A half hour before midnight, Michi and the boys left the shrine, piling out the door onto the veranda in a clamoring mass. Yusuke and Kuwabara hollered and raced for the steps, their energy boundless despite the hour, and though they weren't as fast, Asato and Yana sprinted in their wake. Kaito followed more sedately, pausing long enough to dip a bow to Genkai before strolling down the path, hands tucked deep in his pockets.

Michi lingered a moment longer still, flanked by Kurama on her right, Hiei a near featureless shadow at the foot of the steps. "You'll tell us if Taki's condition destabilizes?" she asked Genkai.

Tonight had been a start, a first step in fixing Taki's Loom, but he wasn't whole yet. A few hours hadn't been enough time. But the hope was that he'd hold until next weekend, when she could finish stitching him back together—reminding his Loom of who he was.

Genkai scoffed. "Asking dumb questions will waste precious time if you want to catch that train."

"But you'll tell us," Michi said again, ignoring the woman's sardonic tone, "if he worsens?"

"Yes, Kuroki. I'll keep you informed."

Right. Good.

For now, that assurance would have to do. In five days' time, she'd be back here. Then she could take care of the rest.

"Night, then," Michi said after a beat, nearly stripped wordless by the rampant anticipation in her chest. Soon she'd have her friend back, and after Taki, the other twenty-three transplants waited, too. Never in her life had she hoped for a week to pass so quickly—and yet, by the same token, she couldn't help hoping it would never pass at all.

After all, she'd made a promise to Runa, and come Friday, the two weeks she'd bought herself were up. The deadline to come clean was rapidly approaching, and she meant to keep the promise she'd sworn, even if nothing in the world had ever terrified her more.

Runa deserved that much.

The distant cousin of a smile crooked Genkai's lips. "Go, you three. If you're not careful, the dimwit will beat you to the station, offend the conductor, and trap you on foot while the train leaves with you in its dust."

No further prodding was needed to urge Kurama and Hiei into motion, and yet Michi stayed rooted in place, gaze roving out across the lawn, past the dying coals glowing like pinpricks in the transplants' slumbering encampment, and on to the skeletal trees beyond, their trunks lit gray in the moonlight. Somewhere out there, she'd changed, become someone new and different and yet still entirely Michi—and thanks to that change, she could save Taki and all the others.

What a miraculous thing.

Her chest alight with that unbelievable wonder, she granted a final, wordless wave to Genkai and gave chase to Kurama and Hiei. Ahead, Yusuke's laughter pealed up the steps, booming and thunderous and full of heart as electric as his Loom. Its warmth settled alongside the sparking joy in her ribs as she drew even with Kurama and slipped her fingers through his.

His threads shifting to silken blues, he glanced sidelong at her. In the starlight, his eyes were hunter green, dark and full of a promise that set Michi's toes curling. "Not tired?"

"Apparently three-hour naps extend a girl's bedtime," she said, smiling even as a blush burned in her cheeks. "Who'd have known? Only time will tell if it'll be enough to get me back to Mushiyori."

Kurama chuckled. "Can I entice you to wager on it?"

"Nope. Not a chance." She'd be asleep the moment the train's swaying motion kicked in, and they both knew it.

In the shadows at the edge of the path, Hiei scoffed softly. "None of this would matter if we weren't bound to your ridiculous transportation. I could be back in your city in an hour."

Again, Kurama laughed, the sound lovely as a tolling bell, his Loom flushing with cobalt as blue as the shadows painted across the steps. "Surely you've grown accustomed to trains by now, Hiei? We've been riding them nearly daily for weeks."

Hiei scowled into the darkness as if it hid his mortal enemy. "Familiarity does not necessitate fondness, fox."

"True," Michi said, but added teasingly, "Trains are so perfectly normal, though. Don't you want to be normal, Hiei?"

The sneer he shot her way was so completely composed of scorn and contempt and downright disgust that it was all Michi could do not to double over laughing. "Both of you are insufferable," he snapped, then quickened his pace, leaping down the steps in a blur of flouncy, offended black.

"So," Michi said, drawing out the syllable wryly, "Hiei isn't a fan of normal, then?"

