Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started on her birthday. She stood in an apartment that was familiar, but not hers. She stood in a bathroom she knew, but had too many odd decorations to fall into her tastes. Still though, she couldn’t complain. Yuka knew this place. It couldn’t have been a better place for a party. 

As the water from the faucet ran across her hands, there was music playing beyond the door. The lyrics and beat were muffled underneath the weight of other people. Them. Talking, laughing, making a mess of the space provided. Them. Smoking, drinking, already planning to say how tonight was fun, and that they should meet up again. 

She took that as an omen, a kind of signal that tonight was a success. It was something that would make Fumi smile, considering that she was the only one that could manage to plan something like this.

She had been the one to invite everyone- friends from her college classes, friends Yuka had vaguely heard stories about, but didn’t mind meeting. She had been the one to decorate and order things. 

“It has to be special, you know,” she said a week earlier. 

“But I haven’t had a party since I was like, twelve-” 

Fumi waved her hand, “Well, this year’s gonna break the streak!” 

And really, could Yuka object to that? 

In the mirror, it was just her. Another year older, another year wiser or however that saying went. She still looked the same if you were to fail to consider the nature of being surrounded by people all night. Meaning: her hair was out of place. Her makeup was a little smudged, and her clothes were a little wrinkled. Subtle changes, evidence of a life lived, but still, she fixed everything anyway. 

There was a knock at the door. It was frantic and enough for Yuka to notice it.  She shut off the faucet and dried her hands in a hurry before opening the door. There was a girl standing at the doorway. The pink in her hair was twisted into tight braids. Yuka liked it, but before she had the chance to say anything, the girl had shut the door behind her. 

The smell of smoke had grown in the time she was away. Coupled with the music and the people, it made her miss the brief quietness from earlier. Still, she wound her way through the crowd, accepting birthday wishes as she went. 

It was easy to be overwhelmed by it all. And Yuka could have gotten lost in it if she hadn’t walked into the kitchen. Against the counter, there was Mori, quietly finishing a drink she had gotten. Against the table, there was Fumi and Maki, trying their best to finish frosting the cake thrown in as a last minute present. They were her friends, probably the best anyone could ask for. 

Mori noticed her first. She smiled. “Hey, birthday girl.” 

Fumi and Maki noticed her next. Fumi squeaked before trying to cover the cake with her arms so Yuka couldn’t see, and Maki tried to finish the lettering despite the obstacle. In the end, they gave up as she slipped right into the space next to Mori. 

“Having fun?” Mori asked. 

Yuka shrugged. “As much fun as I can when this entire place is fucking with my senses. Seriously, what is with all the lights in the bathroom?” 

“What?” Fumi said. “You don’t like the Christmas lights in the bathroom?” 

“No, they’re fine. I’m just worried that you’re either gonna set something on fire or it’ll cause a power outage.” 

“I told you the lights were a bad idea,” Maki muttered before frowning. “Wait, does this even look like ‘happy birthday’?” 

Fumi huffed. “The lights are fine! They’re on the door, away from the sink, and they’re connected to the strip outside. So no, there's not going to be a fire.” She leaned over. “Okay, I can see the ‘happy’... Is that ‘birthday’?” 

“It’s supposed to be!” 

She heard Mori laughing as she slipped her phone out of her pocket. It was a welcome sound as her nose wrinkled at the sight of a missed call on her screen. Ever since she moved out, it had been almost a yearly tradition for either of her parents to try and reach her. Always on her birthday, always boiling down to the same conversation. If she didn’t want to be a part of the family, that was fine, but the least she could do was accept her grandmother’s wish to see her. 

And at first, Yuka would oblige. Even if it nearly made her want to run so far she never had to look back again. Now though, her grandmother and her had a deal between them. Birthday presents could be handed the next day, when everyone else was gone. 

It was what she intended to do this year too. Still, seeing the familiar number that belonged to her father made her nearly shake. She tucked her phone away and tried to focus on what was in front of her. Her friends. A party dedicated to her. 

Mori tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. “You’re quiet,” she noted. 

It was times like this that reminded Yuka of when they were younger. It was during the time Mori still had senpai tacked on to the end of her name. Now she couldn’t bring herself to say it even if she tried. Now, Mori was just Mori, yet she was still someone that noticed all the little details. In art or in a person, it didn’t matter.

Yuka shook her head. “Sorry, just spaced out,” she said, hoping to convince herself too. 

She wanted to reach for Mori’s hand just to ground herself a bit. Instead, she looked towards her party, and tried to push the missed phone call outwards. 

“Come on,” she said, nudging Mori like how she did earlier. “Let’s go have fun.” 

– – 

In the corner of the living room, there was a narrow hallway that led to something like a storage closet. When Fumi first moved in, she opened the door to find nothing but dust and boxes left behind by the landlord. Now, she called it a spare bedroom. Yuka wasn’t sure she could call it that herself, but at least the seats her friend had managed to shove in were soft. 

Above the desk that was pushed against one of the walls, there were a few paintings brought home from previous semesters. It was mainly a collection of Japanese Art, but the ones Fumi was the most proud of were together as a series. It was snapshots of a home and of the garden in the front yard, surrounding the space. Yuka adored it, actually. 

In the past, the little room had been used as an escape for her. A corner made for her to stand in. She had thought that when the party grew to be too much for her, she could retreat for a moment. However, the world seemed dedicated to annoying her in little ways. First in the form of a phone call, now in the form of a boy who didn’t know that this was her space. 

She couldn’t really complain though. The boy had dark hair and dark eyes with probably the flashiest earrings she had seen in a while hanging off his ears. It was a series of outlines cut into a diamond shape, one connected to the other. Maybe if she were in a better mood, she would try to remember his name, but for now, he was just someone she shared a space with. 

He also seemed to know a lot about art and had an ulterior motive on making that fact known to the world, even if it was just the two of them. 

“You know, what I think is that there’s so many artists that are failing to break from the past. They’re inspired by their influences and try to be like them to the point there isn’t any individuality. Art is art because it’s made by individuals. People with likes and dislikes, people with hobbies and memories. If you just blindly copy in an attempt to be one of the greats, where’s the individuality? It just makes art repeat itself.” 

Yuka sighed and tore her eyes away from the paintings. “Hey, art boy, maybe I like repetition, have you ever considered that?” 

The dangly earrings boy talked with his hands a lot. He stopped waving his hands to look at her; to smile at her. It was almost cute in a way that would have stopped her in her tracks if she were back in high school. Maybe it was his eyes or his hair or the flashy spectacle that was his earrings. Or maybe it was the night starting to get to her. Either way, the boy seemed nice. 

“Oh yeah?” He said, smiling just a bit wider. “How come?” 

She got up to meet him halfway. She could barely see his eyes from the chair anyway. “I work with repetition,” she responded. “Mainly patterns most of the time.” 

“I’m a seamstress,” she added, making the boy nod and understand with an ‘ah’. “I work at a fashion house in Shibuya with my friend.”  

“Okay, so you’re a designer. What? You got your own fashion label or?” 

Yuka laughed. “You think I got the money for that?” 

The boy smiled at her again. “Your place is cool. Thought you might’ve been one of those pretty rich girls.” 

“Not my place, just my party,” she said softly, stepping a bit closer just to be near him. “But maybe someday, I’ll have my own label. It sounds nice. I wanna get into modeling first though.” 

“You’re pretty enough to be a model.” 

She laughed again. This time it was softer, more in line with how girls giggled in the movies. She could never fully replicate it, but still, she tried. 

“You’re nice too. Got a name, pretty boy?” 

“It’s Murai.” 

Yakumo, Yuka thought, suddenly remembering a story from Fumi or Maki that had this guy in it. She couldn’t remember if they disliked him or not. 

“What about you?” Murai asked. 

“Ayukawa,” Yuka answered. 

It was easy to fall into place from there. She had a knack for following along when a boy was interested. She knew how to lean in, how to tilt her head, how to pray to stop time just so a moment like this could last for a second longer. It was easy to expect him to kiss her. 

Earlier, she noticed the drink in Murai’s hand. It moved as he talked with his hands, switching between one or the other constantly. Yuka hadn’t thought to ask what he had poured in, pinning it on nothing but beer. But now that she knew him a little more, knew his flashy nature, a simple drink like that would have been too convenient. 

It was wine that spilled on her shirt. It fell when Murai’s hand tilted in the wrong direction, right when he was leaning in. It was cold and red, a drink bright enough to ruin a shirt that had been handed as a present nearly a year earlier. Her grandmother hardly sewed in comparison to when she was younger, but still, she had managed to carve designs of flowers into the corners of the blouse. It was probably her favorite shirt. 

Murai couldn’t have known this. Of course, he couldn’t have. He barely knew her after all. Still, he apologized in between curses and offered to go get napkins. But before Yuka could object, before she could try and tell him that wine couldn’t come out that easily, he was gone. 

Her phone rang again. It was a familiar number. And Yuka didn’t stop to think rationally then. In school, her teachers used to say that her way of diving headfirst into decisions was a double-edged sword. Wonderful when it came to art, a bit of an annoyance when it came to everything else. 

It took Yuka one look at her phone to make her realize she needed a minute alone. Outside, there was a party in her honor, but there was barely any room to breathe. Here, there had been a nice seat and a nice boy, but the wine stain was starting to settle in and the smell made her want to throw up. 

Fumi had a fire escape outside her bedroom window. It was connected to the side of the building and moved if a sudden gust of wind were to breeze past. The night was cool as she went further and further down the stairs. Yuka tugged on her jacket, fixing it so it wouldn’t fall off her shoulders. 

She knew the streets well enough to figure out where she was going. She passed by familiar turns and other apartment buildings. Sure, maybe it was a little hard to see, with there being few lights between lampposts and the occasional glow of stores that were still open; but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. 

It was nice to pick out stars when they were noticeable on a night like this. It was nice to feel something besides the overbearing warmth of Fumi’s apartment. Still, she knew she had to go back eventually. It was her night, her party.

She would have gone back. She could see herself getting sick of the air and sick of being alone.

And yet, Yuka stopped in front of a convenience store. Nothing was particularly eye-catching besides the artificial lighting advertising the store itself. No, no, she didn’t bother to fool herself with something so mundane. What bothered her was that she saw someone out of the corner of her eye that looked familiar. 

Her phone rang again. Annoyed, Yuka reached into her pocket. She braced herself as she turned away from the store. She could hear it now. Her grandmother wanted to see her. It had been so long since she last visited, when was she going to stop acting like a child and return the calls? It would be over in an instant-

“Yuka?” 

-It was Mori on the other end. The number on her screen just now was familiar, yes, but it wasn’t the one she had been avoiding all night. Guilt crawled up her throat at the mere thought of snapping at her like she would have if she were to speak to her parents. At times like that, her voice cracked and was rough in ways she didn’t like. God, Mori didn’t deserve to hear that. 

She also didn’t deserve to be the one looking for Yuka since at the party, she was nowhere to be found. Fuck, this wasn’t what she wanted. She just wanted a minute by herself, was that so hard to ask for? Now Mori was worried and she felt horrible. 

She answered her friend’s questions as best as she could. No, she hadn’t been kidnapped. No, she hadn’t gone home. It turns out she was a bit overwhelmed and needed air. Yes, she would be back. She was already walking back as they spoke. She promised. Really, she promised. 

