Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The door opened and out of it stepped the very picture of oversleep – a small woman, auburn hair askew, yawning with the sun that slipped into the second floor hallway of Kamashihiro Shrine. She slid her feet across the carpet and into a pair of pink fluffy slippers, pulled a plain sleep mask up from her eyes to her forehead, and rubbed her eyes as she shushed down the stairs, barely lifting her feet from the thick, cream pile carpet.

Momo Ayase made her way to the kitchen that was directly down the hallway to her left. She moved languidly, as though she had all the time in the world. As she crossed the cool red tile to the kettle, she flicked it on. Only then did she open her eyes to look up at the cat clock above the doorway.

11:11.

The kettle flared to life with a hum that shook the countertop and a buffet of steam as she felt around the cupboard for a mug and unfolded a little packet of dark roast Kyoto Coffee and placed it atop the mug. As she turned to the fridge, she pulled out a carton of eggs and smacked the radio that sat atop it into life. It crackled, all dull static as though winded, and then blared to life.

“-today with Miss Ayase, a spirit medium and exorcist living here in Kamishihiro City. How do you do, Miss Ayase?”

“Well, thank you. How are you?”

“It's lovely to have you here today. Am I right in thinking your job is spiritual?”

“Yes. I deal with curses, grudges, exorcisms, and rituals mostly.”

“And is it true you can 'read' people's auras?”

“Certainly.”

“Could you rea-”

The doorbell drowned out the rest of the conversation as it pinged through the hallway, all tinny metallic vibrato. Momo sighed. It was the human doorbell, but every now and then, some idiot or other got them mixed up. She straightened with a pop of her back, put the carton down on the counter, and reluctantly made her way to the front door. As she moved, she pulled the sleep mask down and around her neck, and raked her fingers through her hair, then secured it with a band from around her wrist. It was all she could do to look vaguely presentable, pyjamas notwithstanding. She squinted, focused her gaze to double-check the aura on the other side. Black. That was a curse.

As she reached the door, the shadow on the other side knocked insistently.

“Be patient! I'm coming!” she shouted through it. The shadow started as she yanked it open.

A young man stood before her in khaki shorts and a blue Hawaiian shirt, bright green Crocs finishing the ensemble. His dark hair was pulled back into a man-bun, and his five o'clock shadow was pushing the bounds of respectable scruffiness. Huh, maybe I could be dressed worse, Momo thought to herself. The man stood, a package clutched to his chest. Before he could speak, he held out the package. She took it with a grunt of thanks and began to turn.

“Wait!” the man almost shouted. He put his hands up, palms up and fingers splayed.

“Huh?”

“You're Miss Ayase, right?”

“The one and only.”

“I need your help!”

“Ain't that always the way?” She sighed and jerked her head inside, then turned and walked back through to the kitchen. The man on the doorstep hesitated a second before following her, and left his shoes at the threshold.

Back in the kitchen, Momo banged on the lid of the rice-cooker a couple of times until it opened with a puff of stale steam and poured the kettle with her other incorporeal hand. The man stood in the doorway and watched, wide-eyed. He couldn’t see the spiritual power, just floating kitchen appliances. His eyes and mouth were wide.

“Whoa!”

“Eyes back in your head.” She said, as she dished rice into a small bowl and yawned again, as she took a bite and then looked him up and down. “Well?”

This seemed to shake him out of the wide-eyed stupor he had been in, and he grinned awkwardly.

“Ah. You do exorcisms, right?”

“Uh-huh”. She took another bite of rice that bordered on stale and made a mental note to stop cooking rice ahead of time. Momo stared at the man in her kitchen as she lifted the coffee cup towards her. She was still waking up, and her dead-eyed stare was impossible to read.

The man took this as a sign to continue. “I uh- I have a curse.”

Well, that much was obvious from his aura, Momo thought to herself. “Great, tell me something I don't know.”

The man hesitated. She continued to stare. He shifted uncomfortably. “There's an eye in my butthole-”

Of all the statements he could have made, that was, perhaps, the one she least expected to hear this morning. Indeed, she doubted whether there was ever an instance where that statement would be anything but surprising. She inhaled sharply in the vain hope of suppressing the laugh that threatened to burst out, and instead breathed in a chunk of rice and ended up coughing all over the kitchen.

After she was done spluttering, she looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry—roll it back a little—what?”

The man sighed. She waved a hand. “From the beginning,” she said, lifting the coffee to her lips with a small blue hand and taking a large sip, if only to occupy her mouth with something other than a grin. Psychic powers really streamlined the whole breakfast process.

“Okay, okay. I'm part of a ghost hunting group-”

“Ugh, amateurs. Figures…” So, once she'd sorted out whatever this was, she was going to have to lecture a bunch of idiots before they stumbled into something actually dangerous. Great…and today had been looking so chill.

“But we never seem to find anything. So I decided to go somewhere by myself for a change.”

Momo nodded and took another careful bite of rice, and made especially sure she chewed and swallowed. It had the added advantage of making her look as though she were focusing, rather than just hungry. “Well…that was stupid.”

“No argument here. I went to an old temple. You know Ankoku?”

“Mmhmm. In the park?” Last she'd checked, Ankoku wasn't haunted by anything dangerous. As long as you were respectful.

“Yeah, there.”

“Go on. What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

She sighed. “Is all of this necessary to finding out why you have-” she couldn't help but giggle “-a eye-hole anus?”