Kurama dipped his head, shoulders shaking in barely contained amusement. "Considering he may have just excommunicated us from his already rather limited list of friends, I'd say not."

She pitched her voice in a whisper she knew would carry, summoning her most aghast tone. "Are you telling me Hiei has friends?"

Fifty steps below, Hiei whirled, cloak snapping in the wind. His hand fell to his katana's revealed hilt, but despite the threat, amused blues ran like an undercurrent through his Loom, visible even at such a distance. "Morons," he called at them, true anger absent from his tone.

Yusuke broke up from the cluster of boys waiting at the road and loped back to Hiei's side. "Not nearly enough oomph, short stuff. This is what you're looking for." Grinning like the punk he was, Yusuke flung both middle fingers to the sky.

This time, Michi really did burst into laughter hard enough that she nearly tumbled down the steps. Only her hand interwoven with Kurama's kept her steady. Wiping tears from her eyes, she leaned into him. "You know," she murmured, her whisper truly meant for privacy this time, "it's hard to imagine a time when I didn't realize all of you were as close as you are. Sometimes, I try to think about Hiei in the context that I used to know him, all haughty and aggressive and strangely otherworldly, and then I try to match him with who I know him to be now, still all those same things… but also, not so otherworldly after all."

"Deceptively complex, isn't he?"

Michi's thoughts flashed back to the night Hiei had walked her home, after they'd first formulated their plan to combat Chikuma. The grief he'd felt over Ryota's death had been as real and fresh as her own. She didn't let herself think about how much worse it must've been for him, to return to whatever place he called home and clean a friend's blood from his sword.

Yet he'd never faltered. Never fell down. Never gave up.

Deceptively complex was one way to put it. Or maybe he was just a messy, intricate, utterly perfect person, muddling through best he could—just like everyone else.

"Yeah," she said after a quiet, peaceful moment. "Even if he'd like to pretend he isn't."

They reached the last step and joined up with the others, hurrying down the road to the train station. No more than twenty yards on, Yusuke broke into a jog, shouting something about getting their tickets before the office closed. Without skipping a beat, Kuwabara followed.

"Don't even get me started on Yusuke," Michi continued as shadows swallowed the man in question up, rendering him nothing but echoing footsteps lost in the darkness. "When you introduced me to him, and I saw the Ties That Bind between you, I was dumbfounded. Then to discover him in Taki's apartment, shouting at me about being the ex-Spirit Detective? I don't know how I didn't realize what you were, though considering how thoroughly I underestimated who he was, even then, maybe it's not that surprising."

"And you like who you've discovered him to be?"

Michi laughed. "If there's a person in the world who wouldn't like Yusuke, I don't want to meet them."

More quiet. Comfortable. Easy.

Up ahead, Yana and Kaito were debating something that must be music related. Kaito would happily debate the color of the sky if it gave him a chance to flaunt his wit, but there was little else in the world that could rile Yana as thoroughly as a music discussion. Asato walked between them, fingertips buried in his back pockets, head tipped back to the stars. Daydreaming? Reveling? Thanking some Spirit World deity for seeing them through? Either which way, the sight of him brought a smile to her lips.

Her stubborn bull of a cousin. The hero who had saved her when no one else in her life had known how.

One of her dearest friends.

A gentle squeeze of her fingers brought her attention back to Kurama. "You mentioned normalcy," he said, gaze flicking to her only a moment before darting back to the road. "Is that what you want? To be normal?"

She turned the words over in her head, testing answers on her tongue. "Is 'moderately normal' an acceptable response?"

His eyes back slanted to her, a brow rising in silent askance for further clarification.

Again, she spoke with deliberate slowness, testing each thought before she voiced it aloud. "Moderately normal. The type of girl who rides home on trains. Who aces her exams and finally settles on a major. Who hangs out with her friends on weeknights and shops too long without buying anything at all on weekends. The type of girl who goes on dates with her boyfriend." She bumped her elbow to his, carrying on as if her cheeks weren't scorched with heat. "A girl who sleeps in her apartment without being scared. Or sleeps in her boyfriend's because she wants to—and, oh, how she wants to—but not because it's the only place she's safe."

He had to clear his throat before he could summon words. "I think those are perfectly acceptable things to want."

Her teeth snagged her lip. "Glad to here it. But I wasn't done."

