The white blanket on the ground appears untouched, a week's worth of snowfalls masking the footprints of schoolchildren playing here before classes let out for the holidays. The playground has been apparently deserted since.

Kaizo shuffles his feet through the snow, his sneakers soaked after burying in frozen water with each step. He shakes them off uselessly and sits down on a lonely swing, curling his freezing fingers together and digging them into his pockets.

The swing creaks as it sways back with his added weight, and he stares ahead at the playground equipment, and the field behind it, ending with the school on one side and a gently rolling hill to the other. It's hard to make out the details in the dim glow of sparse lamp posts, but the image is engraved in his memory.

Everything about this place aches with familiarity, and yet he feels like a stranger within it.

A snowshoe hare leaps by out of the corner of his eye and he turns, scanning the tiny tracks its paws leave in the snow. His eyes focus and he notices footprints have appeared in the snow, too, but in the opposite direction he came from.

He looks up to see the blond - no stranger - in a hoodie and jeans, but his feet warm and dry in heavy boots.

Ramen raises a hand, ungloved, and waves. Kaizo simply stares, quite aware of the hour of night and the desolation of the scene.

"I heard you were back in town," Ramen explains, then adds, "the innkeeper - he told everyone."

Ah, figures. Kaizo had only just checked in earlier today, and has yet to show his face in public, but news sure traveled fast here.

So he nods. "Yeah..."

"It's been a while since I last saw you," Ramen says. "Been in LA ever since you left?"

"Never came back," Kaizo admits, "till now, anyway, I guess."

"It's nice to see you again." He sits down on the swing next to Kaizo without permission, angling his body to face him.

"Did you come looking for me?" Kaizo asks, surprised.

Ramen shrugs. "What can I say? I missed you," and there's a clear lack of hesitation that's so quintessentially Ramen that Kaizo drowns in the nostalgia for a moment.

So he nods again and stares at his shoes. His hands tighten into fists, the last semblance of sensation left in them fading rapidly, and he inhales sharply at the sudden rush of cold.

Ramen raises an eyebrow as he shivers. "You never were one for the cold, but California softened you, eh?"

"I'm weak," Kaizo mutters through gritted teeth, closing in on himself to preserve body heat.

"Here," Ramen offers his hand, and Kaizo stares at it for a few moments, before extending his own.

The other wraps his numb hands in his surprisingly warm ones and presses both around his, like a panini press. It doesn't quite bring back the feeling in his fingers, but it sends an extremely pleasant rush of heat through his hands.

Kaizo pulls his hands back, awkward, but Ramen takes them again and holds them with no hint of intention of letting go, and the warmth isn't unwelcome, so Kaizo gives in.

"How did you find me, anyways?" he asks.

"I tried the hotel but they said you'd gone out, so I checked the square but no one had seen you, so we got the car and drove around till I saw someone walking towards the school alone, and it turned out to be you," Ramen explains, probably aiming to end Kaizo's relevant train of questions.

Well, he succeeded.

Kaizo sighs, dropping his arms in defeat, giving Ramen the initiative to ask his own questions.

To his mercy, the blond doesn't.

"What were you doing out here so late, anyway?"

"I just needed some fresh air to clear my head," Kaizo mumbles. "I should probably be heading back now, anyway..."

"I can give you a ride, then," Ramen offers. "You shouldn't stay out in the cold."

Kaizo is half a mind to turn down the offer, but having only just regained some trace of life in his fingertips, his limbs are threatening to abandon him if he doesn't get somewhere with a heater soon.

"Thanks," Kaizo accepts gratefully, and follows him to the car.

He almost immediately regrets it when the back door opens to reveal Ramen's old friends, none of whom Kaizo can - or wishes to - identify by name, though he knows the one at the wheel was called something with an 'M' in it.

To his further disappointment, they remember him quite well, and proceed to engage him in a conversation that he's barely got the consciousness for as the digits on the clock near 1:00.

