"Fujiwara-san?"

Fujiwara's head snapped up, caught off guard. He looked surprised. "Nakano!"

"What brings you here?"

The words spilled out simultaneously, a shared shock at their unexpected encounter. Some onlookers turned away because of their overflowing excitement.

"I got your message," Haru reached for his phone. "I was in Odaiba when it buzzed. My battery died, and I was about to use a public phone, but I couldn't recall your number."

"Just as I suspected," Fujiwara grinned, looking both joyful and disbelieving.

"Why did you get off at Shinjuku, Fujiwara-san? I hadn't even replied to your message."

"I had no idea. I just had a feeling you'd be here."

"You're that kind of person, huh? Always listen to your gut."

"You can say that's intuitive or just dumb. Who knows, really."

Haru laughed. He sensed the same inexplicable pull before. Fujiwara had mentioned wanting to talk, following him to Odaiba. As Haru got closer to Shinjuku Station, a strong urge had pushed him to get off, leaving the confused and completely furious Chie behind.

"I've been feeling the same way, honestly. I guess we've become telepathic."

Fujiwara nodded. "Now that you're here, I must apologize for suddenly turning down your offer to Odaiba. I had a lot on my mind last night. I was rude."

"Don't fuss about it. What matters is that we're here now."

"I just feel guilty. You've been very kind, always bringing me food." He bowed deeply. "Please forgive me."

Haru nodded, thinking their meeting was miraculously lucky. Even in today's world, it turns out there's still a bunch of stuff that doesn't make sense, like meeting someone you're looking for in a crowded Shinjuku without a prior arrangement.

"Would you still like to stick around here?" Haru asked.

"I'm feeling a bit chilly. I think heading home is a better idea," Fujiwara replied.

"Here, take my jacket," Haru suggested.

"It's okay, let's just head straight to the station."

"But you'll catch a cold," Haru insisted.

As Haru draped his jacket over Fujiwara's shoulders, a sudden growl emanated from his stomach, surprising both of them. Fujiwara burst into laughter.

"Dinner first," Fujiwara suggested.

"Here's the thing: it was drizzling in Odaiba, and I left my wallet in Chie's bag to keep it dry. I forgot to grab it when I got off at Shinjuku."

Fujiwara's eyes widened in surprise.

"It was a silly mistake," Haru confessed. "I apologize."

Fujiwara chuckled. "It's not that. It just sounds so... absurd."

"I'm sorry," Haru repeated with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, cut it out with the apologies. Let's grab some ramen. My treat."

"Ah, don't be like that. I feel so embarrassed."

"No need to be shy. You're always hooking me up with food. It's just ramen, seriously."

"Thanks a bunch, then." Suddenly, Haru remembered something. "Speaking of ramen, I ran into this guy near the station who invited me for a bowl. Seemed friendly enough."

"Did he offer you five thousand yen?"

"Uh, no. Just a casual invite for ramen."

Fujiwara stopped laughing. His face turned serious, and he shook Haru's shoulder. "Didn't they teach you at Yoshino not to chat with strangers? There are some weirdos around. You might end up in some shady business."

"Shady business?"

"Never heard of it, huh?" Fujiwara pointed to the road next to the LABI building in front of them. "Kabukicho is just right across the street—it's a nightlife district. And not far away is 2-Chome, a place with a bunch of gay bars."

"But I turned down the guy earlier, Fujiwara-san. No need to worry."

"Watch out next time, okay? Your Kansai accent is still super obvious. Sketchy folks can pick up on it real quick that you're not a local."

It seemed Fujiwara was genuinely concerned. Haru knew about Kabukicho, but he had no clue it was practically a stone's throw away. And he just learned about special places like 2-Chome. Reflecting on it, the encounter with the friendly uncle suddenly felt way too weird.

The sun had just completely set as they crossed the street. Thousands of colorful lights on billboards, LED screens, and buildings, casting a vibrant glow across Shinjuku—from the tops of the tallest skyscrapers to the narrow alleys between shops and restaurants. In an blink of an eye, the place came alive.

Haru was amazed. "I've only seen views like this on TV!"

Fujiwara also gazed at the thousands of twinkling lights. "Pretty, isn't it?"

