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It had been a pleasant night, all things considered.
Momo often caught herself reminiscing on times like this. When she and her friends gather at the Ayase household; an unspoken fact that it's their ‘base’, as Kinta liked to put it, and she thinks back to what might as well have been a different lifetime. When it was just her, her grandma, and the strain in their relationship that soured the atmosphere between them. She wonders how that Momo is faring up—the one who had minded her business and never approached that occult nerd who turned her life upside down.
That Momo's life is probably calmer. Easier. It must be nice walking to school without a yokai or creepy alien lurking in every corner. That Momo must've never had to fight for her life. She must've never had to face off a global alien invasion or watch her friends get hurt. Shit, that Momo probably doesn't even have that many friends.
And that's the deal breaker, isn't it?
It's worth it, she thinks, the headaches of playful arguments and not-so playful banter. Something Aira must have said that got Momo all fussed, Jiji and Vamola’s useless attempts to break them off, and Okarun's even more useless implorations for peace that go unheard under the commotion. It's worth it for the calm that comes later, when everyone has driven themselves into exhaustion and decides to spend the night because it's Friday and it's too cold, too late to leave now.
Oftentimes their nights end like this; with each of them tucked in their very own futons (kindly provided by Seiko after the third time the kids had fallen asleep on the tatami floor), two bowls of snacks shared between them, and a cheap film about aliens that Okarun criticized every five minutes.
Headaches be damned, Momo wouldn't trade this for the world. Even when the alarm clock on her bedside table tells her no sane person should be awake at this hour. She wholeheartedly agrees, despite letting her feet sink into the soft rug of her room and dragging her downstairs towards the bathroom.
She regrets her stubbornness to ride the pain out without a pill before going to bed. As if that's ever worked. It's 4a.m. now and instead of being tucked under her warm covers, Momo’s rummaging through cabinets for a box of aspirins that, by the looks of it, might not even exist.
The flaps slam shut with a bit more force than intended. Momo winces, hopes the sound didn't reach the living room where all her friends are sleeping, and debates whether a cup of warm tea is worth the effort when her bed is calling for her with open arms.
Might as well. She's already downstairs.
Momo balances on the tips of her toes while she crosses the hallway that connects the living room to the kitchen. Kinta’s snoring can be heard all the way here, and for a brief moment Momo feels bad for what the others have to endure. Maybe not so much for Aira though. A light grin pulls at her lips while she pours water in the kettle.
Once that's set to boil, she turns for her hips to rest against the counter, arms crossed and eyes fighting to stay open. It's with a heavy heart that she accepts she'll miss breakfast tomorrow. Or, well—in the morning. In approximately four hours. Whatever.
Bummer.
An amused huff slips out at that. Because it was her own thought, but it had Okarun's voice; the ridiculous, deeper one he gets when he transforms. It's fun to think he's pitching in for her while all these pins and needles are rattling inside her head. He'd totally do some shit like that, she muses, if it was physically possible. Momo moves her weight from one leg to the other, foot impatiently tapping on the floor. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and feels the skin tear a little.
He's been preoccupying her thoughts a lot lately, that boy.
Caring about Okarun came to her as naturally as breathing. It was a given. What was scary was how much it changed over time without her noticing. How it melted from that initial giddiness to talk about ghosts and aliens into something smaller, more delicate. The need to talk—to know more about him instead, what lies beyond the rock solid barrier he spent years building around himself.
It troubled her how little she had dwelled on it. Who has time for that when aliens are out to get you? Even now that she has the space to herself, her head is protesting like crazy for straining it like this. The pain shows no signs of subsiding. If anything, it feels like it's getting worse.
Her fingers tread between the knots of her bed-hair and get caught on a particularly messy one. She'll leave that to her brush. A deep sigh, and Momo grumbles at the ceiling.
Stupid Okarun.
The kettle whistles. Any musings Momo racked her head with seep out of her like the hot steam out of the basin while she pours water into a cup, and she closes her eyes as the calming scent of tea leaves dances its way around her senses. Now comes another agonizing wait while it steeps.
