through Chie as he spoke, mixed with a climbing sense of fear. "Now, however, the police are investigating the whereabouts of one Souji Seta, currently presumed dead."

She was at the door in seconds, faster than she'd ever moved, dog yelping in the room behind her as she fled from the TV. Tears gathered in her eyes, breaking through the dams she'd so strongly believed she'd built, flooding her face faster than she could wipe them off.

It wasn't possible. It had to be a prank. Someone was playing a mean, cruel trick on her. The stabbing feeling in her stomach that grew with every passing second, every memory her mind forcefully dredged up, refused to relent, telling her that she couldn't stop until she knew.

He'd defeated a god! Could no one see it? Did Dojima know? Did Nanako know?Hadn't he said something, realised Souji couldn't possibly be dead? Nothing could beat Souji! Nothing. There was nothing in any world, anywhere, that could stop their leader. Even their entire group had been unable to stop him when he'd set his mind on giving Namatame mercy. And she'd loved him, for crying out loud! How could he leave her, leave all of them, behind? How could he submit to mortality, shuffle off his mortal coil, without stopping to spare a farewell for them? Giving up on all of them, just leaving...that couldn't be Souji. It wasn't him. It wasn't him. It'd never be him. No way it could be him. Never. Never.

She tripped, towards the bottom of the stairs, falling into a heap on the last step, but it didn't matter, didn't faze her. No physical pain could stop her. Izanami had almost killed them all, put them through unimaginable levels of pain, but they'd come back and won, with Souji's leadership to guide them. How could hurting herself compare? How could it compare with what Souji must surely have felt? Did he have her incredible strength, cultivated through innumerable hours of training behind and in front of the TV screen?

Why hadn't she trained her heart?

Her parents were out. Good. She couldn't handle them seeing her at her lowest, watching as she struggled to cope with even the simplest things. Breathing was a challenge. Thinking was more so. She felt sick, sick and wrong, like she was somewhere she wasn't meant to be...

Funny how Yukiko came to be in her mind. Did she know? Was this why she hadn't called? Chie had been watching the late repeat news channel, after all, and it was still blaring above her, unintelligible but so obviously talking about sweet, perfect Souji, the model human being. They hadn't known how weak and indecisive he could be, how ruthlessly cruel he was when he got worked up, rare as those occasions were...they only saw the good, the admirable, the virtue. Not the bastard that hid behind an angel's smile. They saw a sculpture, designed for deception, not a human being...made up of all the little things, the imperfections that made her want to die, rather than just mourn forever.

She'd loved him! How could he leave her behind? She'd promised to protect him! She'd failed. She'd failed! How could she go on, knowing that? Knowing she'd failed to keep her promise?

Running to the bathroom as fast as her unstable, wobbly legs would carry her, Chie felt the interminable sadness swallow her the moment before she started throwing up. Suzuka Gongen was fighting for release, desperate to kill something, anything, false bravado and bluster hiding a shattered heart.

Absent-mindedly she wondered if the others were feeling the same.

Once over, once under. Once over, once under. Across, above, below, across, above, below, above, below-

Shit. He couldn't concentrate, that much was obvious. His hands trembled ever so slightly with each careless stitch, the patterns coming out looking less like the finely-printed masterpieces they were supposed to be and more like shoddy apprentice-craft. None of it was anywhere near the usual standard he prided himself so much on, wastes of time and materials that he couldn't afford, and that pissed him off. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't let himself be pushed around by things as petty as emotions, because that wasn't what a real man did, but...apparently he couldn't keep that promise.

Kanji'd only been able to get on the path to becoming a real man, truth be told, because Souji, his Senpai, had always been there to push him forward. Senpai was a true man, he knew that much; someone to love, to emulate, like an elder brother. Not because he was smart, or understanding, or cool, or charismatic, but because he'd never let himself get pushed around by anything, not even the police, and he'd always been calm, collected, relaxed (aside from when he wasn't, when they'd broken him, and he'd flipped out like a maniac and very nearly attacked them all). He stood up for himself, in ways he never did, and now, when his memories were the ones bullying him into submission, he wished he could borrow just a piece of the strength his Senpai had always had. Without Senpai, it felt a lot harder to be manly, to take care of himself, but he had faith that he'd get over it eventually...he just couldn't see when 'eventually' would be.