Mori seemed satisfied with that, and quickly after Yuka said she would see her soon, the call ended. From there, she walked with the intention of keeping that promise. And maybe she would have returned to a night made for her, maybe it would have been as simple as that. 

Simplicity, it turns out, was nothing but an afterthought when it came to her. 

A few streets over, a while after the call had ended, she didn’t look both ways while heading across the road. She didn’t see or hear the car as it ran down the street faster than it was supposed to. It meant that she died on the evening of her birthday.

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

Yuka blinked as the bathroom sink ran hot water over her hands. When she looked up, her reflection showed her as she was. No cuts or bruises, just a bit of smudged makeup and a wrinkled shirt that no longer had a wine stain on it. 

Outside, there was the sound of music being played. Outside, there was a knock against the door. It was frantic and enough to snap her out of it. 

The girl at the door had her hair twisted into pink braids. Definitely didn’t look like the supposed angel that would guide her into the supposed afterlife. 

“It’s you again,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she had the chance to think about it. 

The girl raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Huh?” 

She shook her head. “Sorry, uh thought you were someone else.” 

“Okay,” the girl’s tone sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t question it any further. She closed the door, locking Yuka out. 

The party from last night was the same. The guests were Fumi’s classmates, people Yuka only knew from stories. She didn’t bother making conversation or even saying ‘thank you’ to the birthday wishes said to her in passing. 

“Hey, birthday girl,” Mori said when she entered the kitchen. Her smile was the same. Her hands were still around the drink she hadn’t finished yet.

Fumi and Maki had the same reactions. Fumi tried to cover the birthday cake, Maki complained about the lettering before trying her best to finish it, despite the obstacle in her way. Yuka stared at them before slipping next to Mori’s side. 

“Having fun?” Mori asked, still as sweet as she had been the previous night. 

“What was I just doing?” Yuka asked, fixing her gaze against the sight in front of her. Her friends. Her party. All of it was so familiar. 

Fumi looked up at her. “What do you mean? You were in the bathroom, right?” 

Yuka nodded. “I think so?” 

Maki frowned. “You think you were in the bathroom?” 

No, she thinks she had been on the phone with Mori. She was sure of it. She had been walking, returning to a party she had wanted to escape earlier. It was a promise between them. She never broke her promises with her. 

“Have I called you?” Yuka asked, turning to her. “Like, at all, recently?” 

“Not that I know of?” Mori said. “Yuka, are you okay?” 

No, she wasn’t. She just needed to put exactly why into words. 

“...Haven’t we done this already?” 

“Huh?” Fumi asked. “Is the party that bad? It’s not original enough for you?”

“If it sucks, you can just tell us,” Maki muttered. 

She shook her head. “No, no, the party’s fine, I swear it’s fine! Honestly, it’s probably the best present I’ve gotten in years.” 

“Aw,” And that was all Fumi needed. Her heart had melted and she was back to her routine of finishing the cake. It was a relief, she didn’t have the energy to defuse an argument that shouldn’t exist. 

Her phone rang. It was a familiar number she didn’t want to deal with again. She did everything like last time. She assured Mori that she was fine before nudging her shoulder. 

“Come on,” Yuka said. “Let’s go have fun.” 

– – 

Art Boy, now known as Murai, was still as flashy as ever. The heart-shaped earrings he had on swayed as he talked with his hands. The drink he had in his right moved along with him as he delivered the beginning of a conversation Yuka already knew. 

“You know, what I think is that there’s so many artists that are failing to break from the past. They’re inspired by their influences and try to be like them to the point there isn’t any individuality. Art is artistic because it’s made by individuals. People with likes and dislikes, people with hobbies and memories. If you just blindly copy in an attempt to be one of the greats-” 

“Where’s the individuality,” Yuka cut in. Her eyes widened as she pointed to him. “It just makes art repeat itself!” 

Murai smiled at her. “How’d you know what I was going to say?” 

She waved her hands around, trying to mirror him. “I think I might have psychic powers.” 

“Oh, really? Then can I ask you something?” 

She shrugged. “Try me, I guess.” 

He thought about it. “Okay… What’s my favorite color?” 

“I can see the future, art boy, I can’t read minds. Get your supernatural abilities right, will you?” 

For some reason, that made him laugh. “My favorite color’s red, by the way.” 

Yuka frowned. “Is that why you picked red wine?” 

“What?” 

She gestured to his drink. “That’s wine in there. Red wine. You spilled it on me last time I saw you.” 

“Last time you- Wait, what?” 

“Don’t worry about it. Next question: Do you have a cigarette on you? I’m having a tough night, so yes or no?” 

That last part was a total guess. Surprisingly, Murai did have a pack on him along with a lighter that looked a little old. He took one for himself, then gave her the other one. They didn’t bother with stepping outside, considering that the room they were in was tucked away. 

Yuka looked up at Fumi’s paintings. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a snake in the garden. It was between bright flowers, right next to the edge of the house. 

Wait, had that snake always been there?

She got up, seemingly disinterested in following Murai’s interest in her this time. She quietly thanked him for the light before leaving the room. As music rang against her ears, and the overwhelming nature started to get to her all over again, Yuka managed to find Mori. She was still in the kitchen, except this time she was scrolling on her phone. 

“Hey, have you seen Fumi?” She asked, noticing the absence of both Maki and Fumi. Usually, they were always together, making it seem even more odd that they were gone.

Mori looked up at her, confused for a moment before she pointed to the door. “I think she went to get something from her car?” 

“Thanks,” she muttered. 

She managed to make it out the door before slipping on the stairs, causing something to snap and break her body almost instantly. 

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

There was music being played, muffled underneath the noise of conversation and that same frantic knocking. 

“Hey, lady,” Yuka said when she opened the door to find the girl with the pink braids standing there, same as the first two times. “Can you hold your piss for a second, please? Some of us are having an existential crisis over the concept of death here, alright?” 

“What the fuck?” Pink braids girl asked, tilting her head a little like she did last time. “Are you high?” 

“No, I hope to God I am though.” 

“Whatever,” she muttered, annoyed and angry in a way that Yuka could empathize with. She slammed the door, locking it behind her. 

Yuka sighed and rubbed her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling before stepping back into a far too familiar party. 

“Hey, birthday girl,” Mori said, still as sweet as ever. 

Same thing as last time: Fumi squeaked and tried to hide the cake. Maki did her best to salvage the lettering. Yuka blinked and slipped next to Mori’s side. 

“Having fun?” She asked. 

“Mori, I swear if this is some joke, I need you to tell me right now.” She took a breath. “I won’t be mad, promise.” 

“What joke?” Mori asked, confusion lacing in her voice. 

“This!” Yuka snapped. “All of you are doing things you’ve already done. And I don’t know if this is some joke and you guys are in on it or what, but it’s not funny!”

“Uh, no idea what you’re going on about,” Maki said. “Only joke here is the-” 

“The lettering,” Yuka finished. “It’s fine, Maki, okay? Stop worrying about it and tell me you guys are just messing with me already, please.” 

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Fumi asked, concern rising in her voice. “Are you okay?” 

She didn’t remember what she said in response to that, but it ended up with her snapping at the people she cared for, and then falling down the stairs again when she tried to leave. 

– – 

It started on-

“Okay,” she said when she found herself in the bathroom. She splashed water on her face. “Come on, fourth time’s the charm.” 

Yuka fixed her hair and neatened her shirt. “Gonna get down those stairs,” she looked up at the ceiling. “God, I know I haven’t prayed in like, almost a decade but, please let me get down the stairs.”

 She frowned. “Uh… Amen? Is that what you say?”

Exactly on schedule, there was music and knocking. Yuka swung open the door. 

“Sorry I got mad at you last time,” she said. 

The girl with the braids tilted her head again. Confused, of course. Who wouldn’t be? She’d be confused too if a crazy woman looping through time spoke to her as if she knew her personally. 

“What the…” The girl asked. “Lady, do I know you?” 

Yuka shook her head. “No, no you don’t.” 

Everything was the same. Mori smiled at her, Fumi and Maki made the cake, everything was lovely. 

“Hey, birthday girl-” 

“Mori, I’m having fun, but I’m getting out of here. I think this place is cursed.” 

“My place isn’t cursed!” Fumi said. 

Yuka rolled her eyes. “Oh really, well come talk to me when you’re the one stuck in a time- death- punishment from god thing. It’ll be great, Fuu! We can bond over it!” 

She managed to get out the door. She managed to push her way past whoever wanted to go up the stairs in a brief moment of glory before being pushed off the railing herself. 

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

“Fucking stairs, where’s the creativity, huh? Where’s the moral? What am I supposed to learn here? Don’t go down stairs, you’ll trip and die? Is that it?” 

Yuka shut off the faucet. She opened the door. 

“You do know there’s another bathroom, right?” She told the girl. “It’s like, outside, down the hall. Near the- Oh my god, the elevator.” 

The elevator got stuck halfway through before shutting down completely and falling. 

– – 

It started on her birthday.

Yuka groaned after she splashed water on her face. She looked up at the ceiling.

“Well, aren’t you creative? The stairs were a funny bit. Really cool at first, kinda lost its momentum after the first two loops, but the elevator. Wow.” 

She sighed. “Anyway, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Uh, please forgive me, heavenly father? Fuck, Mori’s better at this than me. Just, please don’t let me die on the stairs or the elevator. Amen.” 

The elevator failed her again. Then the stairs failed in the next one. 

– – 

Again, it started on her birthday. 

When Yuka found herself standing in a bathroom she’s grown too familiar with, when she felt her heartbeat and warm water sting her hands, she realized it was all the little things that pointed to her being alive. Little signals that snapped her back to reality. She didn’t feel like failing this time, so a plan was conducted in the few moments before the knocking started. Something like a plan, at least.

Yuka shut off the faucet. She straightened out her jacket and smoothed the wrinkles in her shirt. She gave in to her new habit of checking for injuries, to look for some sort of sign that the last timeline was real. Like always, she was returned to that specific moment in time. Before she left the bathroom, before she unknowingly walked into her death. 

It was a simple routine. It felt like forever before the knocking began, but she didn’t get her hopes up. When it did start, she sighed and opened the door. The girl looked at her as she sidestepped out of her way. Then the click, a lock, no turning back now. 

The music and smell of smoke was as overwhelming as it always had been. Yuka smiled a bit at the birthday wishes, then went over to the kitchen. 

There was Mori. Her smile still hadn’t lost its certain trick at making everything inside her stop momentarily. 

“Hey, birthday girl,” she said, sweet and unaware. Maybe it was better like this. 

There was Fumi and Maki, still standing beside one another. They hadn’t separated once, not in a single loop. She would ask about it, point them out if she wasn’t so tired. She slipped next to Mori’s side. 

“Having fun?” Mori asked. 

She forced a smile. “Yeah,” she said softly. “God, it’s probably the best present I’ve had in years.” 

Again: “Aw,” and Fumi’s heart melted for the rest of them to see. 

She turned to Mori. “Can you get me a drink?” 

– – 

Still alive two hours later, Yuka sipped the last of her drink. She couldn’t quite remember how many drinks she had gone through, but it was steadily adding up to a headache.  She looked at her cup before putting it on the floor, before looking up at Fumi’s paintings. 