With her eyes properly adjusted in the dark by now, she perches against the counter once more and lets them drift across the hall and into the living room. A fond smile pulls at her lips; the sight as amusing as it is endearing. Jiji has always taken up a lot of space, so it's only natural that he has nowhere to put his legs but on top of everyone else. Kinta seems unbothered enough by it, if his steady snoring is anything to go by. Aira lies beside him, curled on her side with her back facing him and a hand outstretched towards Vamola. Fixed spots, because neither Kinta nor the alien girl would get a shut eye otherwise, and Aira wasn't having any of it.
Momo won't ever admit it, but she likes Aira for that. She likes Aira, period. And sure, at times the skank makes it difficult to do so, but hey, a challenge is what Momo likes the most.
Okarun should be resting beside Jiji on the other side of the room, so Momo has to crane her neck to steal a peek at him as the wall obscures him. She half hopes to find him latched onto Jiji's leg again, like the last time they had a sleepover and she was lucky enough to wake before everyone else to see it. Momo's heart swells at the memory, and her search grows impatient.
His futon is where it's supposed to be; nearly stuck with Jiji’s, with the comforter fluffed and crumpled, giving the impression of a body larger than his resting underneath. Okarun never took up a lot of space by nature, and that reflected on the way he slept too; curled up on his side, always in a fetal position, similarly to Aira now. Momo would rather not think of all the times she had to fight off the urge to slip behind him and pull him in her arms.
Her smile begins to fall the longer she looks. Because despite his bedding being in place, despite the crumpled covers and flattened pillow, Okarun himself is nowhere to be seen.
Huh.
She tiptoes around the living room as silently as she can manage and stands above the futon, just in case she somehow missed him in the dark, but the space is as empty as she thought it'd be. His glasses are still neatly folded beside his pillow though, so he can't have gone far.
Momo is fairly certain she would've heard footsteps down the hall if he were to have gone to the bathroom. She checks anyway, but it's exactly as she left it, with the cabinet half open from the impact and the door left ajar. She checks the kitchen too, despite being there the entire time, just in case she fell asleep with her eyes open and never noticed him walking in.
No signs of him there either.
Approaching the entrance, Momo squints while she counts the pairs of shoes left there. Okarun's are still there, which means he hasn't left.
So where the hell is he?
Her own room is out of the question. The boy hardly approached it even when given permission. He would never walk in uninvited, and there's no way he stepped anywhere near her grandma's bedroom. So that left no other possible places for him to have run off to. Momo bites the nail of her thumb while she considers her options. If he's nowhere inside the main house, then maybe…
The biting stops when her eyes fall on the front door. Her temple throbs, reminding her of the stupid headache that still won't let go and the cup of tea that's getting colder by the second. Momo wonders if her other self, the one who leads a peaceful life—the lonely one, would've reached for her jacket now. She wonders if that Momo would've stepped out at four in the morning, barefoot despite the searing cold, in search of someone dumb enough to do it first. No one comes to mind that's worth the effort over there, so the answer is probably no.
It looks even darker outside than in the house. Momo has to squint while she scans the yard. One of the street lamps near the torii gate flickers quietly. Rhythmically, every five seconds. The electric buzz is the only sound to reach her ears while the silence of the night stretches on.
That, and a faint sniffle on the opposing side.
He's hard to notice at first—he takes up so little space after all—but once spotted, he's even harder to look away from. Momo would recognize this boy anywhere, even when he's curled in on himself with his head buried in his knees. Her legs move towards the shrine before she can even think of what she plans to say.
“Okarun?”
Okarun jumps, his head snapping up to face her, and it's then that Momo's breath catches in her throat.
She remembers exactly one time where she watched the boy cry. When the space globalists attacked.
When she—
“Why are you awake?”
Momo blinks at him. Her frown deepens.
“I should be the one asking you that,” she says. “Since. You know. It's my house and all.”
Okarun bristles, and uses his arm to dry off his cheeks.
“Sorry.”
“What's wrong?”
“It's nothing. It'll pass.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she starts tapping her foot while her eyes are fixed down on him.
“You're pretty bad at this.”
He whines then, as his head drops back to his knees.
“Go back to sleep, Ayase-san. It's—I have it under control,”
“How long have you been sitting out here?”
Okarun moves just enough to peek at her. His words come out muffled.
“Not sure.”
A deep sigh, and Momo bends her knees to get to his eye level. She tilts her head while she takes the sight in; the goosebumps on his arms that currently wrap around his legs, and the t-shirt that did next to nothing to cover them. Momo takes a hand and places it on the exposed skin with zero hesitation, but jerks it away at the freezing contact.
