For his part, Shinjiro stays quiet. Though he mentally finishes Miki's sentence for her: idiot.

Because yeah, he remembers that. He remembers everything, even if a lot of the memories have been eaten away by time, losing some of their luster but none of the meaning his childhood gave it. He remembers Aki's ridiculous ideas of what competitive slide-games entailed—all ridiculous and weird and hard to believe he gave into half of them. He remembers playing at the shrine until time ran out. He remembers the carrots too. They had been disgusting. Starvation had seemed like a better option. Back then, everything had been okay.

But that's edging into sentimentality. And that's something he didn't do often. Those days were long gone, anyway. Though maybe not as far gone as he thought. Because that was her. As if there had been any doubt. Shinjiro wouldn't have called Aki here unless he had been sure. And he was. He was sure then and he was sure now. It took long enough, but she had finally found her way home. Time to say "welcome back" and shit, except that line for people far more sentimental than—

Tch. Shit. His eyes are on fire again.

Dammit.