"After how long you'd been gone, we thought you'd set your mind on outgrowing us," the dreadlocked driver says, "us" referring to the town. Because literally everyone knows everyone else here.

Kaizo bites his lip because he's not entirely wrong but he doesn't have the insensitivity of confirming his assumptions.

"Did you make it big yet?" the one on the opposite end of the seat asks curiously.

Kaizo mumbles something, then manages a more comprehensible answer out of politeness. "I guess you could say I'm getting there..."

"Did something happen?" the one in the middle asks in courteous concern.

"No," Kaizo assures them quickly, turning his head to stare out the window. "Not with my career, anyway."

He shuts up then because he doesn't want to sound like a snob. Truthfully part of his intent was to shake off his connection with this place; not to abandon his humble roots, but to escape history.

Some things just catch up to you, anyway.

That doesn't change the fact that after almost a decade away, he's practically a big city boy, and they're all still small town folk.

"LA..." the opposite window one repeats in wonder. "I wanna go there someday."

"We could come visit," Ramen pipes up for the first time since Kaizo got in the car. "If you haven't forgotten us, by the time you hit stardom."

"I would never," Kaizo promises, forcing a smile to assure the other three in the car, though he's got a feeling the blond can see through his words.

He never liked that vibe about Ramen.

The town isn't huge, either, so thankfully the inn appears in front of the windshield, and Kaizo finds himself bidding his "goodnight"s before they wrap him up in any more uncomfortable conversation.

-

The clouds clear overnight to a stunningly blue sky, blinding sunlight barely masked by the flimsy curtains of Kaizo's room.

He squints and turns over, failing to block out the light with his pillow, and gives up. A glance at the clock reads 11:00, which is neither early nor late by his standards, but it would be nice to have a few more hours of darkness after spending much of the early morning stressed sleepless.

And now the anxiety returns in full, erasing any hope of falling asleep in spite of the daylight now. His stomach twists when he gets up, appetite disappearing, so instead he reaches for his laptop and pulls open a browser window.

Synced notifications from his phone pop up on the sidebar and he ignores them, clicking the single 'X' in the corner to make the whole list disappear. He rests his head on his pillow and types in a search for "apartments in los angeles".

The first couple links are ads that he quickly scans and deems worthless, moving on to the next few unsponsored results. These websites look more promising, and he clicks in.

The prices on the first page send his heart palpitating and he hurries to the tab of filters to refine his search.

The next batch of results is less shocking but still disappointing. Kaizo scrolls through, biting his lip as he mentally lists his criteria and how realistic his chances are of finding what he's looking for. He adjusts the filters again, then again, before giving up and slamming the laptop shut.

He flops back onto bed and closes his eyes, then snaps them open to stare at the ceiling while his mind is flooded with thoughts. His memory replays a reel of recent events and he goes over the details in his head, organizing them into something he can figure out how to deal with, but soon his thoughts transition to a recap of the past day. Specifically night.

He wasn't planning on running into Ramen. Sure, he hadn't kept it off the table - it was more likely than not that their paths would cross at some point over Kaizo's winter vacation, and he hadn't really seriously considered "actively avoid Ramen at all costs" as part of his holiday to-do list.

True, it had occurred to him, perhaps more than once, that Ramen would be here. He may have dwelled on the thought a bit more than others, spent more of his brain cells on it than it probably deserved.

All the same, Ramen going out of his way to seek him just hours after his arrival was. Jarring. To say the least. It felt a bit as though when he convinced himself that he was being silly, worrying about the prospect of meeting the blond again, fate had gone out of its way to prove "no, you were right for worrying, look how he's in your way now from day 1".

Kaizo wonders if it's a sign...

Actually, no. He hasn't eaten since he got here, he's barely slept, and he's not about to get lost down a rabbit hole of silly conspiracies.

With that, he shakes his head vigorously, forcing himself to get up to go get ready and find something to eat.

-

The thing with Pates is that despite its name and small-town status, there's no real signature cuisine or charming restaurants where you can grab a bite of signature food. There's your standard McDonald's and Wendy's, not that anyone goes there except teenagers looking for part-time jobs and travellers stopping in the area for lunch.