“Dude. You're gonna die of hypothermia.”
He must've run out of answers, because nothing else comes out of his mouth. Momo slaps her knees as she straightens up again, and a hand stretches out towards him. Okarun switches glances between that and her eyes.
“You must be crazy if you think I'll go back inside alone. C'mon.”
He takes it, much to her surprise. Not immediately, and with evident hesitance, but he does. Momo pulls him to his feet with little effort, and lets her fingers tread between his own before leading them both back in the house.
His face is cast down the whole time. He doesn't even question her when they pass by the living room and head towards the stairs, nor when they slip inside her room. She pulls him towards the bed—still in the messy state she left it—and pushes him down because if she didn't, he would probably just keep hovering around the door. A satisfied smile rests on her lips at her handiwork. She dusts off her hands and plants them on her hips.
“Tea?”
Okarun looks at her for a moment as if considering it, but finally shakes his head. Momo shrugs.
“More for me. Don't sneak out again. I'll be right back.”
Dashing towards the kitchen with featherlight steps, Momo finds that by some miracle her tea hasn't turned into an ice cube yet. She holds onto whatever warmth was wrapped around the cup like it's a small heater. Okarun's freezing hands come to mind at that, and Momo decides to pour a cup for him as well out of simple courtesy.
A breath she didn't know she was holding slips out of her when she returns to her room and the boy is still there. With both of her hands full Momo pushes the door shut using her hip, and wordlessly hands Okarun the warmer cup before plopping beside him on the bed. He doesn't question that either.
“So.” She starts, then takes a small sip. “Talk.”
Okarun glances at her from the corner of his eye once before his attention settles on the tea in his hands. They're still puffy, Momo notices—his eyes. Puffy and bloodshot. It must have been one hell of a cry. Her heart clenches at the image, but it's probably too soon to offer comfort. Okarun still seems too skittish for it.
“I'm… Not sure what you want me to say.”
“How about you start from the reason you went all the way to the shrine for—” Her lips stretch into a thin line while she gestures vaguely at him. “This.”
Silence. Okarun doesn't move, save for his thumb. That one's tracing the lip of his cup.
“Did something happen? To your family? Is everyone okay?” she pushes, and he does seem to react to that. He still doesn't turn to face her properly, though. Only through nervous glances.
“N-no. Nothing of the sort. Everyone's fine.”
That topic has never been one Okarun was thrilled to talk about, so Momo lets it go without poking further. “Then what?”
He starts chewing on his bottom lip, and Momo doesn't miss why. It started wavering.
“... You're going to laugh at me if I tell you.”
She scoffs. “ You're putting words in my mouth.”
If Momo's being honest, it's a little hurtful that the boy's so certain she'd make fun of him about anything when he's most definitely been crying for hours. Really, Okarun is no different than a cockpit. Press the wrong button at the wrong time, and something will explode. Most likely him. She'd rather not risk that now. Not at nearly five in the morning, and especially not when she has her own, literal headache to worry about.
Okarun shrinks slightly at the accusation. She might've sounded a bit harsher than intended. A gentle elbow on his arm, and when he turns to her vague direction she offers him a reassuring smile.
“It's my job to listen, y'know. As your best friend.” It stung a little to say that, but it can't be helped. Not right now. “You can talk to me.”
Without really looking at the action itself, Okarun places the cup on the nightstand beside him, and lets his arms wrap around himself in a self-sustaining hug. Whether he was simply cold or wanted to comfort himself, Momo couldn't say.
“I had… a bad dream.”
It's her turn to put her cup down. On the floor, in her case, because the table's too far.
“Yeah?”
“It felt real. I mean. It technically was. In a way.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
His thumbs trace circles on his arms, the same movements as with the cup. Her need to hold him grows tenfold, but she waits still. Okarun takes a deep breath and lets out a long exhale; shaky, like his bottom lip.
“It was about—about those aliens. The globalists.”
Momo grips at her knees. She has a feeling about where this is going, but decides to keep quiet.
“I still… think about it sometimes, I guess. Like. One moment everything's fine, and the next I—” He smiles a broken smile. The one that muscles can't control when tears threaten to spill. His own grip tightens around himself. “I think I feel my heart sink.”