"Oh?"

"Everything I just described… that's all just regular normal, isn't it?"

"In theory."

She ignored the teasing note in his answer, knowing he was prepping for some joke about delving into human experiences beyond his realm of knowledge. Instead, without giving him a chance for further interjection, she added, "Regular normal isn't what I want."

Breathing in a gulp of fresh, lovely midnight air, she unfurled her territory, and all around her, the world came to life. Her friends' Looms clarified, brightening into lovely shades of aquamarine and cobalt, lavender and teal. The thinner threads of the wind and the trees curled like gossamer strings, strung through with the simple colors of sleeping animals hidden among the branches.

Sensing her territory, Asato twisted around, linking his hands behind his head and watching her with a lazy, lopsided grin on his lips. She answered with a smile of her own, and a moment later, he'd turned right way around, flinging his arms around Yana and Kaito and putting an end to their musical debate.

"Moderately normal is more my speed, I'd say. You know, the type of girl whose friends who carry around swords and shoot magic from their fingers. A girl with a job at a halfway house transitioning demons. And with a boyfriend who definitely undersold the variety of his ears."

A choked laugh interrupted her, and she paused long enough for Kurama to gather himself and shake off the lime surprise zinging through his Loom. "Come again?"

"For one thing, you gave me no reason to picture silver."

"I didn't realize you were picturing anything."

Now it was her turn for startled laughter. "You're kidding, right? You think you can tell someone you have 'varieties' of ears and they won't imagine what that looks like." Slipping her hand free of his, she ticked off her fingers as she said, "I didn't expect silver. Or a tail. Or gold eyes. Or for you to grow taller. How in the world does that work, by the way? Do your bones lengthen? Wouldn't that be horrifically painful—"

He snagged her hand again, quieting her questions with a press of his warm lips atop her knuckles. "This form does not physically become that one. I don't shift between them in the sense you're thinking. It's a change driven by my demon energy, not a change in physical matter."

"Right. Got it."

"Do you really?" he asked, not in disbelief so much as in pleased surprise.

She shook her head. "Not even a little bit." He deflated a degree, and she quickly added, "But I don't need to. Not yet. You'll have plenty of time to teach me."

She didn't say it again then—those words she'd offered him as a goodbye if it had all gone sideways today—but she felt them, tucked inside her chest, squeezed against her heart. In turn, she saw them in his Loom—lush indigo spread amongst swathes of affectionate lavender and heady imperial purple—and she buzzed with the steady rightness of those shades.

Kurama kept hold of her hand all the way to the station, and she bid goodbye to Asato, Yana, and Kaito with the other, watching as they trekked back to the shrine and the demons who were their charges. Kurama's thumb still stroked across her knuckles while they found their seats, and in fact, it was only as the train churned into motion and she tucked herself against him that his hand finally slid free of hers.

In no time at all, she drew her legs up onto the cushions and slipped down sideways, resting her head in his lap and spreading into the empty third seat of their row. As her eyes closed, long fingers tangled in her hair, rubbing soothing circles into her scalp, and she fell asleep with his name on her lips, those three words not far behind.

Soon.

She'd say them again soon.

Monday passed in a sleep deprived haze, but Michi clung to her wits in the lecture she shared with Runa and while walked off campus together. Despite the strangeness of Michi's behavior over the last week, Runa didn't pry, but when Kurama appeared amongst the sea of students and professionals swarming Nako Square, Runa snagged Michi's hand.

"Everything's okay?" she asked first, and then, as soon as Michi started to nod, followed up with, "Dinner this Friday?"

Runa left off the implied so-you-can-explain-what-the-heck-is-going-on, but the words rang loud between them anyway. Navy determination and emerald curiosity sparkled like jewels in Runa's Loom, and Michi pressed her lips together in a rueful smile.

Knowing that conversation was on the horizon and actually setting a time for it were surprisingly different beasts.

But not even the knot in her stomach could keep Michi from agreeing. "You bet. I hope you're ready for a Tell All event for the ages. No paparazzi please."

Kurama reached them then, glancing between from Michi's wavering smile to Runa's arched eyebrow with polite—feigned—curiosity in his eyes. He must've already guessed what had turned Runa so serious; after all, Michi had told him just that morning, over bleary-eyed breakfast, what she'd promised Runa.