He put down his sewing tools, needle, thread, materials, stencils, templates, all the things he prized for his work, and pronounced that experiment dead. It'd been impulsive, the desire of an escapist, and ultimately pointless, so he didn't feel too turn up about it; he'd have liked not to waste anything on such a useless venture, though.

The light outside his window had begun to fade quite a while ago, so he'd switched on his light and pulled the curtains shut, taking a moment to savour the way the streetlights bathed the town outside in golden light, driving away the purplish darkness. It was a picture he saw all the time, but ever since he'd fallen in with the others, small things like the view outside his window had become so much more sacred to him.

One of the chairs in his room had been upturned earlier, when he'd been trying to make room for some work, so he righted it before sitting down. Not reminiscing was hard, but he knew it was for the best. It would just make things worse; his problem was that he couldn't help the way his thoughts kept scanning over the past year, what he was sure had been inarguably the best year of all their lives so far, in spite of everything that'd happened in it.

He pondered going out, up to the liquor store, just to catch Naoki on his way home. They'd become good friends recently, more so than they had been before, and getting together to go eat at Aiya or, worst case scenario, Souzai Daigaku, had become a highlight of his everyday life. Now, it'd certainly help to take both their minds off everything else, if only for a couple of hours. Plus, he was hungry for some good food.

Scrambling around the room for a few minutes in search of his phone was no easy task, and it just served to work up his appetite. He'd bought the thing when he'd finally gotten tired of Rise's complaining that he was never easy to contact (he liked her well enough, but he preferred his personal space intact, thank you, and she was too damn needy for his tastes) and started using it religiously almost immediately afterwards. Funny how such a useful thing hadn't been in his life for so long; funnier that it was so damn easy to lose. He'd foolishly given Souji that number, months ago, rather than the house number when they'd swapped details and now, when Senpai had promised to call, and he wanted to call Naoki, he couldn't find it. Great.

A ring, followed by a beat, then another ring, then another beat, alerted him to the fact that someone had texted him. The noise was coming from his uniform, and he suppressed a curse; of course it'd be in the most obvious place! Of course the most obvious place would be the last place he'd look!

He dug his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket. Weirdly enough, he couldn't recall ever actually putting the phone in there, or even wearing it, but he shrugged off the confusion and flipped it open. Out fell a note, scrawled on a piece of paper in chicken-scratch handwriting; after a few struggles with interpreting whatever the jumbles of letters and numbers meant, Kanji finally pieced together what the message most likely was. In what barely resembled any language he knew, Teddie had written 'you dropped this'; he brushed it aside, making a note to thank the bear later.

Keying his unlock code into the phone, he stood up, pacing around the room in anticipation. Nervousness had never been his strong suit, but a message from Senpai had been forming in his head all day and he wanted to know how accurate his mind's picture was.

He was more than a bit surprised at his three unread messages, all from much earlier in the day. Glancing up at the clock, the bleach blond caught a glimpse of the time. Ten past seven in the evening. Later than he'd thought, certainly, but not unmanageably so, though catching Naoki on his way home was a definite no-no.

The first message was from Rise, who'd apparently gone to harass Naoto-san. He still didn't feel fully comfortable calling her anything else unless it was in the heat of passion – and he'd absolutely never be in the kind of passion with Naoto-san that his mind conjured images of whenever those ideas popped into it. Naoto had been extraordinarily despondent earlier (in her own words, not his) and Rise had decided to stay with her and cheer her up. Kanji couldn't help but feel relieved. If there was one thing the admittedly stunning redhead never failed to do, it'd be making her feel better, and Naoto had been pretty down earlier. She hadn't even remembered to pull her cap down over her face when she'd blushed at one of Yosuke-senpai's dirty jokes.

Pressing a few buttons to send a reply, along the lines of 'good to know, now leave me alone', Kanji moved on to checking the next message. This one was from Yukiko, a simple one asking if he'd like to move their next lesson to the next day rather than in the next week. He'd been teaching her arts and crafts, she'd been lecturing him on things relevant to running an inn, and he understood that she felt lonely better than most anyone (except Senpai, Chie-senpai, and Yukiko-senpai's family, but he accepted that, any opportunity to get closer to Yukiko-senpai, he'd never turn down). He was eager to learn a little more in the way of management skills, though they'd probably never be of any use to him.

