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It was 3:00 AM, one of those strange, eerie hours in the never-sleeping streets of Tokyo when the rhythm finally slowed down, and the neon lights cast long orange streaks across the wet asphalt.
At this time of night, the world seemed to shift into a lower gear, and every small sound echoed twice as loud as usual. When the little bell above the entrance chimed, the waiter dozing behind the counter snapped his head up in surprise. Two girls slipped inside, bringing with them a strange cloud of energy that felt almost out of place for the hour.
Emu stood near the door wrapped in a oversized, fluffy pink cardigan, her eyes wide as if she were taking in a 24-hour family restaurant for the very first time. Behind her, Saki had pulled her hair into a loose, hasty bun, burying herself deep inside her yellow zipped hoodie.
"Emu-chan, shh! Someone will hear us! Quiet down!" Saki tried to whisper, though she couldn't hide the giggle bubbling up in her voice.
"But Saki-chan! This place feels like a secret midnight mission hideout! How can I not feel all waku-waku?!" Emu pouted, attempting to tiptoe, but her thick-soled sneakers squeaked loudly against the floor.
The waiter, sporting heavy bags under his eyes, gave them a brief glance before pointing toward a cozy booth in the far back corner with slightly worn leather seats. Both of them slid quietly into the booth.
"I can't believe this," Saki said, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. "Can you actually believe I snuck out of the house at this hour? If my brother found out, he’d
probably sound the alarm across the entire city."
Emu giggled. "Tsukasa-kun would go totally BOOM! He’d shout, 'Saki! What are you doing outside in the middle of the night?!' He'd definitely blow out his vocal cords!" Emu threw her arms wide to mimic Tsukasa’s dramatic flair, knocking the menu off the table in the process.
Both girls instantly slapped their hands over their mouths, peeking at the waiter. He merely let out a long, tired sigh.
"So, how did you manage to escape, Emu-chan?" Saki leaned in with curiosity. "Didn't anyone at home notice you were gone?"
"Ah, I made a person-sized dummy out of pillows!" Emu puffed out her chest with pride. "Then I tucked it in under my pink blanket. From the outside, it looks just like a sleeping Emu! I only put a giant plush bunny near the head so the top wouldn't look empty!"
"Did that... actually work?"
"I think so? Because I'm right here!" Emu gave a radiant smile. It was that familiar, room-brightening grin of hers. But Saki’s sharp eyes didn't miss the faint purple shadows under Emu’s bright pink eyes, nor the tiny line of exhaustion tugging at the edge of that oversized smile.
When the waiter approached the table with his order pad, Saki immediately pointed her finger at the largest picture on the menu: The Midnight Mega Strawberry & Chocolate Special Parfait.
"With two spoons, please!" Saki requested, her eyes sparkling.
Once the waiter walked away, a rare, quiet stillness settled over the table. The only sounds left were the faint swish of occasional cars passing outside and the low, monotone hum of the restaurant's ceiling vent.
"You aren't sleepy at all, are you?" Saki asked gently.
Emu fidgeted with the edge of the napkin dispenser. "Nn-nn. The inside of my head feels like a fireworks factory going PANG! KABOOM! I wasn't feeling confident about the colors of the set pieces we prepped for tomorrow's show. And... there are these new stage ideas I'm thinking of for Phoenix Wonderland. What if the kids don't laugh enough? What if the tickets don't sell? What if everyone says, 'Emu isn't funny anymore'?"
The words poured out of Emu all at once. The tiny miracle of Phoenix Wonderland, who always radiated pure joy and swept everyone along with her boundless energy, suddenly looked so small, staring down at her folded hands in her lap.
Saki wasn't surprised. On the contrary, a gentle warmth spread through her chest. Everyone knew Emu as the "super happy girl." But Saki understood; smiling constantly often carried an equally heavy fatigue behind it. During those long, quiet years spent in hospital rooms, Saki had always smiled for her visitors, her family, and her doctors too. Sometimes, you smiled just so others wouldn't worry or feel sad.
"Emu-chan," Saki murmured, reaching across the table to wrap her hands around Emu’s tiny, folded fingers. Saki’s hands were slender, slightly calloused from playing the piano, but her touch was impossibly warm. "You know... the exact same thing was happening to me."
Emu looked up, her wide eyes fixing on Saki.
"I was trying to write the melody for Leo/need’s new song," Saki continued, turning her gaze toward the dark window pane outside. "I have this tune in my head, but as soon as I put it onto the sheet music, the feeling disappears. I keep thinking, 'What if I let the girls down?' 'What if, in my hurry to make up for the years I lost being sick, I drag their futures down too?'..." Saki offered a soft, somewhat bittersweet smile. "Sometimes, I can't sleep at all. My heart beats so fast it feels like a drum pounding inside my chest."
Emu squeezed Saki’s hand a little tighter. "Saki-chan... You could never let anyone down. Your melodies make people feel... like they're eating fluffy cotton candy! They make you feel warm inside!"
"And your shows give people a bigger WONDERHOI! than they've ever felt in their lives, Emu," Saki said, her eyes shining with affection. "What I mean is... You don't have to be high-energy every single second. Right now, sitting at this table, you don't need to make noise or try to make us laugh. I love the you that's right here, right now, just as much. I'm here for you even when your batteries run out."
Just then, the waiter set a massive glass parfait tower down onto the table. It was stacked high with layers of strawberries, melted chocolate drizzle, whipped cream, and topped with two large scoops of ice cream.
"Ooooh!" Emu’s eyes lit up again, but this time, it wasn't the exaggerated, stage-ready brightness; it was a softer, far more genuine glow. "Saki-chan, this is huge!"
"I did say for two!" Saki handed one of the long spoons to Emu. "Come on, midnight calories don't count!"
They both dived their spoons into the parfait tower. As they ate strawberries dipped in whipped cream, the heavy air between them completely dissolved, replaced by a cozy, comforting intimacy. They watched the chocolate sauce pool at the bottom of the glass and laughed together when brain freeze hit them at the exact same moment. They didn't even notice the hours slipping by, or the dark night slowly softening into a deep indigo.
By 4:45 AM, only a melted pink pool of strawberry remained at the bottom of the parfait glass.
The first rays of morning light, a blend of violet and soft gold, began to filter through the restaurant windows. The streetlights outside clicked off one by one.
Emu’s head was starting to grow heavy. Her chatter had thinned out, and her sentences—which used to start with "Saki-chan, you know what..."—were trailing off mid-thought.
"Emu-chan?" Saki whispered softly.
Emu didn't answer. Resting her cheek against the soft leather cushion of the booth, one hand still lightly holding her empty spoon on the table, she had drifted off. Her breathing was slow and steady, and strands of her pink hair had fallen over her face.
Saki smiled softly. She unzipped her yellow hoodie, slid it off her shoulders, and gently draped it over Emu’s shoulders. Then, she slid down the booth next to Emu, resting her head gently atop Emu’s. The subtle scent of lemon and fabric softener lingering on the jacket completely wrapped around Emu.
At 5:30 AM, the morning shift worker entered the restaurant. The night waiter, taking off his apron, gestured toward the corner booth.
Under the warm orange light of the early sun, the two girls were sound asleep, curled up against each other. On the table sat the empty parfait glass, two spoons resting side by side. The waiter approached the table, reaching out to leave the bill, but hesitated. He set the receipt down quietly on the edge, then pulled the blinds down slightly to shield the girls' faces from the morning glare.
In that brief moment—when the neon lights went out and the city had not yet awakened—the entire world stood still for Emu and Saki. There were no expectations, no stage fright, no worries about the future. Just the quiet rhythm of two hearts resting on each other's shoulders.