For once, she tore her gaze away from the house and the garden drawing. Instead, she focused on a piece depicting something like a dragon or a snake. Dragon, she decided. 

“You know,” she said, turning to Murai who had gone on his spiel ten minutes ago. “I’ve always liked the ‘dragon eating its own tail’ metaphor.” 

Murai, flashy with his stupid star-shaped earrings, perked up like a damn dog. He smiled at her. She kind of wanted to get another drink just to throw it in his face. 

“Oh?” He asked. “Why’s that?” 

Yuka shrugged. “When I was a kid, my grandmother told me about the Ouroboros symbol. It’s the dragon biting its own tail, it’s returning back to the beginning in a loop. When I heard that, it made me so sad. Like, the dragon could never break out of what it caused. But then again, I was like, eight, and cried over every little thing, so take what you can get out of that.”

Murai laughed. “Keep going,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, the story made me sad, but my grandmother, she said it was meant to be like this. It meant that there was balance in the world. The cycle was never ending and the dragon helped with the balance. It was a part of life, I shouldn’t be sad about something so natural.” 

Sighing, Yuka leaned over, with her head nearly touching her knees.  “I don’t want to be the dragon.” 

“What was that?” 

She felt her phone ring in her pocket. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” 

– – 

There were very few things Yuka considered to be miracles. Finding her way to the bathroom through a thick haze of dizziness and nausea should never be considered as something divine. It wasn’t a miracle, but with the night she’s had, she was this close to considering it as one. Still alive two and a half hours later, she opened the door for the second time. 

Finding Fumi in the bathroom wasn’t the surprising part, nor was it the fact that she was small enough to sit comfortably on the sink’s counter. On their own as single instances, it would have been perfectly fine to see. Maybe Yuka would’ve called it a bit strange, but she’s the one reliving the same night. 

Same thing applied with Maki, honestly. 

What didn’t make sense, given how she was feeling, was seeing both of them together in the bathroom. Fumi, on the sink, giggling in between kisses from Maki as if she were in love. 

“Holy shit-” 

Maki pulled back. “What the fuck- Yuka?” 

Fumi leaned forward with her eyes wide. “Woah-” 

Okay, there wasn’t time for this.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Yuka said, fairly certain that that was going to happen whether they were here or not. 

Separated now, her friends sprung into whatever they could do to help. Fumi left to get water while Maki stayed with her just in case someone needed to hold her hair back. Simple gestures, but it meant something. Even now, when she was stuck repeating herself and she didn’t know why.

“Something’s wrong,” she muttered. She was sitting now with her head against the wall, somewhere between the sink and the door. 

“Did you have too much to drink?” Maki asked. 

“No… Maybe. And it’s not just that, but if I told you I think it would give us both an aneurysm. That’s like, the best case scenario.” 

It was easy to tell when something interested Maki. She smiled slightly, almost like a cat, and her eyes lit up. 

 “And the worst case?” She said, cat grin and everything.

“You don’t believe me.” She wrinkled her nose, “Or you’ll think I’m insane.” 

And Maki, she just laughed. The cat smile was still there, just slightly more stretched out. It reached her eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Ever since she cut it, she’s been playing with it. 

“What?” Yuka asked, almost smiling now too.

“I go to an art school,” she said plainly. “The amount of weird stuff I’ve heard from people- Look, trust me, whatever’s happening, I won’t think you’re insane.” 

She shook her head. Now she was smiling. It was a sweet gesture, but there was a clear distinction between conversations that involved art students and what was happening to her. 

“You know what, it’s okay,” she said as Maki moved to sit next to her. “I’ll explain it when I’m not totally drunk.” 

Fumi came back a second later with water, and for some reason, Mori in tow. 

“Guys, I’m sick,” Yuka said, suddenly feeling both relieved and overwhelmed at being fawned over like this. “It's nothing special. I don’t need everyone here.” 

“You kinda lost that right when you barged in on us,” Fumi said, leaning over to hand her water. “We’re taking care of you now. Plus, you know how Mori gets.”

Mori blushed. “I heard you were feeling- Wait, barged in on who?” 

“It’s nothing,” Yuka said, eyeing how Fumi and Maki kept looking at one another, embarrassed and smiling. “But I think I need to go home. My head is killing me.” 

It was a hassle to try and stand up, and her friends made a fuss at her struggling. Neither acts helped her headache, but she didn’t have it in her to complain. She let them fuss, she let Mori grab her hand. 

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you home.“

She allowed that too. 

– – 

The next morning came with sunlight refracted imperfectly in her room and a headache that seemed worse than the one the night before. It was more distinct, more vivid. It made Yuka rub her eyes before she took notice of her room, of her bed, of herself. 

It was muscle memory to reach for her bedside table. She found a sticky note on the screen, courtesy of Mori with her neat handwriting and doodles. Going home, see you later. Alongside it was a half-finished doodle of Yuka passed out with an arrow pointing to her saying, you. 

She rolled her eyes. She was going to treasure it. 

After the sticky note was peeled off and her phone was unlocked, there were messages from Fumi all sent at different times. One from last night, around midnight, asking if she was still alive, (translation: did you make it home safe?) One from this morning, around seven, reminding her that she had work today, (translation: Before you show up at my place, can you get me coffee?)

There were a few others, but those messages were the one she bothered to take notice of, marking it as important. She got up, something that shouldn’t also be considered a miracle, but she was counting it as one anyway. 

While getting ready, she sent a text to her brother, telling him to tell their grandmother that she would be visiting around sometime in the afternoon. After her shift, she could get her present, and they could have dinner; just the three of them. It would be nice, she was the best big sister ever, her brother didn’t need to thank her.  He sent back a grainy image of some video game character she didn’t know as a response.

The walk to and from the cafe where she usually got her coffee was uneventful other than the fact that they spelled her name wrong on the cup. Yucca, now that was new. She didn’t mind it after a night of repeating.

– – 

The fashion house she and Fumi worked at was quiet and easy to manage when there were hardly any customers. It made her headache easier to deal with, and she could spend her morning drinking the last of her coffee if she wanted. It was a nice job, better than some of the ones she preferred to keep in the past.

“Yucca,” Fumi commented, tilting her head to read the barista’s words in Yuka’s hand. “Is that even a name?” 

“I looked it up earlier, it’s a name for this specific group of plants.” 

Fumi nodded with a little ‘ah’ that reminded her of Murai. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. God, how many conversations had she had with that guy? How many did she even understand was the real question. 

The phone on the counter rang, making Yuka store away memories that didn’t exactly qualify as memories in the first place, and making Fumi hop off her place from the other side of the counter to answer. Yuka heard a sweet hello as she got up to throw away her cup. 

“Yo,” she said when she hung up. “We gotta deliver some stuff.” 

“Since when do we deliver?” 

“Since this guy offered me extra to bring him his fancy rich guy clothes he ordered a week ago. I already said yes,” she pointed at her, finger guns and everything. “So come on, let’s go.” 

She didn’t know how to tell Fumi that she had a night that didn’t seem to stop or that she was this close to having a breakdown at the thought of seeing her bathroom again. 

She was this far into a loop. It had been an uneventful morning, where the strangest thing had been the misspelling of her name. Her point being: she wanted more uneventful, boring mornings. If she stepped outside now, she could very well die from all the little things that posed a threat. Her point being: 

“I don’t wanna go.” 

“Come on! I’m bored and it’ll be real quick, I promise.” After a second, “I can ask Mai to watch the store if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

No, that was the last thing she was worried about, but Fumi couldn’t have known that. She’d explain it later, much later when she could wrap her head around it more. But for now, she obliged. 

– – 

“Woah,” Fumi said when they were standing outside the apartment building the order had led them to. “Look at this place.” 

Yuka could agree with the sentiment. It was one of the nicer buildings she had seen in a while, with pretty cars parked alongside the street and even prettier people walking in and out of the entrance. She blinked at the place and held onto the suits that had been ordered against her chest. 

“Inukai, Inukai,” Fumi muttered as she checked her phone while they walked. “Apartment… 255. It’s upstairs, he said we can take the elevator.” 

Yuka sighed. “Of course, it’s the stupid elevator.” 

“What’d you say?” 

“Aren't there any stairs around here?” 

“I already looked, we can’t use them. They’re being redone or mopped or something.” 

“Of course.” 

Fumi turned to her and started walking backwards. “Dude, why do you keep mumbling?” 

“Just really tired of elevators, Fuu.” 

She gave her a strange look. Yuka waved her off.  “I’ll tell you later.” 

The elevator had enough people to the point that they were separated, with Fumi going in a different one than Yuka, which wasn’t surprising. She stood in the back, away from other people besides whoever she was right beside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the guy she was standing next to seemed ansty. He kept toying with his hands. 

She held onto the clothes as the elevator hummed before working as it was supposed to, as if it could never fail. Honestly, she was starting to reconsider the blind trust people placed in things that were supposed to make life easier. There were car accidents, elevators, planes. Oh that was new, what if she- No, why would she even be in a plane- 

The lights turned red, the color of an emergency. Yuka rolled her eyes as a robotic voice confirmed that there was a malfunction. There was a general sense of panic. One, two, three, and suddenly, they were falling. 

Strangely, in between all of this, in between panic and harsh lighting, the person next to her hadn’t moved. There was a bit of acceptance in the way he stood, Yuka couldn’t help but pin it down. She recognized the feeling. 

Still though, she needed to see something. 

“Hey, mister,” she said slowly. “Didn’t you hear? We’re about to die.”

“It’s okay,” he responded as something horrible like laughter was placed at the edge of his voice. “I don’t know how many times I’ve died.”

Here’s the thing about recognition, it’s striking. It’s wonderful. Yuka’s eyes widened, not only because of what he said, but because she knew that voice. She’d know it anywhere. 

“Oh my god- Yatora?” 

When she turned, Yatora’s expression was wide open. Obscured by the light, obscured by the situation, but enough. God, it was enough to understand in an instant. 

And then the elevator stopped.  

– – 

It started on her birthday because yes, yes it always started there. It would always start there.

“Oh fuck,” Yuka whispered, loud enough for only herself to hear. “Oh fuck-” 

The faucet poured out warm water until she moved her shaking hands away. The muffled songs and conversations quickly became an afterthought. It wasn’t important, not here, not now. Her phone was somewhere in her jacket- 

The knocking started.

“Give me a minute!” She yelled, harshly, loudly, in a way she really didn’t like. But that wasn’t important, now was it?

Unlocking her phone was a nightmare when she couldn’t seem to calm down, finding Yatora’s number was a similar story. It started ringing. 

– – 

“You’re stuck in this too?” They both asked at the same time. 

– – 

“I-” 

“Wait-” 

– –

“Can we meet up?” Yatora asked, sounding just a bit relieved. “Like, right now?” 

“Yeah.” She took a breath. “Yeah, we can.”

– – 

The thing about being close with someone was that over time, as days and weeks and years settle with the people involved, formalities begin to become less needed. She stopped referring to her friends' last names after she got to know them, after she allowed for the distance to close between them. 