He blushed, reading it, because he'd always had something of a soft-spot for her, since they'd been kids, and the fact that she'd asked for his number, not the other way around, filled him with a shy elation. She'd never given it to Yosuke-senpai, or Teddie, so he'd been too afraid to ask – but she'd been as perceptive as ever, and taken the initiative. He admired her for that, respected her too; he wished he could have some of her strength for himself.

Disappointingly, the last wasn't from Senpai. It was a string of random letters, numbers, and symbols; total gibberish, probably spam. Still, he had a feeling he vaguely knew the sender by their number, so he saved it, writing a note down in his phone to show it to Naoto-san later. If it was code, she'd kill him if he didn't.

When his inbox was cleared, after some sorting and archiving (tedious, irritating, and almost incomprehensibly addictive), he set about writing a quick text to Naoki, asking if he was up for grabbing a quick bite to eat down at Aiya. Nothing fancy, just a beef bowl – he wasn't really in the mood for anything heavy, and he was pretty positive Naoki would feel the same way.

He hit send. The reply was almost instantaneous, a 'failed to deliver' message that made him want to chuck the stupid thing away. The second had pretty much the same result, so, deciding to see if he could get better reception, he threw the curtains apart, jimmied open the window in his room that always stuck like it'd been glued shut, and leaned out, phone in hand. Third time was the charm. Within seconds, his phone had rung, and he was engaged in conversation with his younger, more timid friend.

"So," Naoki said, after they exchanged pleasantries, "what is it? It's pretty late, you know."

"Yeah," Kanji muttered back, "sorry about that. Just really out of it today."

"I know how you feel," the other boy laughed. Kanji smiled unconsciously. "Dad wanted me to close the store an hour ago, but I've been so busy I can't concentrate."

"So you're still there?" A noise of assent confirmed Kanji's question. "Cool. I didn't think you'd be. Wanna get a bite to eat?"

"Aiya or Souzai?" Naoki's chuckles were tinged with the faint tone of bitter nostalgia. "Too many memories, both of them."

"I know what you mean," the punk said owlishly, peering into the darkness where he swore he could hear a cat shuffling around, mewling quietly. The whole thing worried him; Senpai loved cats, so much that it scared Kanji, and had gone out of his way to teach him the same love. "Better food at Aiya, though. And it's not made of mystery meat."

"I don't know about that," Naoki laughed again, "but you're right, and it's cheaper. Should I meet you there?"

"Nah," he dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, "I'll come up and get you. Can't let little baby Naoki walk around in the dark on his own, can I?"

"Shut up," Naoki said, betrayed by the humour in his voice. "Anyway, I'll see you in a sec."

"Alright," Kanji finished, ending the call. Wrapping himself in his thickets jacket (the cool of the night-time spring air had chilled him to the bone), he shut the window again, slipping the phone into a trouser pocket.

Through the door, down the stairs, patiently but quickly, as fast as his feet would carry him safely, he shouted a goodbye to his mother and headed out the door, closing it gently behind him. This time the air didn't sting him quite so roughly, warm coat protecting him, so he started in the direction of the liquor store. It wasn't a long walk, and within a minute he'd knocked on the door, leaning on the vending machine outside and crossing his arms. The occasional passerby looked a little intimidated, hopefully by his intense stare, but thankfully kept right on going, without comment.

When the door opened, it was followed by Naoki, wearing an even thicker coat than he was. The shorter boy's hair was brushed back by a sudden blast of wind as he stepped into the evening air, closing the door behind him. Then he turned around, locking it firmly, before dropping his hands to his sides, looking up at the building in front of him, darkened and imposing, faintly outlined in the light of the moon and the nearby streetlamps.

"Hey," Kanji began uncertainly, still slightly uncomfortable around his friend. It wasn't so long ago that he'd lost his sister, truth be told, so Kanji felt insecure, bumbling clumsily around anything that so much as resembled a danger topic (though he couldn't deny that the younger boy appeared to be in relatively good spirits).

"Hi," Naoki replied, falling into step beside the bleach blond as they headed towards Aiya. Silence fell over them both, neither willing to disturb the peace of the night; it was a companionable one, surprisingly enough, and not particularly awkward at all.

When they arrived at Aiya, each pushing open one of the double doors, they were greeted by the powerful, delectable smell of Chinese food and the roar of speech from all directions ahead, underlined by the overwhelming hum of action and life. They went inside, allowing the doors to fall back into place behind them as they seated themselves in the middle of a row of tables by the wall, the same table they'd sat at when the Team had been racking its collective brains, trying to find the real killer.