Her next suggestion had actually been his. "You okay with doing dinner in? At my place?"

Now, Runa's other brow joined the first, shooting straight to her hairline, but quickly the lime in her Loom gave way to a deepening mix of emerald and pleased aqua. "That serious about the paparazzi, huh?"

Michi bit her lip, knowing better than to try for a smile that would fail her.

The humor smoothed from Runa's features, cobalt giving way to coral in her Loom. "Yeah, Kuroki. Your place it is."

"Great. And I promise, I won't be the one cooking."

Runa snorted, a grin catching her lips again. "Well, thank fuck for that."

That night, Michi re-packed the suitcase she'd lugged to Kurama's the morning after Chikuma had confronted her in Mushiyori. Thanks to the drawer Kurama had cleared in his dresser and the hangers he'd insisted she lay claim to, it wasn't as full now as it had been then. Nonetheless, fitting together its contents felt like a jigsaw puzzle for the ages.

From a spot on his bed, legs crisscrossed in front of him, Kurama watched with an impossible to decipher expression as she zipped the last pouch of her bag and rolled it to the door. His Loom—flush with blues in a myriad of shades—gave her no clues to his temperament.

He'd gotten too good at Genkai's old trick.

Back to the door, she planted her hands on her hips. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

She tried to roll her eyes, but she suspected her glower missed the mark. It was darn near impossible to glare with his attention focused on her the way it was now—admiring in more ways than one.

Which was rather ridiculous, all things considered.

The night before, they'd arrived home so late she hadn't even managed a shower before collapsing into his bed and giving in to sleep. Come morning, she'd snoozed her alarm so many times she'd barely had time to apply eyeliner and mascara. There certainly hadn't been a chance to hide the shadows beneath her eyes, and she looked no better now, with a day of harried classes and fervent excuses to professors under her belt.

And yet, there Kurama sat. Observing her like she rivaled some exhibit in a fine art museum—and maybe, also, an exhibit meant for a place not nearly so decent.

Giving up on intimidation, she joined him atop the bed, mimicking his cross-legged pose, her kneecaps kissing his. "It's highly unfair that you're so good at that look."

"I'm afraid I remain unaware of what look—"

She thwapped him with a discarded pillow before he could continue, and his eyes popped wide as a spark of lime green zagged across his Loom. "I'm not falling for it. The ship sailed on you being this obtuse half a year ago. You know precisely what you're doing."

"Which is what, exactly?"

He'd run her in this circle all night—she knew he would. And she knew why he would, too.

Hugging his pillow to her chest, she propped her chin atop it. "You want me to stay over, and you're trying to lure me in. And I will stay. Soon. Promise. Just not tonight."

That assurance didn't prove enough to dull his coy intentions. Flirtatious lilac hedged into his threads. "I seem to remember talk of wanting to stay in a boyfriend's apartment without fear as a driving factor. Why not begin now?"

"I did! Yesterday." Leaning forward, she tapped a finger to his temple. "Have you been concussed? Your memory is failing you."

He turned his head into her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "You're no more obtuse than I am. You know yesterday didn't count for anything. Through no fault of yours, you were asleep before Yusuke even finished sieging the bathroom."

Fireworks popped in her chest as he lips brushed across his palm again, and she fought to keep her words straight. "Fair. But I promise I'll stay over soon. Better yet, you could come to my place. It's just… the thought of my own bed right now? You can't really ask me to turn that down, can you?"

"I can, and I have, and I would again," he said, a resigned smile cracking his mask at last, "but I know when to accept the answer I'm given."

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to break eye contact as his kisses drifted downward, brushing the heel of her hand and then the delicate underside of her wrist. "Maybe you could come over tomorrow? We could have dinner, and I could clear you a drawer, and we wouldn't have to worry about—"

The door flung open, whipping into her suitcase and sending it tumbling.

"—interruptions," Michi finished.