It had been like that with Yatora. At first, he was just a boy in her grade, spineless and willing to meet the expectations laid out before him. It was before Mori-senpai, before her and a painting, before Yatora realized the worth in something as small as different shades of color. That was when he was referred to as Yaguchi, a boy born for something great. 

And then it was strictly Yatora after Yuka let herself catch a train heading for the beach, back when she was so afraid of looking at herself that she would have rather turned to seafoam than stare at a mirror. Yet, she drew herself anyway. Only because he did it too. 

And then sometimes, Yuka would visit Yatora at school, in between the off hours when art wasn’t his muse or his life. Sometimes, she would call him. It was a light connection, but it was enough for them. It had been at least. 

And now, she wasn’t sure what to make of this. 

Here she was, sitting in this boy’s room for the first time, with a notebook in her lap and more questions than answers in regards to the nature of time itself. 

Yuka crossed her legs and set down the notebook in front of her. There was a line down the middle. It was a categorized, bullet pointed, list of all the ways her and Yatora had died so far. 

Apparently, this was normal. This was something you did with a friend. 

“...So I have a question,” she said. 

“What is it?” 

“Well, I’ve been looking over the list and you’re telling me you haven’t died on a set of stairs?” She asked. “Like, not even once?” 

Yatora, who had been pacing around his room trying to wrap his head around everything they’ve realized in the last few hours, stopped to look at her. 

“You’re dying on the stairs?” 

Yuka rolled her eyes. “Okay, that answers my question.” 

“Why the stairs?” 

She was very tempted to throw her pen at him. “So you see, I’ve always been accident prone- I don’t fucking know, Yatora! I’m just as lost as you are!”

He decided a groan was enough of a response. 

She sighed and looked down at the list. “Okay, come look at this, is there anything weird going on?” 

Yatora obliged and stopped his nervous pacing to check with her. On the paper was her handwriting, her version of events that she used to think belonged to her alone. But now Yatora has another version.

Yuka: 
Car accident
Stairs (3)
Elevators (3)

Yatora: 
Train accident
Choking 
Allergic reaction
Elevator
Slipping in bathtub (3)

Total: 14

There wasn’t much to go on. Everything seemed imperfect, accidental. Frankly, a few were a little embarrassing judging from the way Yatora’s face flushed once he read his side of the list. Maybe if she didn’t have a headache from trying to unravel a problem that shouldn’t exist in the first place, she would have teased him. It would have lightened the mood. It would have changed something. 

Instead, Yuka tossed her lists and theories aside to lie down on Yatora’s bed. She watched as he started mumbling to himself, as he tried to form some sense of logic, all while he nervously walked around aimlessly. The guy could draw and have a nervous breakdown over a time loop. A true multitasker. Nothing could stop him now.

She rolled her eyes before reaching for her jacket that she had tossed against the edge of the bed not too long ago. Grabbing her phone, she cleared the calls from her father out of her notifications before noticing the missed calls and texts from Mori, asking her where she was. 

Trying to break a time loop with Yatora. She looked up at the two drawings pinned to his wall before rolling her eyes. He misses you a lot btw. 

And send.

No, wait. 

Talk to you later. Love you!!

She threw her phone aside before she could even begin to regret it. 

“Another question,” she said, hoping to push her thoughts outwards. 

Yatora stopped to look at her again. “Is it about the weird ways you keep dying?” 

“Hey, falling off the stairs is less embarrassing than choking from something in a bowl of ramen-” 

“Okay-” 

“I’m not done yet. And then ordering a different bowl of ramen, just to have an allergic reaction. I think the moral here is that you need to avoid ramen for a bit.” 

“I think we’ve already established that dying like that is embarrassing, what’s your point?” 

Her phone chimed. It was a text from Mori. What the hell did she mean by a time loop? And why was she with Yatora? And she loved her too, but what- 

“Why do you think this is happening,” she asked before throwing her phone again. “We keep dying, and there’s no pattern to it, and now it’s both of us that are stuck reliving everything.”

She turned to him. “My personal favorite theory is that we’re somehow the same person, so whatever happens to you, happens to me. Actually, let’s test it out right now-” 

“I’m sorry, what-” 

When Yuka was in middle school, she briefly took up sports as part of a deal with her father. The context of the deal didn’t matter, judging from the fact that she barely remembered it other than the fact that it led her to playing baseball the summer before seventh grade. She played pitcher for a couple of games if her memory was right. 

Now, in the context of the present, this shouldn’t matter. And it didn’t most of the time. But she managed to throw her pen and hit it right at Yatora’s head, causing him to stumble back and ask: 

“What the fuck was that?” 

She frowned. “Huh… I don’t feel any pain. I guess we’re not the same person.” 

“We’re not!” 

“I was just checking! I don’t see you coming up with any theories!” 

Yatora was quiet after that for a while. He stopped moving and decided to sit in the chair near his desk. He stayed like that for a bit before rubbing his eyes and sighing. When eventually, he did meet her gaze again, his eyes were wide in a manner that suggested he had something.

Because that was how Yatora was. Even in art, where answers weren’t strict and rigid, he would search for a solution only he could build. It was easy to be swept up in it, this idea that he knew everything. 

“I need a break,” he said, not answering anything. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” He asked next. 

“Only if I get to pick.” 

“Deal.” 

– – 

The restaurant she picked out did serve ramen, but she banned Yatora from eating it. She didn’t need him to be the first to go between them, they had just found out they were connected somehow. It wasn’t the answer, but it was an answer. She didn’t want to restart again, not now anyway. 

Yatora groaned at her rule, saying how she picked the best place that served noodles just to spite him. She rolled her eyes and banned him from soba while she was at it. 

“You’ll get it back when you can actually make it through the meal without dying,” she whispered while in line, as she waited for him to order something. 

The poor kid that was their cashier gave them very strange looks. 

“Sorry,” Yatora said plainly. “Stuck in a time loop, you know how it is.” 

Surprisingly, even in the midst of reversing what used to be considered natural, you can still laugh at the absurdity. Yuka did. It was the lightest she had felt in a while. 

– – 

The poor kid that was hiding under the disguise of a cashier that actually cared about his job, kept eyeing them while wiping down the counters. Sure, maybe once a few timelines ago, she could empathize with his own curiosity. And sure, maybe if she were in his place, she would stare at the only two people in the restaurant too. Especially when they talked strange and looked strange and were currently trying to undo all that strangeness. 

But that was a few timelines ago. 

Now it was nearing midnight and she was spending her birthday in a restaurant, picking at soba just to spite Yatora. Now she was thinking about patterns because she was stubborn, and even though this was supposed to be a break, she wanted the answer. The definitive one. The making-sense-of-time loops one. 

But besides her growing annoyance towards time, the supposed break was nice. She didn’t have a headache pressed against her skull, nor was she talking and hoping that the words that spilled out would sound as if a girl spoke them. Worried if it was sweet enough, nice enough, perfect enough. 

She didn’t have to think about that with Yatora. They had a common goal here, there wasn’t any time to worry. 

She smiled at that last thought. In a technical sense, all she had was time. 

“So I have a theory now” Yatora said as he set down his mainly chicken based dish. “About why we’re stuck in this.” 

“Oh?” Yuka asked, perking up. “Is it scientific or artistic?” 

“Neither, it’s more uh… spiritual. I think? Look, Mori-senpai told me about this once during an art club meeting, but I was too focused on making my still-life not look like shit, so I didn’t pay attention.” 

He was bringing in Mori as a theory. Yuka tried to remember all the little rambles she would hear in passing. It would be when they were together, either by themselves or with a group. Her hands would be busy, but she would listen to repeated lectures about the nature of one religion’s specific way of praying, or the history of this painting that depicted an angel. 

What was she trying to remember? Oh.

“If it’s about purgatory, I’m going to kill you.” 

And the wind in his sails had never left faster. This was worse than when he crumpled at the face of all that was viewed as artistic. Yuka hadn’t just knocked the wind out, she had destroyed the ship while she was at it. 

“Yatora.” 

“Look! What if we’re dead, and in purgatory, and being punished for… I dunno, something.” 

“I liked my same person theory better! It was creative!” 

“It didn’t make sense,” Yatora muttered in a low, low voice so she couldn’t quite hear. He cut off a piece of his meal and bit into it to muffle his words even. Oh, clever. 

Yuka sighed. She was exhausted and she wasn’t going to dedicate however long she had left in this loop to proving her validity in terms of her theories to him. Fine. Purgatory. We can work with that. 

“Okay,” she said flatly. “If we are dead and this is hell or some void in the center of the universe, why exactly are we being punished?” 

“For… being bad people?”  He said it as if he didn’t have his heart into it, like he didn’t actually believe it. 

She leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re literally one of the nicest people that I know, and unless you killed someone at that fancy art school of yours, I don’t think that’s changed.”

 She paused, thinking about it. “Holy shit, dude, did you finally kill that guy?” 

“What guy?” He asked, confused. 

“The guy! The mean one you kept complaining about when we would go to cram school together, fuck, what was his name… Yusuke?” 

Yatora just stared at her. 

“The little guy. Fumi tells me about him sometimes. I think you three share a class together? Yusuke? Yuuta? Yo…” She hit the table; she was close. “Yota-” 

“Yotasuke?” 

“There we go! Him! Little guy! Did you kill him or something? Is that why we’re in purgatory?”

The purgatory theory burned alongside the ship that was Yatora’s confidence. It was in the way he immediately stumbled over himself, saying, no Yotasuke Takahashi- (that was his name apparently) was still very much alive. And when she asked more about him, he answered. 

The rivalry thing from cram school had been outgrown, they weren’t dead set on destroying themselves in the pursuit of their craft. Yotasuke was someone he went to school with now. He had a present pinned against the wall near his desk, right next to someone else he admired. It was a little over a year old now, but it was important. It was a memory of a night coated with the color blue, and was far from a trip to a shrine at New Year’s. It was special. 

And Yatora-

“Oh my god, you love him,” Yuka said before taking in a bite of the soba she ordered. 

-And Yatora smiled when he talked about him. And now, with his heart neatly on display on the table between them, unraveled and exposed, he retreated. Sure, he was embarrassed and sputtering, but he retreated with what little dignity he could carry with him. 

And then, after a bit: 

“It’s not like that,” he said softly, as if he were afraid if he spoke too loudly, it would send him stumbling backwards in time. “Not yet, anyway. I think I want it to be though? I dunno, it’s-” 

“Confusing?” Yuka answered, filling in the blanks with things she knew. She had several years worth of the feeling, enough to understand it and contextualize it in a manner she liked. 

Yatora shook his head. “No, I like him. I’m just not sure how to go about it? That night, whenever we restart, I’m always at home. It’s in the bathroom, an hour before I’m supposed to meet with him. I, uh, want it to be different than when we usually see each other. Almost like for a date, kind of? Except he doesn’t know, and I want him to know-” 

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Okay Romeo, slow down. You’re getting wrapped up in your own head again.” She was smiling now. “Were you this worried when we were together?” 

“Oh my god don’t make me remember. And it was one date! That doesn’t count!” 

“Yeah, I don’t count it as one either. Food poisoning isn’t romantic, actually. Like at all.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll remember for the next date.”  

“Oh? There’s gonna be another one?” 