"Evening, Kan-chan, Nao-chan!" the chef hollered at them, words laced with amusement and happiness. Kanji glared at him in response, Naoki smiled and waved; they looked at each other before groaning in unison. "What can I get you boys? The usual, right?"

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that," the older boy snarled. Both Naoki and the chef cackled; Kanji could feel the pressure points in his head throbbing with annoyance, shame, and a distinctly unwanted measure of enjoyment. How he could be enjoying being tortured, he didn't know. "Anyway, I'm not that hungry."

"Then I'll get you half your usual," the proprietor said in return, still laughing with glee. "What about you, Nao-chan?"

"I'll just have a special," Naoki answered casually, taking a sip from one of the glasses of water the chef laid out in front of them. Kanji glared at him, partly for being so unflappable, partly for undermining his protests.

"C'mon, old man," Kanji growled, "can't you get us something better to drink?"

"Knowing you, Kan-chan," the chef snickered, "better means alcoholic, and I am not putting your life, my life, or my restaurant in jeopardy. Not when your mother is right across the road!"

Kanji huffed, swearing under his breath. Sadly, the chef was right. Naoki looked amused.

"I'll go get your food ready," the man said in a tone that broached no further argument. Kanji rested his head on the table, next to his glass of water, refusing to meet Naoki's mirthful eyes out of shame. The next few minutes were comprised of small talk; 'how are you', 'what's going on in your life', 'very nice weather we're having', though they both already knew the answers. It was the sort of conversation Kanji was used to ignoring. Pointless talk had never been his style before; it was only recently, within the last year, that he'd started doing it at all...he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it, though, which was a major source of discomfort. He'd never seen himself as the gossiping type.

As their food arrived, they each dug in, silent once more but appreciative of the fine company. Kanji was especially annoyed – the chef had winked slyly, conspiratorially, at him as he'd handed over the food, a full meal he was sure he couldn't finish, not even with Naoki pinching bits of it occasionally. The guy had even said he'd only charge for half! It didn't feel right, taking free food, but damn, he'd been on the ball. Kanji was ravenous, and now he could barely stop himself from stuffing his face. He really would have to renovate the place in the future.

"So," Naoki said, once he'd cleaned up his plates and bowls. Kanji was still only on his first dish, mouth full, chewing, and clamped tightly shut. It fell open and hung there, half-chewed mouthful swallowed as his tongue lolled out. Naoki mock-retched.

"Shu'p," Kanji mumbled, taking another large bite and chewing hastily. "So what?"

The specks of rice dotted on Kanji's face, combined with the way his voice was obscured by the food in his mouth, made Naoki burst into laughter, hands holding tightly onto his stomach.

"Oh, man," he grinned when the laughter died down, wiping the beginnings of tears away from his eyes. He lobbed a balled-up tissue at Kanji, whose face accepted it as gratefully as it could, smacking his forehead and falling into his hands. Bemusement still radiated from his blank expression. "Clean yourself up, man, you eat like a pig!"

"Thanks," Kanji retorted sourly, dabbing gracelessly at his cheeks with the tissue. "Anyway, damn, I was hungry!" He patted his stomach, grinning. "What's up, man?"

"I was just thinking," Naoki said, taking a gulp from his drink, "we should go visit Okina next weekend. I want to buy some things some people recommended to me."

"Who?" Kanji's voice was full of curiosity.

"Oh, Yosuke-senpai, Rise-chan. Your friends."

"You talk to those guys?" Kanji was shocked, perhaps a little perplexed. Did they have any connections, apart from him? Then he remembered Souji, understanding crystallising in his head.

"Don't sound so surprised," Naoki laughed, "I know Rise-chan's an idol, but they're human too, right? And Yosuke-senpai is pretty cool."

"It's you I'm concerned about, man," Kanji replied dryly, "I didn't even think she was your type, and don't even get me started on Yosuke-senpai. Man, I don't even know anymore."

"Don't worry, she's not." Naoki's grin virtually sparkled. It reminded Kanji of Teddie. "She's not interested in me, either, so don't get jealous!"

"What?" Kanji stammered, eyes darting fearfully around the restaurant. No one seemed to have heard. That was good. "I am not crushing on Rise! Why would you even think that?"

