Miharu raised his hand into the air, reaching. Reaching for someone… Somewhere…

"Who are you…?" he murmured to that person. The air was quiet. The night was dark. The stars were absent in the sky. "Who are you?" he pressed. He had to know. His hand was stretching forward; he needed to reach this person.

But who was this person…?

"Please," Miharu begged. "Please, I need to know you. I need to know who you are…" You haunt my dreams. You haunt my mind. In everything I see you. But… I don't know who you are.

"Yoite, please!" He sat up like a bullet, breathing hard. Yoite. He put a hands to his face, trying to ease his mind. Trying to clear it. He had to connect the pieces. He had to find out what was on the other side of the thread. Yoite. Your name is Yoite.

Miharu groaned, frustrated. Nothing else was coming to him. Just a name. All he could remember was a name. But in that name was an unending fondness. It curved into his heart, and raced through his mind. But there was also overwhelming sadness. His heart sunk. Tears trailed down his cold skin.

He brought his legs up to his chest. Yoite. The name held so much pain.

Just then, the door opened and Yukimi came in. He stopped short at the sight of Miharu. "Oh…hey." He took his shoes off and put his bag down by the door. "Did Amatatsu let you in?"

Miharu looked up at Yukimi and watched him sit down in his computer chair.

Yukimi tried again, "Are you okay? You look…upset."

Miharu hesitated, tracing the ground with his finger. "Does the name… Yoite mean anything to you…?"

Yukimi's eyes widened and his mouth hung open slightly. "It's him…"

"Yes. It's him."

Yukimi sat forward in his chair, "Did you remember anything else?"

Miharu stared into nothingness, retreating back into his head. Yoite, where have you gone? Why did I erase you?

Yukimi sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "Don't go too far into that head of yours, Miharu. We don't want to lose you…"

Lose me, Miharu thought. I am already lost. Yoite was a large piece of Miharu, this Miharu already knew. That piece of him was gone, and he had no idea how to get it back. Where could he go? Yoite was gone. Yoite was just a name. No more than that. These feelings that welled up inside of him threatened to choke him. It grabbed ahold of Miharu's throat and tightened, becoming painful.

Miharu welcomed the pain. He wanted to feel the pain. He deserved it. This person was special to him, and he made this person disappear.

"I want to remember," Miharu choked through the tears. "I want to remember him."

Yukimi's eyes dimmed and he looked at the ground, unsure of what to say. He wanted to remember this person, as well. It hurt him, just like it hurt Miharu, to not be able to remember this person. He ached inside. This boy had been special. Now this boy was gone.

Yukimi stood up and opened a cabinet. After a few minutes, he picked up two cups and brought one over to Miharu. "Here, kid." He placed the cup in front of Miharu, who glanced down at it without heart. There was a lemon floating on the top of the liquid.

"What is this?" Miharu muttered tonelessly.

"Oh, um, lemon cider." Yukimi rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "Do you not like it? We have cocoa."

"No." Miharu grabbed it with both hands. "No, I like it. It's…nice." He looked down into the cup, drawn into its warmth.

He pulled the scarf that he wore tightly around his neck. The smell of it was comforting. "Sometimes…I feel like I can hear him," Miharu murmured into his cup. "I can feel his presence. If only…I knew where he was."

Yukimi took a deep sip from his cup, thinking of the boy who they could not remember. Yoite. Yukimi had always liked the name Yoite…

If you're out there, Yukimi thought, I hope that you know you are one important person. To all of us. Hell, we can't even remember you and you have such an impact on us. I hope that, wherever you are, you can feel that.

"Yoite…" Miharu breathed, laying down on the rug and staring outside with those sad eyes.

The night was dark and the wind was cool. It swallowed up the outside world without any trace of why.