“Maybe if you weren’t so annoying, then yeah-” 

She threw the last of her drink at him. It was barely anything, just ice and whatever tea was left over. The initial impact was dulled by her aim that was off by a few inches and Yatora moving to avoid it. Still, a bit of the tea managed to stain his shirt, one of the nice ones in his wardrobe. 

“Fuck you,” he said as he stood up. It would’ve been harsh if he wasn’t too tired to actually care. Because this was Yatora, and this was her, and they knew each other well enough to be compatible for time travel. 

She flipped him off and went back to her meal of half-eaten soba and an empty glass of tea. He went to the bathroom, and the kid from earlier went to the back for his break. Alone, there wasn’t much to do besides finish the food in front of her. 

The lights flickered, then eventually they went out altogether. She didn’t know this. She couldn’t have, considering that choking to death was a bit time consuming and mainly based in a sense of panic. You understand, don’t you?

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

Yuka covered her eyes and bit back the familiar sense of frustration she often felt when her reflection looked back at her. She was back and the music was muffled outside. The knocking would start any minute now. 

She took a breath, then another one. Afterwards, she got started on the contingency plan written down last night, the one now set just for a situation like this. She unlocked her phone, scrolled through a list of contacts, and let it ring. She left the sink and locked the bathroom door. Just a few minutes. She needed a few minutes and then she could go on with her life. 

The question of “how did you die” didn’t make sense on its own. It was a bizarre way to start a conversation, but the contingency plan was built on a hope for success, not politeness. 

“Electrocuted in the bathroom of that restaurant,” Yatora said flatly, answering the strangeness with a sense of normalcy. 

“Holy shit, seriously?” 

“Yeah… Yeah, not fun. What about you?” 

“You’re gonna love this one. Choked on the soba I ordered.” 

She let Yatora laugh at the circumstances since this was just fantastic to him. She heard the knocking against the door and rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” she said. “I’m banned from noodles too until we figure this out, it’s great. Anyway, new info learned: we’re dying at the same time."

He was quiet until: “I thought of that yesterday, but I wasn’t sure if it would make sense-” 

“And purgatory does?” 

“It makes more sense than the same person one-” 

“I still like that theory. I mean, we’re even more tied together now, so why aren’t we the same person, you know?” 

(The knocking still hadn’t stopped.) “Listen, I have to go, we’ll regroup tomorrow.”

 (It just kept going. “Hello?” The girl called out.) 

“Okay,” Yatora said, sounding even more tired from yesterday. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Hey, don’t be like that. Have fun on your date, by the way.” 

Maybe he was smiling on the other end. She couldn’t tell. “Okay, have fun at your… wait, where are you?” 

“A party that’s actually fun if you ignore a long story that involves multiple deaths… All of them are somehow related to the same person and her friend. What are the chances?” 

“Sounds lame.” 

She smiled. “Yeah, it is. Talk to you later.”

– – 

Mori looked at her with an expression she had seen so many times. She smiled at her sweetly and asked if she was having fun. She couldn’t, not when she was stuck like this. 

Yatora told her to have fun though. It was a wish, a gesture towards anything tinged with a sense of normality. Fixing a broken clock could wait until morning. 

She didn’t tell her about the intricacies of time or what it felt like to fight against it. It wouldn’t make sense. Instead, she found a place next to Mori’s side. Near the counter, near their friends. She leaned over to rest her head on her shoulder. 

Naturally, Mori was confused. She laughed but still reached for her, still ran a hand absent-mindedly through her hair. “What’s the matter?” She asked. 

“Nothing,” she said. “Do you want to dance with me?” 

It was what made sense at the moment. Mori was one of the few things that continuously made sense.

There was a moment of confusion, a moment of hesitance. She blushed at the offer as she laughed again, but she didn’t say no. 

It was one of those times where only a feeling of weightlessness filled her body. She mumbled something afterwards, something along the lines of the experience being fun. It wasn’t what she had meant to say, but apparently it was enough. For this timeline at least. 

– – 

“So,” Yatora asked at around eleven after they made sure there was nothing in his kitchen that could murder them. “Any new time stuff learned?” 

Yuka peeled the last of the orange she had grabbed sometime between checking for loose floorboards in the staircase and checking for exposed wires. She frowned and checked the bowl she had grabbed the orange from. 

“Uh nothing new, but some of your fruit is rotting, I think.” 

He looked at it. Sure enough, several of the oranges had beginning signs of decay etched on the surface. He wrinkled his nose. “Gross. Mom just got them too.” 

She started breaking it off into pieces. “Where is your mom by the way?” She looked around the house. “Our two meetings have been weirdly quiet.”

“My dad’s on a business trip for work, and my mom kind of jumped at the idea of going on vacation. She tried getting me to go, but I needed to finish some projects for school.” 

The orange was sweet in her mouth. “That trip could have literally saved your life the first time around. If you had gone, bam! No time loop.” 

“I don’t know if that’s how it works. We’re kind of tied together, remember?” 

“I could never forget being stuck with you for eternity. It’s like hell, but we’re tag teaming it.” She handed him a piece. “Now eat something, we gotta go.” 

“What for?” 

“I gotta visit my grandmother to get something for my birthday. Remember, I’m busy avoiding my dad because of it?” 

Yatora nodded. “Oh yeah. Wait, why do I have to go?” 

She tossed him his car keys. “I don’t want to start over, so it’s easier if you’re with me. I can keep an eye on you.” 

“What am I, six?” 

“No, you’re just accident prone. Now come on, let’s move!” 

He gave a half-hearted salute. “Yes ma’am,” he mumbled before biting into his piece of the orange. 

Another feeling of weightlessness. It was different this time though. It made her bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling rather than blush. Truly it was the little things that tore her open.

– – 

There was a sense of history tied to her old house. Even though Yuka promised herself not to feel anything, something spilled over inside her chest and nearly knocked her over. Maybe it was the fact that there was a new coat of paint covering the framework or new lilies in the garden in the front, but seeing memories she clearly wasn’t a part of made her sick. 

It was strange, but apparently, standing in the driveway of a house she hadn’t been to since she was eighteen was enough to reach inside and pull. 

Yatora must have seen her face pale or her hands shake. He must have remembered a detail she shared nearly three years ago, back when they visited the beach together. Whatever it was, it made him look at her and ask if she was okay. 

She nodded. “Yeah, I just haven’t been here in a while.” 

There was a reason that after every birthday, every holiday, every time she wanted to see her grandmother, they had an arrangement planned to meet anywhere but here. Even if her father called, Yuka knew better. She knew herself. 

She looked down at the driveway and took a breath. “Listen, I’d like to spend as little time as I possibly can here to prevent an aneurysm. So can you do me the biggest favor in the world and not be outgoing and nice for once?” 

He was probably looking at her funny. And suddenly, the ground was more interesting to stare at. 

“What’s that mean?” 

She waved a hand, gesturing to the general area. “You’re uh, good with people. My grandmother loves that, it’s why I’m so fun and charming.” 

He laughed at that for some reason. 

“Look, just don’t start a conversation with her. I want to go in, get my present, and leave. Hopefully, I’ll still be in a good enough mood to break a time loop today, who knows?” 

“I get it. In and out.” 

“Good! Now go knock on the door, I’m gonna stay here and try not to have a panic attack.”

Yatora would have probably followed through on her instructions if there were five more seconds limited to just them. That didn’t happen, and the front door swung open to reveal a boy that was a clear menace to society. For some reason, the rest of the world hadn’t caught up with that fact yet.

“Dude!” Her brother called out from the doorway. “Why are you standing outside?” 

Yuka groaned and forced herself to look up. “I’m trying not to throw up on grandma’s lilies, okay? Can I do that?” 

“Ew, what? Throw up inside!” He squinted at them before nodding his head. “Who’s that?” 

“This is Yatora,” Yuka said as she started walking to the door. “He’s one of my art friends, so be nice.” 

“Uh, hey,” Yatora said, awkwardly throwing a peace sign at him.

“Hey,” her brother answered back, unamused. 

She presented him with enough energy to give a mediocre show of hand waves. “Yatora, this is Makoto, he’s the worst person in the world.” 

Makoto stuck his tongue out at her. She mirrored him.

She missed him more than she thought she did. 

“Okay,” Yatora murmured behind her. “There’s another one… cool.” 

Yuka rolled her eyes. “Is grandma here? I wanna get my present.” 

“Yeah,” Makoto said, turning around to lead them inside. “I’ll tell her you’re here.” 

– – 

There wasn’t much for her to do once Makoto ran off to find their grandmother, leaving her stranded in a place that held such vivid memories. It was as sickening as it could have been, almost as bad as continuously being resurrected without a purpose. It was disorienting, horrific too. 

The thing about dying though was that she actually had someone to talk about it with. She could voice the feeling properly, the way it deserved to be, and Yatora could understand with perfect clarity. 

Visiting her old house wasn’t going to kill her, but it could resemble something like fear the longer she stayed in it. She wasn’t sure if anyone, let alone him- with a family that wanted him to thrive no matter the context- could understand that. 

Yuka didn’t give a name to that fear. She didn’t dare speak about it once they stepped inside. She just let it run through her, twist inside the pit of her stomach as she sat on the living room couch. 

There wasn’t anything here that could hurt her though. She had checked. The car in the driveway was gone, Makoto was the one to answer the door. No one was here to look at her, no one was going to call her. 

Fuck, was this how she used to act when she lived here? She didn’t have the energy for this. Maybe at sixteen, sure, but not now. 

Sighing, she forced herself away from the fear, and looked at what was in front of her.

Yatora was using the time they had by practicing what he had been taught over the years. He looked around, taking notice of the place where she grew up. 

“You can sit down, you know,” Yuka said, biting back the nervousness in her voice. 

“In a bit,” he said before he stopped in front of one of the few pictures up on the wall. 

She knew the photograph before Yatora could even begin to ask about the people in there. It was one of the few pictures she didn’t ask to be taken down, one of the few she could actually stand to look at when remembering the past. 

She couldn’t have been older than eight when it was taken. Her hair was still dark and her smile showed a glaring absence of a few teeth. She was starting to be considered tall by her classmates, but she could barely reach her grandmother’s waist as they stood side by side. Makoto was still young enough to be held up. There was still time to plan visits to the beach. The flash of the camera seemed to mix with the ocean in the back, creating a background that wasn’t even that visible. 

Years of overexposure to art and by extension, photography, meant she had a wide catalog to pick and choose whichever were her favorites. In terms of photos, this was one of them. 

Yatora seemed to like it too, judging from the fact that his expression was one of recognition before he turned to her. 

“Hey, is this-” 

“Yup,” Yuka said softly, nearly smiling. “That’s me in there. Just before the hair dye and time travel powers. Pretty cute, huh?” 

“I wouldn’t call what we have ‘powers’, but yeah. It’s cute.” 

“Then what do you call this then?” 

“I’ve been describing it as very strange circumstances. Or as you put it, hell but we’re tag teaming it.” 

“Aw, you were really listening to me.” 

Yatora sighed. “Now if we can only find our way out of hell, that would be great.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. We have all the time-” 

“Yuka-chan?” She heard, stopping time and her altogether. 

– – 

Looking back, it hadn’t been that long since she and her grandmother had been together. They spent an afternoon together back in September, with phone calls spliced in between somewhere. Logically, realistically, she shouldn’t miss her to the point it snapped her in half once she heard her name. 

