At four in the morning, she rouses and slips out of bed, making sure not to wake the girl sleeping beside her. She slips her clothes on: ripped tights under a pair of short shorts, an oversized sweater that hangs down nearly to her knees, and a long military-style hooded jacket that she picked up at a thrift store in Kabukicho. Finally she throws on her gig bag and picks up a duffel bag stuffed with her mirrorless camera and portable amplifier.

Quietly, she shuts the front door and scampers down the stairs, and she begins her long walk into the heart of Shinjuku.

She could have slept for another hour and taken the train. Usually, she does. There’s nothing she likes more in the world than sleeping in, after all. But that night, she’s in a mood to take in the air.

This late, the residential and school areas along the Kanda at the north of the ward are still and quiet, like a scene frozen in time; but as she heads further south, the city comes alive. Once she reaches its center she cuts through to the 2nd chōme. The lights grow more colorful and vibrant; more and more bars dot the streets, spilling over with lonely salarymen who’ve missed the last train, and with all manner of people advertising stranger and stranger establishments: maids, boys(?) wearing schoolgirl uniforms, muscular men wearing a butler’s uniform sans the shirt and jacket. The buildings climb up into the sky until they graze the clouds. The air fills with the din of conversation.

She stops by her usual haunt and asks the bartender for a shot of yuzu sour, without the whiskey. She downs it in a single swig and leaves a tip.

After that she finds a good spot to sit at: somewhere with decent foot traffic, but not too conspicuous and in the way; somewhere with a little bit of… street cred.

She sets up her camera on its tripod where it won’t be seen, then sits down, plugs in, and starts strumming away, with her hard shell case laying open by her side. It’s five now; the trains have started running. Soon, the morning rush will flood into the city, bringing with it men and women with aching hearts and bulging wallets. Just often enough, one of them will be particularly moved by her virtuosic playing and decide to part with an entire day’s salary just to feel something again. She knows. She’s counting on it.

Later that same day, she’ll eat the best dinner she’s had in months. She’ll spend the night with her two favorite people for the first time in god knows how long. She’ll lay in bed with her eyes closed, pretend to be asleep, and wonder just what she needs to do so she never ever has to wait that long again.

But right now, she’s on her own. She’s breathing in the din and whir of the city as it stirs awake. And she loves it.

She is more free and more unfettered than she ever thought was possible. She’s sixteen years old and earning a living doing exactly what she wants to do; she owes nothing and has no ties to anyone but to herself, and to the few people she’s chosen.

She is more grateful than she could ever put into words.

And so she doesn’t.

She knows Tomori can tell.