Cobalt amusement rippled through Kurama's Loom, though it did little to dampen the plum hewn deep in his threads.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Yusuke said, then paused, muttering under his breath, "Or lovefoxes? Nah. That's dumb." He thrust a finger toward them. "Up, Weaver! Get your ass on the couch. If you think you can just scamper out of here without a tournament to decide the best brawler, you're sorely mistaken. If there isn't a controller in your hands in the next five minutes, I don't care if you weave me into knots, I'll still kick your butt. You, too, foxboy. Let's move."

Michi clambered to her feet about as gracefully as a newborn foal, still buzzing from her fingers to the tips of her toes, Kurama's careful kisses burning like brands on her hand. "Since when are you calling me Weaver?"

Yusuke grinned like a wicked imp. "Look, if a name fits, I gotta use it."

"Meanwhile, the best you can manage for me is 'foxboy?'" Kurama asked dryly, getting to his feet in Michi's wake.

"If you want me to go with 'lovefox,' I can. That's the best I can offer." Matching his mischievous grin, Yusuke's threads buzzed with electric teal and crisp cobalt, and he took off, thundering down the hall, shouting, "Kuwabara, you better have that shit ready. It's ass kicking time for Yusuke Urameshi."

"As in, your ass is getting kicked? Because Michi's going to— Ow! Damn it, Urameshi!"

Ignoring the commotion in the living room, Michi turned back to Kurama. "So tomorrow? My place?"

His fingers slipped into her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear and trailing down her cheek. The plum in his Loom promised he'd much rather join her tonight, but he nodded, lavender affection swirling up to overtake the darker shades of purple. "Sure, Michi. Tomorrow it is."

Kurama met Michi at the edge of campus on Tuesday in a gray windbreaker with a black cashmere sweater beneath. It was a sweater she knew well—dating all the way back to the night they'd spent together in Mushiyori's botanical gardens. Back then, she hadn't known what hid beneath, the planes of hard muscle and healed scars that revealed Kurama's true talents, but she'd been just as awed by it then as she was now.

Truly, it wasn't fair how he could be so effortlessly handsome in something so inordinately casual.

Waving to Runa, they descended into the subway tunnels, but rather than riding the short trip to her apartment, they hopped aboard the train heading the opposite way—out to Sarayashiki, and the ramen stand that waited them there.

Everyone else had arrived by the time Michi and Kurama emerged from the subway. They were five feet out when Keiko leapt from her stool to wrap Michi in a crushing hug. Michi reciprocated, arms threading around Keiko's waist, laughing as Keiko squeezed for dear life. Then she was passed to Yukina for a lighter—chillier—embrace. Shizuru was next, the older girl slinging an arm around Michi's shoulders and toasting her with an imaginary beer.

Grinning like a wicked thing, Yusuke served up a batch of steaming gyoza, and Michi grabbed disposable chopsticks, slotting onto the seat between Yukina and Keiko, hip to hip with the other girls. Leaning across the ramen cart's counter, Kuwabara speared a dumpling and stuffed it in his mouth in a single bite, heedless of manners in all respects.

With easy grace, Kurama took up residence beside Hiei, his head angling toward the shorter demon as he asked about the transplants who'd been returned home in the last few days. Michi lost track of Hiei's answer, too caught up in laughter at Kuwabara as he choked on his hastily chewed gyoza.

Looms in every shade of blue bloomed around her, an ocean of happiness and amusement and steady companionship that drowned out all else on that tiny side street in Sarayashiki. Before them, the night stretched long, full of peace well-earned.

More work waited on the horizon. More Looms to mend. More transplants to resituate in homes across the country. But right then—in that moment amongst her newfound family—Michi didn't care about what lay along the next fork in the road. All that mattered was the booming bark of Yusuke's laughter, the press of Keiko's shoulder to hers, and the fireworks that sparked in her chest each time her gaze caught Kurama's in passing.

Six years ago, she never would've imagined this night, this family, this choice to embrace her territory and all that meant. Even just six months ago, she'd been woefully lost, swimming against a current as strong and vicious as a riptide, clinging to every breath she managed to gulp into her lungs.

Now, here she sat.

And she knew, as surely as if she could see it writ across the Loom of Life, that this was right.

This was how her life was supposed to be.

More than that, it was the life she wanted.

Maybe forever. Maybe just for right now. It didn't matter. Either way, it was perfect, sitting there in the halo of the streetlights, laughing with friends who'd tangled themselves deep in the nooks of her soul.