They both fell into a moment of silence, captivated by the breathtaking sight. Haru regretted that his phone had run out of battery because he wanted to capture the scene in photos. The folks back in Yoshino wouldn't believe there were this many lights in just one area.

Fujiwara guided him down one of the streets where several flashy-looking restaurants lined up. Many displayed their menus on the front door, some even in English or French.

"Fujiwara-san, it looks like only high-end restaurants are here."

"Right, but we're not going to places like that," replied the neighbor. "The tasty stuff is actually in the shops at Omoide Yokocho!"

Omoide Yokocho means Memory Lane. "What?"

Fujiwara extended his hand. "Never been there, huh? Perfect timing, then." He grinned mischievously. "No need to worry. It's not a spot where creepy uncles hang out!"

...

Omoide Yokocho was a narrow alley concealed amidst the rows of shops next to the train bridge near the station. It was only a short distance from the LABI building, just a few meters away. Unaware visitors could easily pass by if they didn't spot the green sign at the entrance proclaiming "Omoide Yokocho."

Stepping inside the alley felt like entering a different world. The path was exceedingly narrow, only about one and a half meters wide. Dozens of izakaya were tightly packed, with tiny wooden multi-storey buildings. Haru suddenly understood why it was dubbed "Memory Lane". The buildings and vibes in Omoide Yokocho evoked a slice of Tokyo from the past. It was astonishing to find, amidst the high-rise buildings, massive billboards, and sophisticated LED screens of Shinjuku, a place untouched by the relentless march of time.

Despite the nostalgic atmosphere, it was just as bustling as the more modern parts of Shinjuku on the other side. The clinking of cooking utensils, the laughter and chatter of visitors, and the calls of shop owners blended into a harmonious symphony. Hungry-looking tourists roamed about, men exchanged jokes while raising glasses of beer, and women and young girls in front of stalls chattered lively in Cantonese. This place felt like a miniature Tokyo, yet more intimate and warm, as if everyone already knew each other.

Smoke gracefully rose from every shop, creating a kind of mystical silver mist. The enticing aroma of yakitori, ramen, yakisoba, curry, and grilled offal hung in the air. The prices listed on the menu boards in front of the shops were surprisingly affordable.

Fujiwara briskly navigated the narrow alley, seeming to know every turn by heart. Since Haru hadn't brought any money, he simply followed along the neighbor, who earlier expressed proposed for ramen—an option Haru gladly embraced. The cold night made a bowl of ramen sounded appealing.

They stopped at a shop with a large banner simply written "ramen" in katakana. Five chairs lined the cook's table, two occupied by a mother and child who seemed satisfied, judging by their continuous burps.

"What about this place?" Fujiwara suggested, pointing at the menu photos on the table.

"It looks good."

"What do you want to order?"

"The same as you."

"Just because I'm treating you? That's annoying," Fujiwara pulled him closer to the menu. "Look, there's tonkotsu ramen. For toppings, how about using kamakobo? And the gyoza looks delicious too! I think you should try them."

Haru studied Fujiwara's expression and felt a sense of joy. Tonight, the neighbor seemed different. Like Shinjuku that only comes alive after nightfall, Fujiwara also became more "lively." He passionately explained the menu, as if Haru were a tourist experiencing ramen for the first time. Haru simply agreed to everything he suggested, too glad to be spending the evening with him—a sentiment he couldn't quite put into words.

"Mother," the girl sitting with her mother whispered rather loudly, and glanced sharply. "Look. Those guys... they're holding hands."

Haru didn't realize that Fujiwara was already holding his hand. He quickly pulled it.

Fujiwara gasped. "Something's wrong?"

"Sorry. My hands are sweaty."

The mother's brows furrowed in disapproval. She motioned for her daughter to stand up, and the cook thanked them. As the two women passed by to leave, the mother said, "You never know, Sayaka. Boys these days are full of surprises. Be careful."

Those words stung Haru like a hot iron.

"Why?" Yuki poked him. He invited Haru to sit down. "You look upset."

"It's nothing."

"Your face is very expressive, you know."

