Shoto can't pinpoint exactly when his consciousness drifts from his book's story into a dreamless slumber. What he knows, in the morning he wakes up on the carpet. The right half of his face is warm under the sunrays that burst through the window. His body is enveloped up to the shoulders by a thick blanket.
Did I fall asleep on the floor? I must've been more tired than I expected, he rolls over, then stretches his limbs. Oh, my arms don't hurt anymore... It seems Ara's thing with towels from yesterday really worked.
Squinting his eyes to get used to the sudden brightness, he pushes the comic book out of his sight and glances around. Another blanket cocoon is sprawled on the carpet next to him, the creases and folds tell him that it has been used.
Just as he questions the whereabouts of its dweller to himself, Arata saunters out of the bathroom, one hand brushing her jet black locks with a comb.
I wonder if she's feeling better... Shoto observes as a sigh escapes her mouth, her somber expression reflected on a wall mirror. Her guilt for excessive self-defense, the trauma she received from the demon, the investigation... She can hardly breathe with all these things swamping her.
It doesn't help either that our police interview is today.
"Oh, hey, you're awake. Morning, Shoto-san." Sensing his gaze on her, Arata turns around and greets him with a smile. The hint of gloom that leaks into her voice doesn't escape him, though. "I hope you're hungry, because I ordered cold soba for breakfast. It should arrive any minute now."
Cold soba? It's not that I don't like it, but... "Why?"
"Huh? Isn't it your favorite?"
"It's still a weird choice of breakfast."
"Um, then... because we've never eaten it together?"
You know, Ara, it sounds like "in case we can't eat it together after this" to me. The investigation hasn't even started, yet you're already expecting it to end with the worst outcome possible?
Rising from the carpet, he walks up to Arata and shakes his head. "This won't be the last time."
"This could very well be the last time." she places the plastic comb on the table and turns to regard him.
Her eyes glisten, they remind him of a new day's grass, shining in the silvery sheen of the morning dew. Shoto thinks it's ironic, because they don't harbor the hope the morning dew presents.
You can't say you like being with me one day, then expect me to give your company up for good the next.
The future is unclear and another day isn't secured in their hands, yet it isn't to say that they can't hope for the best. "Let's have cold soba again after we return to Japan," he insists, refusing to quit on it—on her. "I know a great stall near the park where we had picnic."
"We don't know yet how the investigation will turn out. It's still in a couple of hours."
"Exactly. That's why there's no point in assuming it will result in the worst case scenario."
A disgruntled sigh slips from Arata's mouth as she hands him a cup of hot tea. "Since when are you this optimistic?"
"I'm compensating for your pessimism. Someone has to keep the balance in check. So, how does my offer sound?"
Arata doesn't want to get her hopes up, because it will hurt even more if reality doesn't work out the way she wishes it to. However, as Shoto has said, to be totally down in the dumps won't do her any good either. "Well, if I manage to get out of here—"
"'When', not 'if', Ara."
"Fine. When I get out of here, we won't have to go out and buy it. I'll make it for you." After a short pause, Arata quickly adds. "I mean, if you want. I don't know if my cooking tastes—"
"I'm looking forward to it." Shoto sips his tea slowly, lips curling upward behind the cup's rim. "Let's make sure you won't get any false charges or end up in jail."
"Through the police interview? Okay, let's try that."