It was right.

And it was hers.

Moonlight painted the streets in silver as Michi and Kurama wound their way home.

She laced her fingers laced through his and leaned into him, sleepy with the sort of contentedness born from a night of good company and too much laughter. "Thank you," she murmured into the quiet.

"For?"

She lifted their hands, gesturing back the way they'd come. "Bringing them into my life."

His chuckle brought her back to the day so many months ago when he'd first called her to move their first date. Through the phone, that ringing note had been enough to give her shivers. In person, even having heard it so very many times, it still set her nerves on fire.

"I suspect," he said, "you'd have met them all with or without me. Chikuma would've seen to that. For that matter, even had we not ridden the same train last fall, we may very well have crossed paths come winter."

"Because of the halfway house?"

He nodded.

"Meaning what? That this was destined? That we were destined?"

Curious contemplation suffused his Loom in familiar green, the shade somehow brighter when backlit by moonlight. After careful consideration, he voiced his conclusion, speaking with deft purpose. "I can't say I believe in the notion of destiny, but perhaps there are pieces of the Loom of Life none of us understand—that we aren't meant to understand. What I do know, Michi, is that I'm glad you rode that train with me in the fall."

They reached her stoop, but he didn't climb immediately, and she turned, peering up at him in the golden light. His free hand rose to her cheek, his thumb skimming along her jawline.

"More than that," he said with fervent surety, "I'm thankful we met as we did. Not because I wouldn't have chosen you had I known of your territory, but because I fear you might have chosen me." She shook her head, words rising on her tongue, but his thumb darted to her lips, keeping them still as he finished, "Selfish of me, I know. But it's the truth. And you deserve to know it."

Pinpricks stung in her eyes, and she blinked them away, kissing the calloused pad of his thumb. "You're wrong, Kurama."

For once, he truly was. More so than he could possibly know, and her heart ached to think he might not realize that.

Now he was the one who looked to protest, but she stopped him, rising onto her toes and stealing a kiss before he could speak. In his moment of breathless surprise that followed, she said, "Yes, I adored Shuichi—but I love you. As Kurama. More than I ever could've loved you as Shuichi. There are so many pieces of me you'd never have understood if you were only the man I'd thought Shuichi to be. And if you're right, if we would've met without the train, I would've been drawn to you, just as I was then, whether I'd known what you were or not."

Another kiss quieted her, though this time, she wasn't sure who'd stolen it.

Had it been him, his Loom shining with impossible indigo? Or had it been her, her chest fit to burst with the aching certainty of her words and her need for him to understand them?

Against his lips, she whispered, "I would always be drawn to you."

A third kiss lasted only seconds before the indecency of it pulled them apart, their shared respect for proper time and place driving them up the steps and inside, then up more stairs and fumbling past her door. But as soon as the latch clicked home, he caught her again, one hand at the small of her back, the other tracing along her jaw.

Her world shrank down to him, to his chest pressed to hers, to his biceps beneath her hands, to his cashmere sweater bunching beneath her fingers. To the firm warmth of his lips and preternatural grace of his movements. To glimpses of his emerald gaze as they drifted through her apartment, heading to her room and what waited them there.

All the while, she felt it—the knowledge that she hadn't said all there was to say, that she hadn't strung together the proper words quite yet.

But she would.

Hours later, they lay side by side in the dark.

His Loom granted the room its only light. The faded plum of sated desire. The luminous aquamarine of contentment. The lively teal of happiness. All in his signature hues, pale and ephemeral.

And lastly, bright and entirely pure—indigo.

Always these days—indigo.

She said it then, those words she'd said once already but so desperately needed to say again.

"I love you, Kurama."

For a breath, silence lingered. The quiet instilled in her no fear, no terror that he might not reciprocate. With his Loom painted above her like a galaxy, she knew no rejection lay ahead.

He was simply marveling. Reveling in that precious, simple moment.

When his answer came, it rode a wave of indigo.

News of Chikuma's fate arrived on Wednesday.

It was Asato who called Michi. She was between classes, sitting on a bench at the edge of campus, getting ahead on readings in the spare moment before her next lecture. On the second ring, she dug her phone from her bag and picked up, keeping her place in the book with one finger as she flipped the cover closed.