But the thing about leaving a house prematurely, and growing up, and repeating your birthday again and again was that you were bound to miss someone eventually. It broke her in half, but she didn’t cry. Yuka let herself freeze up, she let her throat close, but she didn’t let it burn her eyes. She had a bit more dignity than that. 

Instead, she let time pass through them. 

“I was wrong,” she muttered to Yatora maybe fifteen minutes later, while her grandmother was busy making tea and they were all in the kitchen. It was after introductions were made, after Yuka explained that Yatora was important and that he drove her here, but she didn’t say why. 

“Hm?” Yatora asked, lifting his cup to taste the drink. 

“I was wrong,” she said again. “This isn’t hell… Not when I’m here with her.” 

It couldn’t be, not when she was still alive to reach for someone she missed, someone who must still think of her as her little prince. It was a bold assumption, a mistake in faith to say that hell was here and they were living in it. Everywhere but here, she decided. 

The necklace around her, this year’s present, was light. It barely weighed anything and it wasn’t much trouble to clasp, but it wasn’t cheap either. It was beautiful with designs intertwined in the locket at the center of it all. 

Yuka let her fingers run over it as the smell of tea filled her nose. She didn’t know how to continue the conversation, to tell Yatora what she meant besides that. 

How do you mention the fear of a house once thought to be left in the distance?  How do you follow that with an admission of gratitude because that boy, the one you visited the beach with, followed you again simply because you asked? Was it because you were scared like a little kid again?

She couldn’t say thank you. It was too broad, too loose of a concept to reach for. Instead, she joked and laughed in this particular loop, in this particular moment in time. 

They didn’t break the loop that day, or the next day, or the one after that. They still tried though. Out of spite maybe. Out of a desire to find the ending to this lying somewhere and to make it to the other side, alive and whole. 

For now, Yuka nearly screamed out of frustration when her reflection and the music and the knocking came together as one. And then she tried again. 

– – 

During one evening that didn’t have her dead in the first few hours, she found herself with Mori. It was after her daily phone call with Yatora where they asked the weirdest question imaginable and then agreed to meet the next morning. If the next morning was promised for them, that is. A little pessimistic, sure, but it was all standard protocol at this point. 

Being here though was as far from the routine as she could get. It wasn’t planned, another decision built off of spontaneity rather than fear. Mori didn’t seem to mind her staying at her apartment after they left the party early. Yuka feigned a headache or an illness or whatever else, the memories were identical anyway. Mori smiled as if she were going to burst out laughing, but she went along with it. 

It was relaxing, with the evening vaguely reminding her of afternoons spent at Mori’s house. It was when they were younger, before high school had started and they seemed to have all the time in the world. High school wasn’t that different, and neither was their twenties, but sometimes Yuka would miss her anyway. 

She wasn’t sure how she felt now though, considering that reliving the same night meant there wasn’t any time to miss Mori. For reasons that were still unclear, her friends were a bit of a constant in this new world intertwined with repetition. She saw them, and she knew she was still stuck. It was familiar now, just a part of the routine. 

Yet, here she was, breaking the routine into pieces. To spite the universe, she was in this girl’s room, on her bed, watching her draw and sometimes pick at the slices of cake they took before they left. 

“Hey, Mori,” she said as she reached over for the plate with her fork. She picked at a piece. 

“Hey, Yuka,” Mori echoed, thinking she’s funny as she draws the outline of some kind of animal. 

“I have a religious question… Well, it’s not entirely about god, but like, I think it fits- Holy shit, this cake is good.” 

“I know, Fumi did really well with it,” she moved to get another piece. “Anyway, what’s up?” 

“If you were about to die, would you- or like, how do you make sure you’re ready for it? Do you pray or what?” 

Mori hummed, tossing the question in her mind as if it were a puzzle. She did this thing where she bit her lip or toyed with her hands, something to give her body to do while she thought. It was kind of adorable. 

“You can’t be necessarily ready for it,” she started, popping her fingers as she tried to voice her answer. “It’s an unknown factor, and people can’t ever be truly ready to face something they don’t know the outcome to. It freaks them out.” 

“It’s why religions were made in the first place, to bring some kind of comfort to face the unknown. Everybody has their own thoughts about what comes afterwards, but I think that to be ‘ready’ there needs to be a sense of peace to it.” 

“Okay,” Yuka said slowly. Should her and Yatora force a feeling of peace? Would that break it? 

“What brought this up?” Mori asked, picking up her pen to return back to her drawing. 

“I could sit here and say that I was just curious,” she sat up and reached over for the last few pieces of the cake. “But you know when I’m lying, and I think I wanna face the unknown factor of this specific timeline-”

“What-” 

“-I asked because I figured out time travel.”

– – 

Mori loved stories before she loved art, it was just a fact that Yuka knew and kept in the back of her mind. She liked hearing things, and liked sharing things in return. It was one of the few reasons the idea of religion stuck with her for so long. No matter what, there was a story hidden behind each prayer, each moral. It was what ties people together. 

She didn’t know what to say when it was revealed that this story was true, and that Yuka’s been haunted by her own death for what should be a week now. She liked the idea of a ghost story, but reached for Yuka’s hand halfway through out of fear that she was going to vanish into thin air. 

And then she reached for her, wrapping her arms around her and letting herself sink as far as she could. It knocked the wind out of her. It probably always would.

“How do I…” Mori said an hour or maybe an eternity later. “How do I help you stop this?” 

“I’m working on it,” Yuka said a little helplessly. “It’s okay.”

Mori sighed and leaned in further, with her hands landing somewhere in Yuka’s hair. They were lying down now, and curled up, and close to each other. 

She wouldn’t dare admit defeat to a feeling that was built from insanity. She already had years worth of memories. There were pressed flowers and love letters stacked neatly in a box in her closet to prove it. She had done her part when she was younger, and there were bigger things to worry about now. There shouldn’t be any room for this.

There wasn’t any room, but god, was Mori beautiful. She’s been beautiful. Like an angel or someone who would be willing to hold onto the body of someone who by all logic should be a ghost. They were the same thing if you really thought about it. 

When it grew late, they couldn’t seem to let go. Both of them, scared of the situation, both of them, holding on to what they knew was comforting. Like children who have yet to stand on their own feet, or merely, two people who had no real clue what they were doing with themselves.

It was strange to see where the unknown outcome led her. It reminded her of the horrifying fact that she was alive enough to hear her own heartbeat. She was alive enough to not know what to do with her hands. To not know what to do with so much beginning to rise. 

You’re human, the feeling reminded her, as terrible and wonderful as it was. 

She sank into Mori’s arms, feeling the sheets beneath them and warmth all around them. She held her hand. Yeah, she responded. Yeah, I almost forgot that. 

– – 

The ending to everything started abruptly, like a play that only had its final act realized the night of the first performance. The only two actors on stage had no clue about this sudden change. The universe, a cruel director, was too grand to tell them ahead of time. Like death, it wasn’t kind. 

Yuka, though, was observant. The perks of art still being alive in her. Even now, even in the midst of a situation built on the deconstruction of time. 

When she woke up the next morning, Mori was still asleep. By the time she had gotten ready, slipping on her jacket in the process, she found a spare moment to write her a note, telling her she had somewhere to be. There was an important meeting today, she wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

She left the apartment. She probably looked insane getting down the stairs without her shoes on and grabbing the railing so hard it made her fingers whiten while she sidestepped her way down. But as far as she knew, the world was still repeating itself. Embarrassment was a foreign concept for now. 

She reached into her pocket for her phone as she struggled to get her shoe on all while opening the door to leave, then let it ring as soon as everything was in order. It was seven in the morning. If her partner wasn’t up already, this would probably do it. 

The phone rang as she walked down the sidewalk, already knowing the full extent of her routine. Yuka had to walk, and keep walking, until she got to the train station near Fumi’s apartment. Then she had to keep going until she found herself at Yatora’s doorstep. 

Driving had been ruled out maybe three loops ago, when not even Yatora’s insanely precise way of handling a car could save them from accidents. It was a shame, she liked fighting over who had the final say in choosing radio stations while they drove. It almost felt normal. 

“Come on,” she muttered as she passed by stores. “I swear to god, if you’re dead-” 

“Hello?” Yatora answered sleepily. 

“Morning sleeping beauty, are you still stuck too? Because I did a few things differently last night, and I can’t tell if we’re still looping or not.”

“I just woke up, give me a minute to die and I’ll get back to you.” 

“Jesus, you’re morbid today. Did your date go bad or something?” 

In the background, there was noise steadily coming to life, as if a switch had been flipped. Yatora answered a minute later.

“It’s so awkward every time, but I think it’s because he’s still caught up on the idea that we’re just hanging out? Like, no romance involved, also we’re still stuck.” 

“I’m telling you, just be straightforward about everything. He seems like the kind of guy to really need clarification.” Yuka frowned. “Wait, wait, how do you know we’re stuck?” 

“There’s this episode of Magender that plays whenever we get to Sunday, it’s uh, kind of how I’ve been keeping track of everything.” 

“Magender,” she repeated. “Isn’t that for like, ten year olds?” 

“It’s a good show, I swear-” 

“I’m sure it is,” Yuka said as she eyed a bracelet in a jewelry store before tearing her gaze away. “I mean, my brother likes it and he’s fifteen?” 

“You’d probably like it too,” he sounded excited by this. The sentiment was weirdly infectious and adorable. She hated it. 

“Eh, I’m more of a Paradise Kiss kind of person,” she stopped in front of a convenience store. “Anyway, I’ll be over at your place at around, I dunno, eight? If I’m not dead?” 

A guy who was going into the store looked at her, having heard everything without understanding. It caused some confusion. Who did he think he was, listening in on her conversation like that? 

“What?” She asked bitterly. 

“What?” Yatora asked, confused. 

“...Nothing, just be ready, I’ll see you in a bit.” 

A memory lodged itself inside the corners of her mind as fast as a shooting star before it faded. It was after she hung up, and had a moment to realize the street was familiar, that the stores were familiar. It reminded her of bright lights on a cool evening, a night where she still had the time to take in it. Before becoming aware of repetition, before all of this. 

She blinked as she let her hand down, taking her phone away from her ear. She stood in front of the store, more alive than she had been in forever. More aware.

Here we have the actor finally remembering the first act of a play she thought she knew. 

– – 

“We saw each other,” Yuka said the minute the door to his house swung open. 

It went well with Yatora’s admission of: “I think things are disappearing.” 

– – 

True to his word, Yatora showed her the glaring evidence of a slightly empty house. There were photographs Yuka remembered seeing that were now nothing more than a blank space. Paintings were gone, presents from his friends had vanished without an explanation. 

She tried, really tried, to seem as if seeing the absence of Mori’s drawing from the year she graduated didn’t bother her. But it did. It made her sick and acutely aware that something was wrong. These visits were a constant too, a part of the routine that made all of this feel normal. Now it was just changing right in front of her when she wasn’t ready yet. 

“How long have things been like this?” She asked, swallowing the nervousness that wanted to crawl up her throat and make her voice crack. 

“I don’t know,” Yatora said, helpless and spineless all over again. “I just noticed after we got off the phone.” 