"It's just so obvious," Naoki answered. Kanji did his best not to blush, but he could already feel the heat of embarrassment spreading through his cheeks.

"I don't like her like that," he groaned.

"I know," Naoki laughed. "I was just kidding. The way you reacted, though! Priceless."

"Yeah, yeah," Kanji growled through gritted teeth. "Get on with it. What'd Rise tell you to buy?"

"Just some music. You know, stuff she likes. It's what friends do. Friends who aren't you, anyway." It was hard for Kanji not to snap at that. Just because he wasn't big on music didn't mean he was some sort of primitive Luddite...though the only reason he knew what a Luddite was had been because Senpai had said it to him so often.

"I guess you mean her music? She wants you to give her sales a boost, right?"

"No," Naoki said, face twisting into a contemplative frown, "she seemed really against me buying anything she'd done. She directed me to the same sort of stuff Yosuke-senpai did."

"Yosuke-senpai? Really?" Now Kanji's expression changed to reflect Naoki's. "I didn't think they had the same tastes, like, at all."

"They're both rock fans, guitars and drums and things like that. Yosuke loves pop music too, idols, you know, but he's more into the fast stuff. It's all a bit crazy for me, but I'll give it a shot, see if there's anything there I like."

"Rock, huh?" The elder boy winced. "Senpai used to go on at me about rock. Said he thought Yosuke had terrible interests in music."

"Really?" Now Naoki looked amused again, eyes full of curiosity. "What sort of music did Souji-senpai listen to?"

The question hit Kanji for critical damage, catching him completely unawares.

"Oh? Umm..." he murmured as he scratched his head, searching for memories until he found the one he was seeking. "Senpai liked everything, I guess. He was really weird like that. He took me aside once, let me listen to some of the songs he had."

"And?" quizzed Naoki, leaning in with an intent gaze.

"There was a lot." Kanji sighed, troubled, trying to recall a distant memory. "He had, what, fifty thousand songs? From all over the place. Video games, pop music, TV shows, the works. Even some opera."

"Wow," Naoki said, looking almost shocked. It was a nice turnabout. "I didn't know Souji-senpai was so cultured. He played video games?"

"Yeah." he glanced down at the table, unwilling to meet Naoki's eyes for a moment, smothering a giggle. "He didn't have much free time, but somehow he was this...expert. Used to school Yosuke and me all the time. He said he even took on some guy, Daigo, once, at Street Fighter or something. Almost won, too."

"Amazing!" Naoki looked very impressed. "What sort of games did he play? Besides that one, of course."

"Everything." Kanji leaned back, satisfied and almost proud of his Senpai. He could just about remember the lectures he'd given them all in Mitsuo's dungeon, about design, mechanics, even music. "He said his favourites were role-playing games, strategy games, that sort of thing."

"Let me guess," Naoki quipped, chuckling. "He liked rules."

"Yeah, you're damn right about that," Kanji shrugged, "he always used to talk about the way sets of rules controlled all of the game. He was obsessed with subverting them, seeing how controlling the rules gave him control of the game instead."

"I remember him saying that to me, once." Naoki's words were fond, full of nostalgia. "'It's a wonderful world; you control the mechanics, it's yours.'"

"Yeah, right after 'calm down' it was his catchphrase." He felt like laughing hard at that. He could probably name at least twenty different times when his Senpai had told them to calm down off the top of his head.

For a moment, they sat there in silence. Kanji didn't want to be the one to break the peaceful, homely atmosphere; clearly Naoki didn't either, the layer of dusty reminiscence that had settled over them warm, comforting, and most of all, familiar. Like a friend who'd left, only to return.

"Electronica, classical, heavy metal. New age shit." Peals of laughter erupted from the elder boy. Naoki joined him. "Jazz, orchestrated, rock. Soul, reggae, hip-hop. Man, if it had a name, Senpai'd heard it. Weirdo."

"Yeah," Naoki breathed lightly, covering the rim of his now-emptied glass in a thin mist. The chef hurried over to refill it.

They sat there for a little longer, comfortable, relaxed, happy. It was a nice feeling, even in the aftermath.

"Kanji!" came a shout from the door a little while later, wrecking the veil of memory that'd enveloped the two boys. It was followed by a blast of freezing cold wind. The boy in question jumped to his feet, locking eyes with...his mother, who stood in the doorway, all eyes on her, but hers only for her son.