Asato wasted no time on small talk. Just cut straight to it.

"They let Chikuma choose."

Michi's finger slipped from between the pages. "What does that mean?"

"Spirit World decided to offer her two options. Return here without her powers and help you weave our transplants back together, which… well, I'm not even sure that is an option, considering how you described stitching Taki up. But that's not really the point. She didn't choose it, so the particulars are irrelevant."

Michi hardly dared breathe. "What… what did she choose?"

"Option two. A year of solitude in Spirit World. Spent entirely alone, as nothing but a spirit without a home. After that, eternity with Toshiki."

Death.

Chikuma had chosen death.

"They've already seen to her grave," Asato said, a hitch in his voice. "Apparently, she stipulated that as a condition. A plot next to her son's."

"And they did it just like that? In what? Mere hours?"

"Guess so. She didn't have any family left, right? Just a dead son and a dissolved marriage. Probably not hard for Spirit World to pull strings at a graveyard."

Maybe. Michi didn't know.

Those weren't the logistics that settled beneath her skin, awkward and disconcerting.

Was it that easy? To be alive one moment, then dead and buried the next? So fast? So finite and concrete?

She didn't remember saying goodbye to Asato, but she recalled the question she asked before she hung up—the address she requested. For long minutes after, she hesitated, her phone in her hand, the homescreen staring up at her, its clock ticking toward her next class.

Then she stood, packed her bag, and walked off campus.

Her route took her to the subway, following the line to Mushiyori's outskirts. Through a district with a seamstress's shop gone out of business and reopened as a hair salon, ownership entirely changed. Past a condemned factory where a young boy had died of mysterious causes. Out to a cemetery.

She didn't know where the Nakasawas' plots lay, but a force she couldn't name drew her on, and she followed its will, numb to the forlorn beauty around her. The gravestones stretched in neat rows, some adorned with flowers, others with wreaths. But most were empty. Unattended.

Forgotten.

Maybe it was the Loom that stopped her. Or maybe it was merely luck. But when the exhausting weight of Asato's news at last hit her in full, she drew to a halt before a pair of twin markers, their slate gray faces carved with names Michi knew well.

Toshiki Nakasawa.

Chikuma Nakasawa.

No epitaph graced either stone. No flowers. No wreaths.

Heedless of the fresh churned dirt, Michi sank to her knees before them. Two lives snuffed out too early—one by accident, one by choice. Both gone, regardless.

There she remained for hours, kneeling in the loose loam, silent and unmoving until her phone buzzed. Runa, probably, and though Michi didn't answer, she rose stiffly, stepping back from the graves. These lives were not hers to honor, not hers to mourn. But she'd had to see them—had to witness this choice of Chikuma's. This final act of her life.

Now she'd done that, and as wordless as she'd come, she turned to go, knowing she'd never return here. That perhaps no one would ever come back to this simple, barren site. But she knew, too, that Chikuma had known that. She'd chosen as much.

In truth, Michi suspected it hadn't been a choice at all.

After all, this path would take her to Toshiki.

For Chikuma, no one else was necessary.

On Friday, Kurama arrived at Michi's apartment fifteen minutes prior to the time Michi had set Runa. As promised, he'd picked up an order of udon from Yusuke so fresh and perfect that Michi's mouth watered within moments of Kurama stepping inside. Despite the roiling knot of nerves in her gut, Yusuke's cooking never failed to please.

If only baring her soul to Runa could be as simple as ordering crowd-pleasing takeout...

How simple life would be in such a world.

Too bad nothing about her territory was ever that easy.

Kurama made no move to carry on conversation as Michi prepped the living room, setting out dishes and utensils atop her coffee table, and he waited until she patted the cushion at her side to join her on the couch. Smiling bracingly, he squeezed her knee. "Can I make this easier on you? I could stay, if that—"

"No. I appreciate the offer, but no." She breathed in deep, her chest rising and falling raggedly at first, then less so with each new inhale. "This is Runa. My Runa. I can tell her. Goodness, I should've told her years ago."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Wasn't she?

