Shifting to make room for Haruka on the fountain's rim, Michiru allows herself a tiny frown. One hand drifts to her bento box as if she means to place it back onto her lap, but she doesn't move. Not immediately. Not until that frown creases her brow, then eases slightly.

"I don't mind eating alone," she offers, finally, opening her box - the quintessential perfect Japanese boxed lunch is nestled within, save perhaps wieners cut into octopus shapes (and that's less Michiru being too classy for octopus-shaped food and more Michiru not caring for wieners). "It's peaceful here, and relaxing.

"But pleasant company is welcome," she adds, so as not to hurry Haruka away. If Haruka had intended to eat lunch with her and arrived in a bad mood, Michiru has a few guesses what might cause such a phenomenon. They're horribly self-centered, however. She can barely bring herself to believe they might be true. She mustn't.

She's only hedging her bets to keep Haruka from being troubled on her account. That's almost as unforgivable as her self-centeredness.