*Thunk.*
 
Rin brought her head to rest against the glass of the fishtank with a noticeable thud, jerking Hisao out of his reverie.
 
“Hey, you aren't supposed to knock on the glass, Rin. Didn't you see the signs?”
 
She was silent for a moment before responding, never once moving from her new position. “I did. But I'm not knocking on the glass. I'm resting my head there. I wouldn't want to disturb the fish, so I didn't knock.” She turned slightly so her ear was pressed into the glass, and fixed Hisao with a quizzical glance. “I wouldn't like it very much if fish knocked on my window at Yamaku. Why would I do that to them?”
 
She turned back without even waiting for a response – not that one was forthcoming. He was used to her logic, and hadn't expected his admonishment to warrant a reply at all. They stood at a corner of the aquarium that wasn't particularly popular with the crowds, populated exclusively with octopuses and local saltwater fish as it was. But it was where Rin had wanted to be, and so they were there.
 
It made for a lonely area, secluded as it was from the hustle and bustle of the crowds by a combination of pillars, exhibits, and walls. The silence settled around them like a blanket, wrapping them in it's folds and deadening the world outside of the two of them. The silence was omnipresent, but never oppressive. There was more to be said in nothing than one might think, and the two teenagers were a master of this language.
 
They might have stood that way forever, lost in each of their thoughts, and in each other's thoughts, if a particularly inquisitive octopus came up to the glass in front of Rin, arms waving in the slight current. Its momentary curiosity about the voyeurs fleeing, it turned and swam off.
 
“Do you think they ever ask what it's like?”
 
Her voice caught Hisao off-guard, and he started slightly. “Does who ever ask what what's like?”
 
“The fish. Do you think they ever ask?” She waggled a stump half-heartedly, eyes still fixed on the waters in front of her. “The octopi. Do they ever ask them what it's like to have arms?”
 
He thought about it for a moment, but finally shook his head. “I don't think so. How would they ask?”
 
“They speak fish, of course. That's easy, Hisao.”
 
Her comment was rewarded with a warm chuckle. “Of course, I hadn't thought of that. But, how would the octopuses explain it, then?” His mood sobered quickly, as he realized where the question had been leading. “How would anyone explain that?”
 
He looked down – first at the floor, and then at his hands. Turning his palms up, he studied the lines in them carefully, trying to commit them to memory. Turning them over, his eyes glanced over every hair on their backs, over every freckle and callus, every imperfection of the skin.
 
Satisfied with his investigation – or perhaps unsatisfied, but incapable of the level of dissection he craved; he wasn't sure – he fluttered his fingers and clenched them into a fist, feeling the tendons and muscles contract all the way up his forearm.
 
He looked up at Rin, and was met by her returning his gaze. So consumed with his own thoughts, he hadn't even noticed her turning to watch him, her eyes taking in every action. Deep green pools, he allowed himself to be lost in them as he had been in his own hands.
 
“They can't.” Her voice cracked slightly – as if she hadn't swallowed, or even breathed for several minutes.
 
She turned her head away from Hisao, and back into the tank, following a school of tuna with her eyes.
 
“I wonder if the fish have ever tried to paint. Maybe they could dip their fins in the paint.”
 
She shook her head, answering her own question before Hisao could even register it as such.
 
“No, where would you put a mural underwater? It would wash away.”
 
Rin turned away from the tank, her eyes oddly misty, and walked slowly over to Hisao before pressing her face into his chest in a manner he had come to know as a hug. He granted her request, and enfolded her in his arms.
 
They stood like that for several moments, just long enough for the blanket of silence to approach, before Rin broke it again. “I think I'm done looking at fish today, Hisao. I thought I might be one, but I don't think fish can paint.”
 
Her brow furrowed and she stepped out of his grasp, looking down at her feet. Wiggling each toe experimentally, she looked back up at him with a frown. “If I couldn't paint, I don't know what I would be. Maybe a fish.”
 
Shaking the cobwebs of thought out of her head, she caught Hisao's gaze yet again and smiled sadly. “Maybe I'd be a fish. But I can paint, so I'm Rin. And I would like to go home, Hisao. Can we go home?”