"I'll keep it vague about you. About why you're both Shuichi and Kurama, but I want to tell her that you are both. Best I can, I want my side of the story to be complete." The faintest smile curled her lips at the corner. "I'm tired of hiding pieces of myself from Runa. I want it all out there."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then stood. "I trust your judgment. Tell her whatever you need to."

He was halfway to the door when the knock came. With a final breath, deep enough to fill her lungs entirely, Michi rose and followed him. He offered her one last smile as she twisted the knob. The door swung inward—and there was Runa, her head tilting in surprise as the sight of Kurama, Loom shooting through with lime.

"Didn't realize you'd be joining us," she said, no hint of hurt in her voice, her curiosity merely piqued.

"I'm not." His smile broadened, full of the charm that had pulled Michi to him all those months ago. He gestured Runa inside, then swapped places with her, shifting into the hall. "It was good to see you. The three of us will need to do dinner sometime soon. Enjoy tonight." His gaze flitted to Michi, bright as the underbelly of a leaf. "Love you."

Then he was gone, striding for the stairs.

Michi closed the door in his wake.

"Love?" Runa asked. "Already?" She mimed checking a watch. "Didn't I get the boyfriend news two weeks ago? You moving fast or…"

Laughing ruefully, Michi looped an arm through Runa's. "Impatient, huh? It's all part of the story, trust me."

"Yeah? You ready to start talking?"

In unison, they sank onto the couch, and as Runa dug into the steaming containers of udon unbidden, Michi pulled a pillow into her lap. She hugged it to her chest, studying Runa, drinking in the silken length of her ponytail, the upturn of her rounded jaw, the unworried warmth in her eyes—the familiar, wonderful shades of her Loom.

Kurama's statement from minutes before echoed in her ears.

If you're sure.

And suddenly, surprisingly, she was sure. Right then, with the moment finally upon her, the fear that had dogged her that week fell away, fading to nothingness. Truthfully, it was just as she'd said. This was Runa. Of course, she could tell Runa.

At long last, she knew who she was. But to make it real, to make it a truth that could never be taken from her, those she held most dear had to know, too. Runa. Nanako. Yurie. Each of them needed to understand, needed to see her as she saw herself.

For she was Michi Kuroki, the Weaver—and goodness, how she loved the sound of that.

THE END

AN: And so it ends, my friends.

Despite finishing this chapter a week ago, the fact that it's over hasn't really sunk in yet, I don't think. Perhaps it will once I switch this story's status to complete. I'm not sure. All I do know is that it's going to be weird not to write about Michi anymore. This is the longest story I've ever written. None of my original novels nor other fanfics have even lived in the same stratosphere as BBL in terms of length. It's a strange sensation to know it's come to a close.

That said, I'm excited to move on to other things. I've got a Shizuru/Kazuma oneshot I'll post before the end of April (as part of the Rare YYH Fanfic Contest being run on Tumblr). After that, I'll be returning to my YusukeOC fic 'The Unknown Grounds.' For those of you not reading that yet, the first ten chapters are up already!

Before I can start back on TUG in earnest, though, I need to crank out revisions for one of my novels. My agent has been waiting months already, and it's truly time I get focused. To that end, I'm thinking I'll start up regular posts of TUG again sometime in June (with the first Friday of July as the absolute latest the chapter will go up). I adore TUG, and I've yet to leave a fanfic unfinished, so trust me when I say I'll be returning to it. I've just come to understand that I'm much more productive when focused on one project rather than splitting my creativity between multiple.

I hope to see many of you there for TUG! But regardless of if I do or not, thank you endlessly for reading 'Blinded By Light.' This story was a joy—in no small part thanks to all of you. Since I won't be able to post a thanks to every reviewer in the next chapter, I hope you all know how much I love having the chance to write for you. (And I'm going to do my best to respond to all the reviewers for this chapter, because you deserve to personally know how much you mean to me! Though if you don't a want response, feel free to let me know not to write back.)

Big heaps of adoration to those of you who reviewed last week. Thanks for bringing this story over 500 reviews! Love to you all: MissIdeophobia, Laina Inverse, Kado-Kattsune, o-dragon, Kasumi Uchiha, Sidako, xxhikagexx, Starsxwonder, Shell1331, and roseeyes.

And that's a wrap.

(I think it finally just set in.

Bye, Meech. Love you, girly.)