That's not to say there aren't locally owned joints because there are, they just don't stand out as anything special because it's the same food you could get in LA or San Francisco or, heck, Monterey.

But something about it is strikingly nostalgic, and for that alone, Kaizo is simultaneously drawn to and repelled by the street of shops leading out of the square, each one smelling of fresh bread or rich pasta bake or seasoned soup.

For a moment, he's thirteen again, stumbling down the avenue after a basketball game, eager to indulge in the free meal promised for the winning team afterward. Back then it was a piece of heaven, that steaming cinnamon roll with a slightly lopsided scoop of store-bought vanilla ice cream. He's had a hundred better cinnamon rolls in LA, with perfectly drizzled icing and precisely spherical scoops of ice cream made before your very eyes, and yet it's the scent of sweet cinnamon wafting out of the bakery that has him ready to pass out.

The hunger is finally catching up to him and his empty stomach growls painfully, so he pushes open the door.

If it's one thing that's changed since the last time he entered here, for the baker and the display cases look almost preserved in time the past several years, or perhaps his eyes know exactly where to look, they've expanded their assortment of pastries.

"What is that?" Kaizo asks, not daring to believe it.

"Long time, no see," the baker's wife teases. "No hello, howdy do?"

Kaizo flushes and drops his hand but she waves him off.

"That you see there is the result of my niece's experimentation two or so years ago. You know, we pride ourselves on our fixed, reliable stock of baked goods, but when she discovered a perfect recipe for carrot donuts, we just had to add them to the collection!"

Kaizo gapes, reaching forward to stroke the display case in mid-air. "You have...carrot donuts here?"

She nods, preparing a square of wax paper to extract one from the display case, and setting it on the counter before him. He reaches for his wallet to pay, but she waves him off again.

"It's just nice to see you here again," she explains, neglecting the cost. "The way you left, we all thought you'd never come back."

Kaizo avoids answering by nibbling at his donut and staring off into space. Another customer enters the shop, then, sending a rush of cold air through the open door, and he takes that as an excuse to leave.

His exposed fingers chill immediately and he flexes them, unable to stuff them in his pockets till he's finished his donut. He speeds up, as though walking faster will prevent - or else distract him - his fingers from freezing stiff. The row of restaurants gives way to the stores, some big name fashion retailers mixed with local boutiques, souvenir shops and toy stores. He glances through the windows as he walks by, remembering the electronics store on the corner where he bought his first sound equipment.

It's been upgraded, which is a bittersweet thing to consider. He's happy for the owner, who's apparently still behind the business seeing as the signboard still bears his name. But the neon letters have been replaced with blocky ones that glow even in the bright daylight. The windows are still covered, as they were in his memory, but he feels hesitant to go in.

He ends up checking back into his hotel room and spending the rest of the day alternating between LA apartment listings and trivial apps on his phone to distract him till it's late enough to sleep again.

-

He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep till the sound of someone banging at his door wakes him up at - he checks the clock - 8pm.

He squints and straightens up, wondering who on Earth would have found his inn room and wanted to seek him at this time.

It turns out to be the innkeeper, checking to inform him that the internet will be out for the next four hours.

Kaizo thanks him for the notice and closes the door, leaning against it in exhaustion for a moment. He heads back to the bed and crashes into the sheets, face-down, his nose miraculously missing the corner of his laptop. He shoves it aside and sits up, leaning against the headboard and reaching for his phone, and turning on data.

It's about time he checked his notifications from the last 24 hours.

There's only one message from his roommate. He closes the app and swipes out the notification, opening his email. There's a few emails from producers he reached out to in the past, most of them just memos about people leaving for vacation thus unavailable for communication.

One of them is an actual response, though, and he reads through it with passive interest, then decides to close it when his mind fails to effectively process the information.

