Takamatsu Tomori has her coping mechanisms.

She is perfectly aware of “the way that she is”. To the untrained eye, she may come off as guileless, even completely oblivious. But she really does know, in her own way.

And it is precisely because she knows that she has stitched her life together with these band-aids, sutures and patches, with an arsenal of little habits and tricks. She uses them like so much putty and glue, to fit herself into all the little gaps and crevices of the world which she was born too strange and crooked for.

She could not tell you how many of them there are. She lost count years ago.

She knows that some of them are what you call ‘healthy’, and some of them tend to make people pretty upset with her. She still remembers the stern, yet kind voice her mother took on when she found out Tomori had chewed clean through the sleeves of her brand-new purple cardigan.

That was eight years ago, now. She still can’t help herself, every now and again, but she at least tries to put her teeth somewhere less conspicuous.

But regardless of how healthy they are, of how often she relies on them, or of how small or grand they may be, they are all like dear old friends to her; a safe place she can always run to.

And this is one of her favorites.

She uses it every time she starts losing her grasp, whenever that familiar, dreadful tingling comes on at the tips of her fingers; when she starts to feel convinced that the universe itself is going to break open the paper-thin layer that is her self and finally swallow her whole.

No matter how bad it gets, it always helps her clear her mind.

She learned it when she was ten years old.

Actually, it’s one of the few she didn’t pick up by pure trial and error. It was taught to her, by this older lady with dyed-blonde hair they called a ‘counselor’, whom she and her parents would meet at a house in a quiet street in Itabashi every two weeks.

(She doesn’t remember when she stopped seeing her, or why. It makes her kind of sad to think about.)

But to the point, it goes like this:

Take a deep breath. Then look around. One by one, without rushing through it, name five different things that you can see. Anything goes.

Once you have, close your eyes. They’ve done their job. Now name four things you can feel.

The fabric on your shirt grazing your skin. The gentle touch of the wind as it blows. The little bumps on a concrete wall against your fingertips.

Then name three things you can hear. A car driving by, maybe. A birdsong. The rustling of leaves.

Now take another breath, through your nose, and name two things you can smell. Strong or subtle, fragrant or noisome; as long as you can name them.

Finally, name one thing you can taste. It could be the lunch you had an hour ago, still lingering on your tongue, or a breath mint you’ve just popped into your mouth.

And voilá. It never fails.

As she recalls, the counselor called it something like a “grounding technique.” But Tomori doesn’t need a name for it. It’s plenty familiar already.

It happened on a quiet Tuesday evening in the RiNG café. Anon and Soyo were off in a table by themselves. Taki was behind the counter, washing up and getting ready for the end of her shift; Tomori was sitting across from her.

Raana suddenly stepped in from the hallway, a vacant expression on her face. But not the usual kind of vacant. Something was… off.

“My guitar,” she said, plainly. Taki perked up, followed by Tomori and the others. “I can’t find it.”

Taki answered first, hardly even thinking through her words. “You sure you even brought it?”

“I did. Left it in the studio and went to the bathroom. Now it’s gone.”

The room fell silent.

Tears began to well up at the corners of Raana’s eyes.

Her face scrunched up into something nearly unrecognizable, and she clutched the hem of her shirt hard enough to tear it apart even further.

“Hey. Uh, Raana,” Taki said, thoughtfully avoiding the usual epithet. She rounded the counter and tried to give Raana some kind of one-handed half-hug. “You don’t need to get like that. We’ll talk to Ririko. There’s no way someone would have—”

“Shut up.” Raana nearly shouted, and shoved Taki away with her elbow.

“…Sorry.”

Raana dropped to the floor, and slid herself below the counter’s overhang. She pulled her knees up to her chest, hid her face, and began to sob quietly.

She was shivering. The unshakable stray cat had all at once fallen to pieces.

Taki scratched the back of her head. “Crap… okay, we can’t just leave her like this.”

“Maybe you can make her a matcha parfait?” Anon stood up and walked over. She clearly had not fully processed the gravity of the situation. The second she heard this, Raana shot her a look of genuine contempt, tears still streaming dutifully down her face.

“Um. Yikes. My bad.”

“Anon-chan. Please just shut up,” Soyo said, still sipping tea at her table.

The silence grew louder. It was punctuated every few seconds by a sob here, a sniffle there, and by one bizarre but very concerning whining noise.

Unable to bear it any longer, Tomori slid off her stool and crouched down next to Raana. She whispered to her as quietly as she could manage.

“Raana-chan.”

Raana looked at her, suspiciously, with one eye.

“C-can you do something for me?”

And so it went: name five things you can see, Tomori told her. Raana stayed quiet for a moment, but finally, she complied. Rikki, she said. A houseplant. A red car parked outside. A speaker mounted on the wall. Tomori.

Four things you can feel. Wet tears. The rough skin on her knees. Wood paneling against her back. The texture of Taki’s denim work pants. (Taki decided not to complain.)

Three you can hear. People talking outside the entrance; the rumbling of a dishwasher; the faint sound of a kick drum, cutting through the studio’s soundproofing.

Two you can smell. Tea, and Anon’s loud perfume.

“…O-okay. Now… tell me one thing you can taste, Raana-chan.”

Raana fell silent.

“Oh. I have some matcha candy.” Taki reached over the counter, grabbed a wrapper, and offered it to Raana; Raana eyed it for a moment, but then disregarded it completely.

Instead she grabbed Tomori’s wrist and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, gently bit down on her index finger.

Tomori was surprised. But not unpleasantly so. She thought it felt kind of nice in there, actually.

Anon and Soyo decided it would be best to pretend not to see.

Taki looked like she was having two different aneurysms at once.

“…Salty.”

Raana let go of Tomori’s finger. She looked noticeably calmer. Her hands were still shaky, but her tears had finally dried.

…Of course, the guitar was fine. The girl working cleanup had gotten the shifts wrong and put it away thinking it was a rental.

But that’s tangential.

Tomori was just happy she got to introduce her to one of her closest friends.