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"Are you sure you want to do this?" Satoru glanced over from where he was sitting in the passenger seat of Kenya's car. Kenya's face was angled determinedly forward in a charade of nonchalance. Satoru suspected that if their gazes were to meet, he would see the worry reflected in those coffee brown eyes."Yes," he said, leaving no room for doubt in his tone. "I'm ready.""Okay," Kenya responded with a nod. "I'll wait for you here. If you need out, don't hesitate to leave. I know he can be..." Kenya hesitated. "...hard to talk to."Satoru looked at him softly. His closest friend, his most trusted ally; always loyal. He felt a warmth blossom in his chest. "Thanks, Kenya.""You don't need to thank me. We're friends."Satoru smiled, opening the passenger door and stepping out. The air chilled his face, and he saw his breath puff out in little clouds of fog. Shivering, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk towards the building. The structure was an ashy gray; the roof was covered in snow. From where he was standing, he could make out the text adorning the entrance. Hokkaido Prefecture Prison.Pushing the doors open, Satoru approached the front desk. "Hello," he began, "I’m here to see Yashiro Gaku?"---The guard opened the door. In front of Satoru was a row of glass windows, each with their own seat and telephone. People sat in the booths. An elderly woman, her hand tightly clutching the desk, spoke sadly and slowly to a younger inmate. Another person was talking animatedly about the latest episode of some series, hands waving wildly in the air. But the person to catch Satoru’s attention was an inmate sitting quietly at a booth. His hair had lengthened since the last time he’d seen him, and streaks of gray shot through the once jet black strands. He was staring at the clock on the far wall, a frown poisoning his features. He looked toward the door, and caught Satoru’s eyes. A wild smile cracked across his face, and he waved.Satoru walked over to the stool and took a seat. Grabbing the telephone attached to the wall, he held it to his ear."Satoru!" Yashiro’s voice crackled through the speaker. "It’s good to see you!"When Satoru didn’t respond, he continued. "I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to actually come. You didn’t even respond to my letters! Of course, I’m delighted you came, but why now? It’s been years !""Yashiro-sen—Yashiro. I came to tell you to stop sending me letters." Yashiro froze for a split second, something dark and unreadable swimming in his eyes. He seemed to mentally shake himself, then his smile returned. "I thought we understood each other, Satoru," he purred. "I’m the only one who will ever truly understand you. You need me.""Maybe once," Satoru admitted. "You know, I always thought of you as a sort of father figure.""Hmm?" Yashiro looked pleasantly surprised. "Did you now?"Satoru looked down at his hands, intertwined in his lap. "Yeah, I did. I trusted you wholeheartedly. I would've done anything you'd have asked." He looked up, steel in his gaze, and took a breath. Slowly in, slowly out. "And then you tried to murder me."He kept his gaze steady on Yashiro's face. The smile was gradually slipping, and an anger and sadness grew to replace it. "You spoke of us filling the voids in each other. I think...I think I fill the void in you. But I don't want you to fill the void in me. I have so many other people who care about me, who I can trust to do whatever they can to make me happy. They fill that void now, and there isn't any room for you left."Yashiro was quiet for a second. He didn't move, except for the faint trembling of his hands, still grasping the telephone. "Satoru," he said, hurt in his tone. "You don't really want this. Your friends, your family—they will never really get you. They will never know you like I do. They won't ever believe the truth of what you are.""You're wrong," Satoru affirmed. "I know what I want, and you aren't it. And my friends, my family—I love and trust them more than anyone. And it doesn't matter if they get everything about me, because you know what? I know exactly who I am." Satoru took a shaky breath, then spoke, his tone clear and strong. "I'm a friend, I'm a son. I'm a manga artist. I'm someone who can be depended on to do what's right. I'm loved. I'm a hero, to others, but also to myself."It doesn't matter if anyone truly understands what I've been through. It only matters that they understand who I am. I'm someone who doesn't need you, not anymore."Yashiro held a white knuckled grip on the telephone. "Satoru," he said, his voice shuddering. "Don't do this to me. I need you.""No," Satoru replied, standing up. "You need a therapist."With those final words, he hung up the telephone. Yashiro, expression desperate, lurched towards the glass. Satoru could make out what he was saying, but he chose to ignore it. As the prison guards pulled Yashiro back from the glass, he turned and walked out of the room.As his face hit the chilly winter air, he smiled, tears in his eyes. Without so much as a backward glance, he walked toward the car, toward people who cared; he walked toward the future. His future.