They arrive at a plaza hemmed in on three sides by sleek tall buildings, Christmas lights arcing overhead. The atmosphere is relaxed and European, except for the sussurrating crowd waiting in line for the escalator leading down to the level below. Taichi, Chihaya, and Arata join the mass, and are down in the heated sub-plaza faster than Taichi expected, where they join another, larger line. Soft Christmas jingles in English emanate from the speakers above.

Taichi gives Chihaya and Arata their presents while the second line is inching forward, a gilt-edged karuta deck for Chihaya and the new Class A recordings for Arata, and Chihaya presents him with leopard-patterned earmuffs that put Taichi in mind of a wilder Suo. He’s not sure how he feels about that, but he thanks her anyway. At least it isn’t one of Chitose’s magazines.

They reach the front, pay their five hundred yen apiece, push open the doors, and all three of them gasp at the display outside. Warm lights outlining bare oak trees in twinkling gold, blue and green forming a glimmering sea on the ground, bedecked Christmas trees pulsing in time to seasonal Western tunes.

“It’s magical, isn’t it?” Chihaya says, clutching Arata’s arm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Arata says, sounding awestruck.

Even though he’s seen this before — and so has Chihaya, for that matter, he remembers her bragging about it in middle school — the fizz of delight under his skin is new. Chihaya finds something to exclaim about every few seconds, and Arata is looking every which way like a wonderstruck child. Taichi walks between them sedately, observing the two of them as much as he’s watching the illumination.

Halfway through, Chihaya catches his hand in an act as natural as the wind flowing, which prompts Taichi to fumble for Arata’s beside him, careful to not look at the taller man. Arata makes a funny noise in his throat before returning the grip firmly.

When they’re finished, it’s too late to go see any of the other illumination displays, so they take the train to an even glitzier part of town, where the streets are crammed with people out on Christmas night. The three of them get fried chicken in wax paper pockets from a stall outside a convenience store and eat standing, trying not to let the greasy juice drip down their fingers.

Chihaya knows a lounge, or rather she knows her sister knows one, and she drags Arata and Taichi down a set of narrow stairs and into a small dim space lit by neon strips, the speakers playing jazz in spite of the season. They eschew the sole table with its reflective black surface and sit down at the bar, where the corduroy-vested bartender is happy to serve them nonalcoholic drinks after Chihaya blurts out that they’re all under twenty.

The bartender is chatty, the conversation flows, and Taichi has a good time. Then Arata realizes aloud that he’s missed his last connection home, staring at the time display on his phone. Taichi puts his face in his hands and admits that he has, too.

He can still go to his parents’ house instead of his Todai apartment, but the one thing he doesn’t feel like doing is facing his mother tomorrow morning. He’ll have to get a hotel here, or something.

“You can both come home with me,” Chihaya says uncertainly. “I’m sure Mom won’t mind, if I explain.”

Arata and Taichi look at each other.

“The karaoke place up top has cheap rooms after midnight,” the bartender interjects. “Not the first time a customer has taken advantage of it.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” Chihaya says at once. “Ryoko-chan and her group used to do karaoke until morning in high school, remember, Taichi? Mom would never let me stay out all night then, but I’ve always wanted to do it!”

“Your mom still won’t,” Taichi tells her.

“You can still catch your train home,” Arata says at the same time.

Chihaya’s eyes glimmer. “Don’t worry about my mother, or the train. Come on, let’s go.”

There’s no arguing with Chihaya in this mood, so Taichi and Arata follow her from the sultry bar to a sultry six-seater karaoke box. They spread out on the benches, and then Chihaya’s browsing the electronic catalog and pushing it in front of Arata’s face at the same time, asking him what songs are his favorite, and Arata’s being charmingly embarrassed about it.

Taichi spreads his arms along the bench, leans back, and looks up. His mother wouldn’t approve of what he’s doing now. Even going to a bar on a school night would be cause for a lecture, never mind spending the whole night in a karaoke box. He has an early class tomorrow too, and it’s going to be hell.

But he wants to be here, in this dimly lit room with its cheap cushioned benches, with Chihaya and Arata debating songs beside him. This is where he belongs, with them.

Then Chihaya and Arata start singing, and Taichi changes his mind. Awful intonation doesn’t stop them from belting out pop songs and enkas, and Taichi takes over the microphone on the third enka because his ears hurt. Both of them applaud after, though, and Taichi mock-bows — perhaps his childhood voice lessons have come in handy after all.

“Chihaya, is this your song?” Arata asks as the umpteenth number comes on screen, a pop song from the nineties. “…Chihaya?”

She’s fallen asleep against him, her mouth open and her hair falling into it. Arata and Taichi keep singing until Arata’s eyes close and the microphone slips from his hands, and then it’s just Taichi with his microphone, leaning into Arata’s bony warmth. Taichi’s careful not to move after Arata’s head settles onto his.

The ends of the pieces blur into the beginnings, and it becomes one long song whose lyrics he doesn’t remember seeing before, though they make perfect sense. And it becomes a karuta reading, a new kind of karuta, that has different poems and notes changing on every mora…

- - -

A steady brrrrng brrrrng invades Taichi’s dreams, something hard shifts below his cheek, and then Arata’s voice vibrates through Taichi. Scratchy with sleep, it says, “Understood. We’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

Taichi opens gummy eyes to the same karaoke room as before — the screen has gone black — and peels his cheek from Arata’s shoulder, just as Arata yawns mightily. Chihaya slides down to the seat when Arata moves.

She doesn’t wake no matter how they shout at or shake her, and they have to carry her out between them. She rouses a little before they get to the front desk, and stumbles on her own two feet to the desk to pay her thousand yen. Outside, it’s colder than it was last night, the lighted signs dead against the gray morning sky.

“So… tired…” Chihaya murmurs, flopping against Taichi.

“You were the one who wanted to go to karaoke,” Taichi says ruthlessly. “You could be in your bed right now.”

Chihaya mutters something discontented in reply.

“Chihaya,” says Arata, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder, which is curled into Taichi’s coat, “Thank you. And you too, Taichi. The lights… the bar… the singing… it was wonderful.”

“Did you hear that?” Taichi asks an insensate Chihaya. “Your plan was a success.”

She revives so fast it scares Taichi. “I’m glad!” she says happily, this time falling against Arata to hug him tightly. “We ought to do it again!”

“It’s fun to do something that isn’t karuta once in a while, isn’t it?” says Arata, and Taichi can’t believe his ears.

He draws in a breath to say something, but his tongue stills at the sight in front of him. Chihaya’s twined adoringly around Arata, and he’s smiling down at her, both of them softly disheveled, the picture of a happy couple. A pair lost in their own world, needing nothing and no one else.

Then Arata says, “Taichi!” and Chihaya says, “Hurry up!” and they both turn expectantly to him.