"Ma," he said as kindly as he could. "What's up? You alright?" Her face was unnaturally pale, white as a ghost; the rest of her skin was equally colourless, whether from the cold or some sort of shock, he didn't know. Her eyes were wide, terrified, as her body shuddered in the cold. She looked like she was about to faint; from exhaustion, or blood loss, or perhaps something worse.

"Kanji," she moaned, before collapsing. Kanji sprinted forward, managing to catch her in his arms as she swooned; the chef dropped his jug as he rushed to her side. The jug itself split and burst on contact with the floor, covering both Naoki and the room in water; he wasn't fussed, pausing only to smooth his disheveled, sodden clothes out as he bent over to clean up the mess, tissues in hand. The chef shook his head, however, motioning for him to attend to the Tatsumis as he went to get his own mop.

Kanji was fanning his mother's face, looking as if he was about to break down. Naoki closed the doors and knelt at their sides.

"Is everything alright, Kanji?" Kanji shook his head. "How do you feel, Tatsumi-san?" She groaned; not a pleasant sign.

"What should I do, Ma?" Kanji was stricken with grief, voice cracking; Naoki's heart wept for his friend, but he kept himself cool and controlled.

"Should I call the hospital, Tatsumi-san?" Kanji threw Naoki a grateful look, to which he responded with a reassuring nod.

"No!" Her free hand, the one Kanji wasn't rubbing deep circles into as he cradled her in his arms, reached out to lock itself around his wrist as he keyed the number for the emergency services into his own phone. "I'm fine, I just need-"

A hacking cough, preceded by a violent sneeze, told Naoki that she wasn't fine, that everything was not alright, but he knew better than to go against an older woman's wishes.

"What do you need, Ma?" Kanji still seemed ready to break at a moment's noticed. Every breath he drew was forced, weak and shaky, dangerously difficult to summon, but he couldn't let his mother down. He couldn't be alone.

"Take me home," she said, wracked with more coughs. Another strangled sob escaped her son's lips. "The TV, you need to see..."

She passed out shortly after that, not really able to find the strength to say more, and within moments Kanji had lifted her into the air, as Naoki threw open the doors. Yet again they were buffeted by ice-cold winds, but this time Kanji braced himself against them, proud and determined, coat now wrapped around his mother. Next to him, Naoki shivered.

"Don't worry, I'll be over as soon as I shut up shop here," the chef hailed them as he began shooing customers out of their seats. They didn't seem fussed, more concerned with the sickly woman and the kids previously barring the doorway, who moved aside to let them pass by as they offered their help and sincerest condolences.

"What about the meal?" Kanji yelled urgently through the sound of the stormy weather, that had just begun to get even worse. Things were not looking good.

"We'll settle it later!" The reply was nervous, worried, but Kanji was thankful, swiftly storming across the road to his own home. Naoki followed behind, sending a quick text to his parents to keep them informed.

After some trouble opening the door (thankfully sheltered from the worst of the storm, remedied by the timely arrival of Aiya's chef), the four, one completely unconscious, found themselves inside the house. Everything was deathly quiet, unwelcoming in the darkness; Kanji threw the lights on, alleviating some of their distress as he carefully placed his frail, weakly-gasping mother across the couch before turning to look at the TV.

"Greetings," was the first thing he heard, announcer polite and professional as always. "And now, back to today's top news story."

"Top news story?" mumbled Naoki behind him. "I wonder what that could be."

"Probably what's got Ma so worked up." He agreed with Naoki, but his voice came out hardened, expression stony; the other boy shied away a little, both of their attentions focused on the TV in front.

"Earlier today," continued the presenter, "an accident occurred that destroyed a train on the Okina city line."

"What...?" Both of them missed a beat. "Isn't the Okina City line..." The chef, still by Kanji's mother's side, breathed a heavy sigh. Kanji and Naoki turned a little, heads faced slightly more towards him.

"They've been running this story on the radio," he said, raising one hand to wipe some of the sweat pooling on Kanji's mother's brow. Her skin was cold, clammy; it worried Kanji that it was so obvious, even using just his eyes. "I don't think there'll be any new developments here. Apparently there were no casualties."

"That's a relief-" Naoki affirmed quietly, but Kanji's mother unleashed a violent cry of alarm, blindly reaching in his direction and interrupting Naoki mid-sentence. Kanji moved over to her, clasping her hand. He knew something, something important, was about to happen, and Naoki appeared just as worried as he felt.