“This morning…” Yuka said softly. “And you- you checked, right? Like, no one broke in or-” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I checked.” 

Who would steal a drawing on the wall anyway? Who would steal so little, but enough to make only them notice? It was a warning, she realized. Nothing outright, but perfect for them. 

The universe had a fucked up way of saying that they were running out of time. Nothing would happen now, but soon. They still had chances laid out in front of them, but only if they knew what to do with them. If they had a plan. 

Maybe she did. It was hazy and all over the place now that she knew there was a limit to all of this, but earlier, it left her excited enough that she ran to the train station. There was a story she wanted to spin here, lay it out for Yatora to see. It would have been great. 

Fuck that, it was going to be great. Seven years ago, she tore her last name in half and crowned herself as a woman in the name of all that was great. Yuka was destined for greatness, even in the context of time loops. 

She just needed to get away from all of this first. 

“I got an idea,” she said as she dragged Yatora out of his room and then down the stairs.

 She let go once they made it into the kitchen, where a bowl of still decaying fruit mocked them on the counter. He sat down near the counter, watching as she went through drawers with a sense of urgency. 

“Do you have a knife?” Yuka asked. 

“What?” He asked, failing to see where she was going with this. Because of this failure, he came to a different conclusion. “Oh my god, you’re going to kill me-” 

“No, it’s for a visual aid, dummy. I want to test something.” 

“Test what?” 

“You’ll see. My point is: we saw each other,” she said. “That first time before everything started repeating, I saw you at the store near Fumi’s apartment. I was going to go inside, but then Mori called me and I started walking back-” 

“-And I left to go to the train station. And then we died that first time.”

Yuka found a knife. It was buried at the bottom of the last drawer. “Exactly. We were the last person both of us saw,” she said as she turned to grab one of the rotted out fruit. “And we were supposed to see each other.” 

“We have to redo the interaction,” Yatora said, finally catching up with this. “And if we redo it then-” 

“-Everything should go back to normal. We have to help each other, that’s why we’re connected.” 

He was smiling now before he had that look of confusion again. “Then what’s with the fruit?” 

Yuka jammed the knife into the orange. “Disappearances, rotten fruit, the universe can scare us all it likes, but it’s just an illusion.” She cut it in half, “If you look past it, you’ll see it.” 

On the inside, it wasn’t rotten. It was the strangest glimpse of hope Yuka’s ever seen, but she took it. 

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

Her phone being missing was the first noticeable warning.

There were warnings all over Fumi’s apartment when she stepped out of the bathroom. The music was on, and there was still an overwhelming nature to it all as other people talked and laughed around her. It still seemed like how she remembered it, but that would have been too good to be true. 

The pieces that were missing were similar to the ones when compared to Yatora’s house. Nothing out of the ordinary, just pictures and paintings were erased without much thought. It didn’t seem to be noticeable. No one paid attention except for her. It wasn’t meant for anyone else to see anyway. 

She swallowed thickly when she went to the guest bedroom first, changing one part of the routine, to see that the series she had liked was gone. The house and pretty garden seemed reordered, taken from its rightful place on the canvases. 

It would have been fine if the drawing hadn’t been swapped for a depiction of a dragon. It was of Ryuujin specifically, the god of the sea in some myths. He was moving, sliding across the canvas and wrapped around in a circle, letting his fangs sink into his tail. Letting the idea of escape grow distant. 

The universe had a sense of humor too, it seems. It was warped and wielded the ability to make memories she hadn’t thought of in years to come back, like the tide returning to the shore. 

“You’re not scaring me,” she muttered, breaking the silence to speak to something that couldn’t speak back. “I’m getting out of this.” 

– – 

Stepping outside the apartment this time with a sense of purpose strangely made the night feel more real than it had the first time. Where now that first strand of time felt like a dream that she can remember with awful clarity, this felt like she was carving it out for herself. 

Breaking something just to make a better memory out of it. It felt nice. 

Seeing Yatora outside the store was like the first time, but seeing him inside and standing underneath the offensively bright lights of a convenience store made her smile. His hair was half a shade whiter, and he looked stupid fidgeting with a carton of cigarettes sold at the front of the counter. But he was someone that knew her, even like this. 

She told him he looked stupid, then looped her arm around his, so they could leave together. There was a second part to this, but they needed to do things right first. She wasn’t leaving without him. 

And then they were walking down the street, certain and determined. 

And yet: 

“Is it weird that I’m nervous about this?” Yatora asked. 

“No,” Yuka said. “I’ve never been so afraid of accidental death in my life.” 

“You’re smiling though.” 

“So are you.” 

“We’ve… actually lost our minds.” 

That made her toss her head back and laugh. The genuine kind. The kind that told her something was changing, and she was the one causing it. 

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re totally…” 

(Quickly, what does it mean to remember, truly remember?) 

“What the hell?”

The thing about death was that it wasn’t comforting, nor was it kind. It wasn’t even cruel, it was just a simple fact of existence. It was a part of a set of rules, decided long ago. There were theories, stories, questions that tried to answer how it felt. What it would be like. 

Yuka knew fully at this point that death wasn’t a girl in a white slip, nor was it an angel. It was a force, sudden and constantly moving. 

Laying her eyes on the boy in front of her though, the one down the street, smiling and all knowing, made a sense of dread stir so deeply inside of her that it felt as if he were death. He was young, with dark brown hair and pretty green eyes. He couldn’t have been no older than thirteen. 

In every other timeline, the deaths had been so fast that she could barely feel them, let alone react in time. 

She started clinging to Yatora, letting her nails dig into his jacket as she struggled to catch her breath. Having the wind stolen from her wasn’t an easy task, it only made sense that everything she could take in had to be accounted for. This death was built on something that would be able to hurt, something that could scare her.

And what else could scare her other than seeing someone like him, who was so familiar she might as well look into a mirror? 

– –

(Next question: What does it mean to be haunted by your own reflection?)

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

If there were a mirror to stare back at, she was certain a memory would come back to taunt her once more. If she were able to see herself, only to see someone she used to be, she would probably shatter it into tiny pieces. 

The gaps in the world were getting worse. Fumi’s apartment which once held a life, one filled to the brim with her interests and memories, was now bare. There were necessities strewn along the floor, but as Yuka took the time to notice, an awful sense of guilt ran through her. 

It was changing, it was all changing. 

The party didn’t feel so much like a celebration, considering that the illusion had spread from objects and memories to people now. Once she realized this, she ran to the kitchen to throw up what she could into the sink. 

Naturally, her friends panicked and began to trip over themselves trying to help her. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t even begin to explain herself, or how she was certain that time collapsing was her fault. Everything that was being destroyed around them was because of her and they didn’t even notice.

“You guys need to come with me,” she said while trying to keep her voice even. 

– – 

Mori’s hand was warm against hers, and the sound of Fumi and Maki talking behind them was comforting. It felt normal. It made her calm down and briefly throw the memory of seeing someone before dying out of her mind. 

She saw him again though. After all, a ghost didn’t make itself known only once. He was the same. From across the street, when they had stopped to see if any cars were driving past, he smiled at Yuka. It seemed genuine, as if he were delighted to see her. 

She couldn’t breathe after that. 

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

She grabbed her friends and explained what she could before they left a nearly empty apartment. It was a place devoid of life, devoid of time. 

– –

She appeared like a ghost inside the convenience store. She had half of her sanity stored away and three girls trailing behind her as a migraine pierced her skull. It was fine though. Things could be worse. Things have been worse. She was moving up in what was left of the world.

“Yatora?” Maki and Mori said instantly once they were able to see him. 

“Yo,” Fumi said, her eyes widening. “Blondie! You’re the one I forgot to invite!” 

Yatora blinked at them, fidgeting with his carton of cigarettes before he looked at her. “Hey guys,” he said. 

“People are disappearing at the party,” Yuka explained once she had his full attention, confused and expecting answers. She turned back and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “The universe can keep fucking with us, but not them. I can’t take that.” 

“No, yeah,” Yatora said. “I get it, but what’s happening with us? It’s just been internal stuff that’s killing us, right?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been having asthma attacks. What about you?” 

“Liver failure, I think? I thought we were doing things right though.” 

Yuka sighed. “Look it’s because…” 

Meters away, her kid knocked down whatever snacks were in the aisle her and Yatora were standing in front of. Laughing, her ghost ran to the end of the store. Even though she knew what was going to happen, she couldn’t help but follow him. Like a siren or a beacon, she’d probably follow him until she couldn’t walk anymore. 

She left her friends behind, leaving Yatora to answer the questions the others had. Leaving him to play at their makeshift normalcy they made up. 

Finding him was easy. It was just the act of acknowledging him that made her head want to split open. She was worried that if she spoke, all of these memories she had thrown away would come spilling out. Strangely, she was worried about what he thought of her too. 

Most people imagine talking to a past version of themselves, hell, even she used to want to do it. Now that she had the chance, she was scared that he would look at her and not be able to understand. 

How could this happen? Ryuji would ask. Why do you look like that? 

He just looked up at her, tiny compared to her. She couldn’t remember anyone being that small, not even herself. 

He smiled at her and she let dread tear her open. She even let it sting her eyes as she crouched down, kneeling to meet him at eye level. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

Ryuji blinked at her. “Hi,” he repeated, soft and light. 

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She reached forward, towards his face. She just needed to know. 

His face was warm. He was so warm. As if he were really alive, as if time had reached inside and separated them entirely so they could exist just for this one moment. Side by side, breathing, whole. 

Ryuji raised his hand to feel hers on his face. His fingers were calloused by years of dedicating himself to Japanese art, like his mother and grandmother before him. She didn’t mind. She just accepted the gesture and held his hand. 

She missed being this small. She missed being the little prince her grandmother fawned over.

Her eyes filled over with tears. 

Suddenly, someone reached for her shoulder and ripped her away from her memories. She screamed, returning back to reality with a worsening headache and four people- her friends- staring at her. Were they looking for her? 

Yatora- Right, she came here looking for Yatora, she came here because they needed to break their situation wide open. He looked at her, stupid concern was rising in his stupid eyes. 

“I’m seeing things,” she said, finally tasting the stream of blood that was spilling from her nose. “I’m… I’m losing it, aren’t I?”

“We’re dying again,” Yatora said, stupidly saying the obvious because he was a stupid, stupid boy that took her away from her ghost. “Shit, Yuka-”

“-Meet me at my house next time,” she heard as her vision started blurring, as she started collapsing, then trembling in someone’s- Yatora’s- arms.

– – 

It started on her birthday. 

The apartment was empty. 

The next morning, she found that Yatora’s house was empty too.

– – 

“I’m being haunted,” Yuka said simply as she fidgeted on one of the only chairs that were left in the living room. 

Yatora looked at her, observant and exhausted. It reminded her of the beach, of their trip. It reminded her of how back then she was determined to carve a life she could be proud of. If that version of her was a ghost instead, what would she think? Would she like any of this?

“What?” Yatora asked. 

“I’m seeing myself,” she said. “The little boy…” 

The admission left a sour taste on her tongue and made her skin burn. This wasn’t just some guy, this was Yatora. He didn’t care about this, he knew her on a cosmic terror level for god’s sake. 