"Chie also said that," Haru gave up and immediately looked down, his ears hot. "She said my face was like a traffic light. You could read it clearly. That was... the mother and child who had just left. They..."

Fujiwara approached, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"They said the ramen was delicious and they were so full they can't finish the meals," Haru lied, quickly putting on a smile. How could he ruin Yuki's sparkling mood tonight?

Fujiwara looked at Haru's face closely. Haru wondered if he knew he was lying.

"Well, I hope the chef heard that. It's good to be able to speak up like that."

"I guess." A pang of guilt struck Haru. "But not everybody wants to hear your opinion."

"Opinion is different than truth," Fujiwara said. He poured me a cup of tea. The cook was busy making our order. "In this world, many people live by lies. Able to be true to yourself is very good."

Fujiwara wrapped his palms around the cup, as if trying to absorb its heat.

"What about you, Fujiwara-san? Have you tried being yourself?"

His jaw tightened. From the side like this, his facial profile is very good, like a model. "I tried," he said. He took a small sip of the tea. "But often it is the world that cannot accept our true selves, so we are forced to pretend."

Those words sounded sad.

"In front of me, Fujiwara-san doesn't need to pretend," Haru said earnestly. "You're a very kind and generous person. I appreciate you for who you are."

Fujiwara turned to Haru, looking surprised and relieved.

"I'm not good at pretending myself. That's why Chie can always guess what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling. It drives me crazy sometimes, but like you said, it could be something good," Haru continued. "I think that's what makes my friendship with Chie lasting. When she's having trouble, Chie can be very annoying. She never filter her words, but I like that. Not that I'm comparing, but I think honesty makes this life lighter."

Fujiwara's eyes widened. He didn't say anything, but Haru knew exactly what he wanted to express. The light in his eyes spoke: clear and loud.

Their ramen arrived. If Fujiwara had looked at Haru for a few seconds longer, he definitely wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. The feeling had filled him until he almost suffocated. Haru said bon appétit and immediately dug into the ramen.

"HAAAH! HOT!"

His tongue was burning. Fujiwara laughed. Even though his tongue stung, and his face was hot from embarrassment, Haru was happy to hear the sound of Fujiwara's laughter.

...

They exited the ramen stall, satisfied and warmed by the meal. Haru figured he wouldn't be able to eat anything else until tomorrow morning. He couldn't handle much food by nature. He had promised to pay back today's treat, but Fujiwara grew annoyed. The neighbor advised him to stop apologizing so often, saying that he'd prefer gratitude over apologies.

As the night progressed, Omoide Yokocho became livelier. People emerged from both directions, as if born from the darkness of the night. Collisions with fellow visitors were inevitable. Haru instinctively reached out his hand multiple times to grasp Fujiwara, fearing to lose sight of him. Fujiwara also extended his arm back towards Haru. When their skin almost touched, he quickly withdrew his hand.

He loved their walk tonight. Unlike Chie, who liked to decide for herself, Fujiwara always asked his opinion: what he thought, felt and wanted. Although uncomfortable at first, Haru got used to it over time. In his view, Fujiwara was quick to respond to other people's needs, somewhat remind him to the caring Nishii-san.

Fujiwara wanted to get something for Nishii-san, so they turned to a snack shop to buy some sakura mochi. In front of a bar, Haru accidentally bumped into a man. The guy staggered and fell, appearing drunk.

Haru helped him stand up. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Sorry?" The man hiccupped. " You knocked me down, you bastard!"

"I didn't mean to," Haru said. "I apologize."

Fujiwara glanced at him, signalling him to stop talking and just help the man to stand.

The man stood feebly. All of sudden, he pressed his fist against Haru's chest. "You rude young man! Learn some manners! You struck me until I fell! It hurts, you know!"

"Are you injured, Sir?" Fujiwara asked politely.

"I wasn't talking to you!" The man glared at Fujiwara fiercely. "Who are you? Why are you wearing all black? You just came from the funeral?"

Fujiwara didn't answer.

"Oi, Jinbe!" the drunk man shouted.

Two other men came out of the bar. One was covered with tattoos, and the other one dyed his hair blonde.

The blonde pointed at them with his nose then snorted. "Is there a problem here?"