"It was believed that there had been no casulaties." The vague sense of building dread relented a bit. Naoki sighed.

"Thank God," he said, biting his lip. Kanji shushed him, knowing whatever had done so much to his Ma couldn't have shown up yet.

"Now, however," said the announcer, cutting through their thoughts, "the police are investigating the whereabouts of one Souji Seta, currently presumed dead."

"What?" Naoki's breathless gasp coincided with Kanji's horrified bellow. Both of them looked at each other, feeling their hearts bulge in their chests at the same time.

"No! No, this can't be. It can't!" Kanji bellowed again, eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Please don't be true," Naoki added to Kanji's cry, voice cracking underneath the strain. His own hands were balled into fists, quivering with rage and sorrow. "Senpai, you can't be..."

The announcer droned on, ignorant of anything but his report. Kanji's limitless anger got the better of him, and he lashed out, putting his fist through the TV screen. Completely unexpectedly, it didn't yield the way he was used to, breaking beneath the force of his fist. He fell forward, managing to steady himself by grabbing the box, but the shards of glass that landed around his feet were digging into his skin. Tears flowed unbidden, pointlessly, from his eyes, as he curled into a heap.

"Senpai," he whispered, "you promised, damn it! You promised, never to leave us! You promised, you bastard!"

Naoki was on his feet again, head downcast, slowly trudging forward. Occasionally, Kanji noticed tears dripping from his friend's face, but his vision was blurry, colours washed out as he uselessly tried to stop crying.

"It can't be," they mourned in unison.

"He's only presumed dead, right?" the Aiya chef said, a lone voice of sanity the two clung to like a magnet. "Have faith. I'm sure your friend is fine. He's the only person who's ever beaten the Super Rainy Day Meat Bowl Challenge, after all."

"Y-yeah," Kanji stuttered, though the words became meaningless to him as soon as they left his lips. The TV crackled a little behind him, sparks cascading around the point where his hand had gone through the screen; little ripples began to burst free from the glass around his arm, and he yanked it free, ignoring the pain of the shards of glass still embedded in his fingers. He felt a little of his anger ebb away, leaving him with even more sadness, and mind-numbing despair, but most of all, anger, white-hot rage at the man – no, boy – who'd put him in such a position.

"I need to go!" Naoki yelled, running down the nearby hallway and out the door. Kanji didn't bother trying to stop him. His own grief felt like it was about to swallow him, and he instinctively knew he wasn't strong enough to shoulder anyone else's. It reminded him of Nanako, how even Souji (the bastard who didn't have the decency to go on living!) had been crushed under the weight of that burden of sorrow and regret. He didn't know if he could be stronger than that.

The sound of the door opening and closing again told him the chef from Aiya had gone, probably to get some cleaning supplies so he could deal with the glass that littered the ground around the TV. Kanji's fist was still bleeding, and that hurt a lot, but it dulled the other pain a little, the pain of abandonment, and he was thankful for that...though how he'd broken the TV still escaped him. It wasn't important now, though.

He lifted himself as best he could, crawling over to his favourite chair by the couch on which his mother lay. He plopped down in it, lazily throwing aside the pillows, and stopped trying not to cry, knowing this time, he couldn't hold it all back. It'd kill him. First he'd lost his father, and he'd seen how not crying had destroyed him then; Souji was as much family as that man had been, the person who'd given him a chance when no one else but his mother would, and helped him make use of that chance, and he'd done the same thing, left them behind. It didn't matter if it was death. Fuck that shit. It was just an excuse, an excuse for the weak to run from responsibility.

He felt his mother's fingers thread through his own, intertwining his hands with hers. The touch made him want to cry even more.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said, planting a kiss on his forehead. Momentarily he pondered whether he should call the hospital for her, but she looked a little healthier; some of the colour had come back to her skin, a few blotchy red patches on her cheeks and under her eyes that spoke of unfathomable pain. "I'm sure it'll be alright."

"I hope so, Ma," he laughed humorlessly, losing his scratchy, bawling voice to the sobs that still wracked his body. "I really hope so."

Inside he felt even emptier. He knew, in his heart, that things wouldn't be alright. They wouldn't be alright at all, for himself, for Senpai, or for anybody else.