No new listings appear in Los Angeles, so he closes all his tabs and turns off data, opening his music app and taking out his earbuds. He scrolls through before picking a track, tapping it, and turning off the screen as he closes his eyes and lets the sound take him over.

-

There's a third reason people go to McDonald's.

Kaizo wakes up again from a pang of hunger, his stomach furious at his neglect. He picks up his phone and clicks it to check the time, but the screen stays black. Dead.

He untangles his earbuds out of his hair and rolls over to check the clock. 4:18. He doesn't have any food in his room, and his stomach would probably rather he go hungry than eat the dry potato chips and flat soda in his bag. The only places that are open right now are 24/7 chain restaurants that underpay their workers for overnight shifts.

McDonald's it is.

He'd forgotten to leave his sneakers over the heater, so they're still damp when he slips his feet in, and he winces. He makes a mental note to buy winter boots tomorrow, er, later today. For now, he'll make do with wet feet.

The McDonald's offers absolutely zero sentimental value, because McDonald's is the same everywhere you go. It's empty, save for the sole employee with the unfortunate burden of 4am shift, and the flickering fluorescent lights make for a depressing early morning meal.

Kaizo wordlessly eats his hash browns and swipes through his phone with the other hand, resolutely ignoring the unread message that keeps popping up in his notifications. Instead, he checks the weather forecast for today. 2°F. Cold.

He decides to order a hot chocolate instead of coffee, because he's not a struggling university student heathen who drinks coffee at 4am. He sips the warm drink while sprawled out on the comfy chair next to the fireplace, which is probably fake and doesn't actually offer any heat, but it looks nice and gives warm vibes so he lets his head hang off of the armrest and kills time playing games on his phone while it charges, connected to the outlet underneath the television.

The half-asleep cashier has been lazily sipping from a cup of black coffee, and suddenly snaps to attention, though Kaizo doesn't notice until he breaks the silence with a "You!"

Kaizo takes a moment to register that he is being referred to, in the absence of any other patrons or sentient entities in the room, and turns around, raising an eyebrow.

"You," the guy repeats. "What's your name?"

"Kaizo," he answers reluctantly, bracing himself for recognition.

The guy's eyes predictably widen and he pushes his cup aside, straightening. "You're the guy who went to LA!"

Kaizo nods, because that's his reputation here. The one who moved on from this small town to follow his musical dreams in the big city. Kaizo doesn't want to burst his bubble, or disillusion any of the impressed folks here, but the reality is a hell of a lot less glamorous.

For one, it's been years, and he's still little more than a fledgeling amateur.

Sure, he has yet to find someone who told him he's a bad singer, but he's also yet to achieve fame and recognition, and though those aren't exact benchmarks of success, they kind of are.

Looking back on it, he probably left an irreversible impact on his brother, but as much as he regrets his past, there's not much he can do now.

His thought process goes unknown to the McDonald's worker, who looks rather deflated in his silence.

"This is a charming place," Kaizo appeases. "It's nice to be back here."

"Really?"

"Mhmm," Kaizo lies, nodding.

The guy shrugs and goes back to drinking his coffee and checking his phone. Kaizo plays games till he gets bored and notices his phone is fully charged, and goes to unplug it.

The sun is rising outside now, and Kaizo pauses in front of the window just to stare at it. The sky is streaked in vibrant peach, pink, purples and blues. He steps outside just to take it in, shivering in the cold air.

If anything, he doesn't get sights like this in LA. Not without the cityline, anyway.

He stares at the sunrise till his toes freeze, reminding him that his shoes are still wet, and he hurries back to his hotel room to put them on the heater to dry.

-

He actually intended to fall asleep once his shoes were set to dry, and his body must have miraculously complied, because he wakes up at noon feeling groggy.

He mopes around for a bit, feeling miserable, and decides to finally read the message on his phone.

And it's a text wall.

He sighs and immediately clicks out, fully aware that the message was just marked as 'Read' and the sender would have been refreshing the app constantly for the past few days waiting to see the marker.

He can't bring himself to sympathize right now either.