“What happened there?” she whispers. “In your dream?”
Okarun swallows hard. This might be the roughest part.
“It—it played out the same. At the start. Everyone's fighting. I join you, I catch you, and we run.” One hand snakes towards his face, muscle memory of adjusting his glasses when he's too anxious. He finds nothing to touch now, and his fingers twitch at the empty air. “But then—” And those words sound heavy, like someone is pressing down on his chest with the intent to break through. “But then you pull that stunt you did. And it—it doesn't work. It didn't work. And you—
“I seriously don't know what I'd do with myself if you—” His voice cracks at that; a pitiful sound, yet nothing short of a punch to Momo's gut. She decides she has waited enough, so she lets her hand snake across Okarun's back before placing it on his arm. She pulls him closer slowly, until his head rests heavily on her shoulder. It's all she can do to remind him she's still here.
“Just. Don't do that again. Please,”
“I won't.”
That's probably a lie, but if it's what Okarun wants to hear right now, Momo's willing to pretend.
For a few minutes there's quiet, save the occasional sniffle. It doesn't seem that Okarun has any tears left to shed, except one single drop that rolls down his cheek and leaves a damp spot on his pants. Momo applies a little more pressure where her hand is, no plans of letting go anytime soon. It's nice, holding him like this. Comforting. Comfortable.
It would be even nicer if Okarun wasn't as good as a human sized popsicle.
“Still not sure why I found you outside the shrine.”
The boy jolts ever so slightly. Momo can see the tip of his nose gain the faintest bit of color from above him.
“A-ah... Well... I woke up crying and I—panicked, I guess. I didn't want to wake anyone up, so…”
And how awfully stupid that was. How awfully Okarun. Because of course. Of course he doesn't want anyone to worry. He's always been so afraid of becoming an inconvenience, always so quick to remove himself at the mere prospect of it. A sharp pain presses at Momo's temple again. She shakes Okarun lightly.
“You're such a dumbass.”
He shrugs at that. Good. At least he doesn't deny it.
The silence is lulling. Okarun's presence certainly helps too. Momo doesn't realize she's pulling both of them back until her back meets the soft mattress and her arm gets trapped under Okarun's body.
“I don't like this,” His eyes are stuck to the ceiling when he suddenly speaks, frowning at it like it personally wronged him. “I kind of hate it, honestly. It makes me feel selfish. Or entitled?”
“What is?”
“... It's not exactly easy to say,”
“I think we're past that point, dude.”
He bites his lip again, now chapped enough to draw blood.
“I can't… tell what I'm more afraid of. Between something happening to you, and me losing you, I—It’s like I care more about how that would affect me. Like I'm not sure if I want you to be safe for your sake or mine. And that's—” His head turns to the side, blocking all the minimal view she had on him. “... Wrong. It's not who I want to be. But I can't help it, and I hate that.”
Momo hums thoughtfully. This admission was… expected, if she's being honest. She rolls to her side, as much as her arm below Okarun's back would allow, and she pokes him on the stomach.
“Guess we're both in trouble then.”
He does look at her at that. “Eh?”
“I don't think you realize how much more reckless than me you are. Makes me want to beat you up sometimes.”
“... Sorry?”
Her finger presses harder into his stomach, and Okarun yelps.
“Yeah, you better be, you dimwit.”
The pain inside her head has slowed into a duller throb, she realizes then. It's more tolerable. She could totally pass out right then and there, with the boy halfway in her arms, and it would possibly be the best sleep of her life. Through heavy lids, she glances at her alarm clock’s general direction and feels a second wave of drowsiness wash over her. They definitely won't be up until noon.
“Ayase-san, um…” His voice sounds soft and distant, despite the close proximity. It's like a lullaby in and of itself. “Thank you. And for the tea, too. I'm sorry it kind of went to waste…”
“Go to sleep, Okarun.”
“Right. Yeah. Um...”
A small pause, and Momo messily throws her blanket over both of them before he can move. This position is by no means comfortable, but at this point Momo would sleep like a baby even on the floor.
“No bad dreams while ‘m here. I'll show ‘em.”
Her lids have long given out, but she still feels Okarun's body twist to face her properly. She still feels his eyes on her. A smile lies in his tone.
“... Good night, Ayase-san.”