She tried again. “The past version of myself. The little boy that I used to be. I keep seeing him, and whenever I do, we end up dying.” 

“Did you see him last night?” 

“Mhm… And I’m guessing it’s a me problem, right? You can’t see yourself, either?” 

“No,” he said, sighing. “It’s just you.” 

Yuka groaned and leaned over in her chair. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” 

– – 

The day truly started as soon as Yatora fished out a cigarette carton he bought that morning. He gave her one and they went outside, mindlessly scraping together peace where they could find it. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the one they had.

The smell of smoke filled her nose.

Once, four years ago, she had stared into the gaping, transparent outline of the boy who made himself known as Yatora Yaguchi. She was sixteen and thought she knew what it meant to be honest, to know herself fully. She had called him out on his lack of a smoking habit. She called him out on his mediocre appreciation for art.

Spineless, she had thought. This asshole was so spineless he’d kill himself just to please other people. 

Looking back, she’d probably punch herself in the face if that version was her ghost instead. God, she was annoying. 

When she brought it up, Yatora laughed so hard he choked on smoke. He leaned over on the porch, coughing and gasping in a pathetic sort of way. Yuka just smiled, giggling at the sight before her. To think she used to have something like a crush on him. 

“You’re such a loser,” she said, smiling even wider. “Seriously, letting smoke kill you this time?” 

“Fuck off,” Yatora muttered in between coughs. “I hope you see yourself again and die.” 

She kicked him with her shoe, not in a way that would actually hurt him, but enough to confuse him. She crouched down next to him, letting the memories of that last loop run through her entirely.

She let the memories of the person she was with run through her next.

“Thinking about that stuff reminds me of something though. I used to hate you,” she said softly. “Back then, in the art club.” 

“Was it because I was spineless?” 

“No it was when I started spiraling, like getting jobs at shitty bars and fucking up all my relationships,” she winced. “It was during that time.” 

“Oh?” He asked before taking a drag of his cigarette. “How come?” 

“I hated how honest you were, now that you had the chance to be able to. I just,” she looked away. “I started to lose that ability to know myself during all of that… And I took it out on you.” 

Yuka sighed and reached for his hand, squeezing it just to make sure this was real. “I’m sorry about that.” 

There was a long silence in the yard.

And then Yatora was looking at her, he smirked at her like he broke the code to all of this before she did. 

“What?” She asked. 

“Nothing,” he said, still smiling. 

She groaned. “The one time I tried being sentimental and this is how it goes. I’m taking it back.”

Yatora laughed again.

“It’s not so bad to be sentimental,” he said after a minute. “It feels more rewarding, I think.” 

“Yeah,” Yuka said. 

She lit another cigarette, letting it spark to life before she put it between her lips. There was more to be said about sentimentality, even if the idea irritated her. Yatora was right though, as he often tended to be.

If she could have brought herself to speak, she would have said that. She would have admitted how the only good parts of looping through time were having someone to handle it with, and being able to know herself in a way she hadn’t in years. 

Outside, the sky was so blue. It was open, without an end in sight. 

– – 

There was still time left in this loop, Yuka could feel it. In a strange way, time was starting to feel like something built from muscle memory. Like picking up one of her pens to draw, like staring at her old house and being afraid. 

She could also feel when her time in certain loops were limited. This was one of them. She knew she couldn’t stand outside the house for however long she had left, that would be a complete waste of everything she had grown familiar with. 

At least from the outside, it hadn’t changed in between resets. There was still the paint, still the garden, still a sense that she was staring at a place that didn’t have room for her. It was still as horrifying as it had been the last time she had visited, but if she were right about this, something had to change here. 

The last time anything felt different had been here. 

She turned and looked towards the street. It was empty. Yatora had gone to finish what little they needed to in this timeline, and she had said she didn’t need a chauffeur this time around. It was her choice, her decision in the matter. She knew that too. 

Yuka knocked on the door, and nearly got choked up at the sight of her brother, who was caught between being surprised at her arrival and confused as to why she hadn’t called. To his horror, she hugged him. 

“I missed you,” she said.

It was an understatement, considering that she had expected him to disappear along with every other important part of her life. She didn’t try to explain it, she just let Makoto pin it on her being weird. She could live with that. 

Then she asked for their grandmother. 

“My present,” she said, suddenly remembering. “I want to get it.” 

– – 

The necklace was still as beautiful as it had been the first time she saw it. She liked the gold color, and how it was picked with her in mind. She liked how feminine it was, how it held a feeling of weightlessness to it. Once this was over, she would have to come and retrieve it for the third time. She could probably fall in love with it again. She could live with that too. 

Her grandmother asked her all the questions she had the first time. She asked about work and her friends, her apartment, her art. And then she stopped herself, embarrassed at her rambling. Yuka didn’t know how to tell her that she could answer everything if she wanted. 

But knowing her grandmother, she would probably wave her off and continue with what she had in mind. She shortened it to one question instead. 

“How are you, darling?” 

I’m fine, she had said the first time. I’m fine, she had said nearly four years ago when she crossed out a future that was once part of a deal. I’ll take Japanese art classes in high school, she said when she was thirteen. Just let me understand myself a bit better. Just let me have this.

“I’ve been better,” she said. And when she looked at her with a familiar expression, she added, “I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. And I miss you, I miss being able to come back here.” 

She missed not feeling alone, that was the bottom line. There was a certain apathy she had developed in the years between the ages of thirteen and now, one that made it seem as if she were staring at places where she wasn’t wanted. It had grown to the point she couldn’t even stand a life she had strived for. 

But then, once, she had been afraid of that exact feeling. And like how it had been then, in the depths of the sea, when she tasted nothing but salt and her own mind, people were reaching for her. Whether she realized it or not.

It was funny, she wanted to live. Maybe Ryuji would argue with her, and not be able to see the point she was trying to make.  After all, when she was his age she had turned her back on the world and swore to forget the beauty of it all. But she didn't, and she couldn't, and now she just simply didn't want to forget. She wanted to see the rest of this through, even if her life was to be dedicated to repetition.

And then her time was up. 

“Ready?” Ryuji asked as he leaned against the wall of the kitchen. Time had unraveled to the point it stopped entirely. Or at least, it made everything disappear except for them. 

She could smell copper as it ran down her nose. She could taste it in the back of her throat. 

Yuka nodded weakly. 

– – 

It starts on her birthday. 

She’s standing in an apartment that’s familiar, but not hers. In the mirror, there’s this girl that’s familiar, but not the one she saw the first time around. The girl who looks back at her knows more than she lets on, looks a bit older too. A bit wiser or however the saying goes. 

Yuka hears the music first, the knocking next. Her phone chimes with texts and then vibrates a few seconds later. She doesn’t have to look to know it’s Yatora. He’s probably ecstatic. She is too, or at least, she’s starting to be. 

She opens the door to find the girl with the pink braids. She beams, feeling and probably looking insane, but she’s never been so happy to see a stranger in her life. 

“Hey,” she says. “Two things: I like your hair, and what’s your name?” 

Pink braids girl blinks, but isn’t disinterested.

 “Momoyo,” she says. “And thanks uh…” 

“Yuka.” 

“Yuka,” she repeats, testing the sound. The piercing on her tongue flashes like a star. “Cool name.” 

The bathroom door locks behind her a second later. She’s left to investigate the apartment if she wants, to study all that had gone missing, but it’s so loud and there’s so little time. She’ll look later. She’ll take other people’s words for it when they say tomorrow that this party was fun. 

Yuka accepts the birthday wishes as they’re passed to her. She also accepts the smell of smoke and the overabundance of company, and walks through it all before entering the kitchen. 

Mori notices her first. The smile she gives her is genuine, and she’s so, so beautiful. 

“Hey birthday-” and then there’s a “woah” when Yuka hugs her. 

“What was that about?” Mori asks, and she laughs as she says it even if she’s confused.

“I missed you guys so fucking much.” 

“You were in the bathroom for like ten minutes though?” Maki says, and then Yuka hugs her too. 

There’s another moment of surprise, and then another one when she grabs Fumi too.

Her friends, as wonderful as they are, share the same expression. It’s a look of complete confusion, of not understanding, but also wanting to know more. 

“I’ll explain it soon,” Yuka says as she smiles.

– – 

Murai, with his diamond cut out earrings and flashy way of presenting himself to the world, is probably the strangest art critic she’s ever come across. She lets him ramble and she pinpoints the lines he uses to try and impress her. She just keeps staring at the paintings before her. 

It’s a set, two individual drawings of a house with a garden in the front. It’s a series. It’s Fumi’s only series so far, and she still adores it. 

“It just makes art repeat itself,” they say at the same time, once the speech has reached its conclusion. 

Murai looks at her, smiles at her self taught talent that allows her to tell the future. “How’d you know what I was gonna say?” He asks. 

“I have a very keen ability to pick up on patterns, art boy,” she says as she starts to stand up. “I’m a seamstress.”

“I also have spent the last week time traveling, so there’s that too,” she adds, knowing he’d never believe her. 

Murai, being predictable, asks her what she means by that. 

Yuka shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She doesn’t give him time to keep her any longer than she needs to. She uses the fire escape and then pulls out her phone to text Mori once she’s on even ground. She tells her she’s fine, but she probably won’t be back until morning. There’s something she needs to do, it’ll go with the list of everything she needs to explain. 

She slips her phone back in her pocket, then her fingers run across something she doesn’t recognize. She stops and stares at the carton of cigarettes Yatora had on him during that last loop. He gave it to her, right before she left to fix things. 

She opens the carton. Not a single one is missing. 

She puts it away and keeps walking, digging her hands into her pockets. It’s a cold night in October, but it’s alive too. She still has somewhere to be. 

– – 

Yuka slams open the door to the convenience store, startling both the cashier who’s forced to put up with her, and also Yatora who is there due to time travel. The only difference between the two is that Yatora laughs at the sight. It’s wonderful. She’s missed this too.

“Ready?” She asks, not even trying to hide the excitement in her voice. 

Yatora nods and they share two halves of the same smile. 

– – 

As per any tradition when it comes to them, they go to the inn by the beach.

It’s not necessarily a celebration and it’s definitely not an escape. It’s a brand new memory tied to the present, unfiltered by the weight of the past, and unknown to the future. 

She wants it to be a good night, to be one she can look back on in five, ten, fifteen years with fondness. She wants it to be undeniable proof of their existence, their mark on the world even if it’s only known to them. She wants to make it known that she was here, that she was alive. 

The next morning, it’s Yatora who notices the sunlight, then notices her and asks what’s next.

It’s a question that’s asked quietly, but she still looks up. 

She has the luxury of being able to see his face as he draws. The screens aren’t needed this time around, and they didn’t have time to pack art supplies or even share them. Her finding paper in the closet was just her being lucky, and Yatora just stole the pen from the manager's desk in the front. 

Yuka thinks about it as she takes the pen and draws the beginning of a dragon, one that isn’t trapped by his own tail. Yatora’s drawings range from portraits of them, to sketches of the sea. 

She answers with this: she wants to play it by ear, she wants to feel the time around her a bit longer. She wants to see the next day, and the one after that, and wants to face whatever happens. As long as he can too. 

Yatora agrees. They’ll play it by ear. 

So they will, so they did.