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Tomoyo's gaze swept across the platform, counting. One, five, ten, fourteen. Fourteen people whose faces had been replaced by darkness, but still moving through the crowd like everyone else.

She turned back to Kuroko, mouth already forming the question. Do you see them too?

But how would that even sound? Hey Kuroko, do you notice all those people whose faces have been eaten? Kuroko would think she'd lost it. Maybe she had.

"Tomo-chan?"

Tomoyo blinked. Kuroko was staring at her.

"Sorry, let's go."

The crowd pressed in around them as they walked. Another salaryman brushed past Tomoyo's shoulder, and she caught a glimpse of his face or what should have been his face.

Mom.

Tomoyo couldn't help but think of darkness trying to form words in the kitchen again. The ochazuke she'd made. Her running from it all.

"Tomo-chan, seriously, what's wrong?"

Tomoyo looked up. They'd stopped near the vending machines in the corner, away from the main flow of commuters. Kuroko had both hands on Tomoyo's shoulders, her face creased with worry.

"You've been staring at people like they're about to murder you. And you're shaking. Look." Kuroko held up Tomoyo's hand. Her fingers trembled.

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Yeah, and I'm the Prime Minister of Japan." Kuroko let go and turned to the vending machine, already fishing coins from her pocket. "Here. At least drink something."

The machine hummed as Kuroko fed the money straight in and hit a button. The can clunked down into the slot. Kuroko grabbed it and pressed it into Tomoyo's hands.

She stared at the can - black coffee, the kind that cost more than those High-Chews Kuroko hoarded.

She spent money on me.

The guilt sat in her stomach, churning. Last time she'd turned it down and let Kuroko's gesture go to waste. Not this time. This time she'd at least do this one small thing right.

Tomoyo popped the tab, lifted the can and chugged. The coffee scorched down her throat, bitter and cold. She kept drinking anyway, forcing herself to swallow gulp after gulp until it emptied.

"Better?" Kuroko asked.

Tomoyo nodded, even though nothing felt better at all.

The platform speakers crackled. A train announcement echoed through the station. The crowd shifted, gathering at the edge of the platform.

Kuroko grabbed Tomoyo's wrist. "Come on."

They pushed through the mass of bodies as passengers flooded out. Tomoyo kept her gaze locked on the ground - the scuffed concrete, the yellow safety line - anything but the faces.

They boarded with no seats left. Kuroko found a handhold near the door and Tomoyo grabbed the pole beside her, then pulled out her phone with her free hand. The screen was too bright and she kept staring anyway, anything to keep her eyes from the darkness.

It came around this time, didn't it?

She scrolled through their message history. The last text from Raika sat at the top, timestamped Monday afternoon. Three days of silence after that. Then, on the train this morning, the message - Come to the aquarium. Now. - had come.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Should she text first? To ask if Raika was ok?

Then the thought struck her.

Is Raika looping too?

She'd never considered it before. When she woke up, she was alone with the eel and the void sky. But Raika had the anglerfish…

If we're both looping, we could stay together. Forever.

The train swayed. Tomoyo gripped the pole tighter, phone screen still glowing in her other hand. Raika wouldn't need to leave. They could keep visiting the aquarium, keep watching the penguins, keep sharing ice cream from Asagiri Milk. Over and over. Just the two of them.

Why would she need to leave, then?

"Tomo-chan."

Tomoyo blinked. Kuroko was watching her again.

"It's nothing."

"Liar. It's about Raika, isn't it?"

"How-"

"I'm not your friend for nothing, Tomo-chan."

Friend.

Had Kuroko always thought of them that way? Actually thought of them as friends?

Tomoyo had assumed their relationship was surface-level at best. They took the same train, attended the same school. It was like proximity friendship, something that would dissolve the moment one of them graduated or moved away.

But Kuroko had been showing up and meeting her at the station every morning. She even apologized for that stupid rule about Raika's name last time and offered candy and coffee when she saw how concerned Tomoyo was. While Tomoyo had been what? Thinking about Raika? She'd never once asked Kuroko how her day was. Never asked about her family or what she did on weekends. She didn't even know her favorite food.

What kind of person does that make me?

"You need to get to Raika, don't you."

Kuroko said it so matter-of-factly it almost caught Tomoyo off guard.

"I-" Tomoyo's throat closed. "Are you upset?"

Kuroko tilted her head, considering. "Nah. You've got your reasons, right? I mean, if one of my friends needed me, I'd probably bail too."

Friends.

There it was again. That word said so easily.

Tomoyo's eyes burned. Her vision blurred and she blinked hard, trying to force it back, but her face crumpled anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Whoa, hey, don't be like that. Seriously, I get it. Raika needs you."

"But I- I'm sorry."

"Okay, no." Kuroko grabbed Tomoyo's shoulders and gave her a little shake. "New rule. You're banned from apologizing to me right now. Save it for Raika. She's the one you're running to, yeah?"

Tomoyo nodded.

"There we go." Kuroko grinned and dropped her hands. "Now get out of here before you start ugly crying and embarrass both of us."

The train announcement crackled overhead.

"The next station is Kita-Senju Station, Kita-Senju Station. The next station is Kita-Senju Station. The doors on the right side will open."

Tomoyo looked at Kuroko one more time. Kuroko just jerked her chin toward the doors.

Go.

And so Tomoyo went. She pushed through the crowd as the doors slid open, her bag bouncing against her hip.

I'll make it up to her.

If there was a next time. If the loop let her have a next time where Kuroko existed and wasn't just another face consumed by darkness.