“I'm getting there, don't rush me!”

She finished up her rice and put the bowl down, then grabbed the coffee with her actual hands, just to give them something to fiddle with.

“Okay, so you went to Ankoku and didn't find anything, and then what?”

“Well, I was walking home and I could see someone bent over by the side of the road, like, looking for something. I went up to him and he pulled his pants down.”

“What, like a flasher?”

“No! He had an eye where his butthole should have been. It blinked at me,” he said that last bit with all the gravitas he could muster, which, as it turned out, was quite a lot.

“It blinked?!”

“Yeah!”

“Weird. Then what?” she took another sip.

“Well... I pretty much had the same reaction you did. I laughed.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“And whoever it was seemed really pissed off. He yelled, 'How dare you laugh! Cower mortal!' and well, I laughed again.”

Yep, that certainly sounds like an ancient yokai, Momo thought to herself.

Momo hummed in a way that she hoped sounded serious, then breezed past him to the living room, where a plush blue sofa sat in front of a table stacked with boxes and folders. She leaned over and began to rifle through them. The man followed her through and watched as she pulled out a small rectangle from between the plastic slip of a folder. She turned and held it out to him, but as he went to grab it, she snatched it back.

“Let me see first!”

He froze.

“Let me see, and I'll give you this charm. Otherwise, it's just a case of waiting it out.”

“How long?”

“Usually until the next full moon.”

“That's hardly a choice!”

“Take it or leave it.”

He sighed.

Five minutes later, he had the ofuda and Momo, a knowing grin. There had been a lot of laughter. As he made to slink out the door, almost too red for words, it was her turn to call for him.

“Wait, I'm not done with you yet-”

She reached out for him and wheeled around. “What now?!”

“This ghost hunting group. Where are you based?”

“Oh. We meet up at Cafe Coffee on Wednesdays.”

“That's today!” Momo said it without thinking, and the look he gave her could only be described as withering.

“How many of you are there?”

The man paused and counted on his fingers, then held his hand out, fingers splayed. “Five, including me.”

Manageable, Momo thought to herself. Not a huge group. A small blessing at least.

“I'll be there tonight. You’ll introduce me-” she realised she didn’t know his name and pointed at him. “What’s your name!” She demanded.

“Mike Takashi.” Where had she heard that before?

“Right, and who leads the group?” She had to know the name of the guy she was absolutely going to tear into tonight. Ghost hunting was no joke – a curse was the least of the problems. You could end up like-

“He has the name of a famous actor. You know, the one who did those commercials?”

“Robert DeNiro?”

“No-”

“Bruce Willis?”

“No- it was Ken something.”

“Ken Watanabe?”

“No, no. Uh, let's see... Those coffee adverts.”

No fucking way.

“Ken Takakura?” It had been years, and she had somewhat managed to get rid of her youthful reaction to that name, physically if not mentally. Her guest had no idea that, internally, she had frozen up thinking of Ken's face in a pair of circle lenses.

Mike's voice pulled her out of that rabbit hole. “Yeah, something like that.”

It has to be a coincidence. There was just no way. Momo realised she was shaking a little as she brought the last dregs of her coffee to her mouth. She couldn't taste it, her mind elsewhere. The last time she and Okarun Ken had spoken, it had been an argument. Not just an argument but the argument.

Okarun had her gripped by the shoulders, his knuckles white, his eyes, usually so kind, were boring intently into hers.

“But you don't have to go!” He was almost shouting, and she didn’t know what was worse – the hurt, the disappointment, or the anger in the shake of his voice.

She looked off to the side, desperate to look anywhere but into those eyes. Oh, that's a nice rock.

“I…don't really have much choice. Psychics are kind of a hot commodity in the priest business,” she muttered, as much to the ground as anything. It was easier to talk to the rock.

Her arms were pinned at her sides by Okarun’s grip, and she remained frozen. Playing with her hair wouldn't have stopped her heart from pounding at that moment, nor the pit in her stomach from growing. If only it would swallow me.

“Miss Ayase…Y-you can't go!” Okarun was trying to catch her eye and leaned into her line of sight, but she found a new rock to focus on, her mouth a small, wry twist.

“I think I want to,” she said softly.

He gasped. His hands fell to his side, balled into fists. Though she was free, she remained frozen in place.

“Huh?”

“I think it would be good to get out of Kamigoe. There's so much out there!”

“But you'll be far away.” He was almost whining, just when she thought it couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Momo took advantage of the pause to continue. “You can text or call.” She balled her fists up and knocked her thighs restlessly.

“It won't be the same,” Okarun said, looking away. His voice had faltered, gone quiet with hurt. It's almost worse than the anger. “You know I struggle with texting...”

Momo scoffed. “You wouldn't put the effort in for me?”

“T-thats not fair! It isn't that easy.”

“Sure it is. You're making it difficult.”

“You leave tomorrow!”

“And?”

“You didn't tell me!”

“And?” Momo’s heart beat fast against her throat, her pulse quickening. This was it. The damage was already done. Her knuckles paled as she gripped the edge of her skirt and fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Why not?”

“I was afraid of this.” She motioned to him, to his reaction. She could see tears in his eyes, and had to blink away her own with a dry gulp.

“So it's easy for me to text but not for you to tell me you're moving away?”

“Saying it would make it real!”

“It was going to happen anyway. You should have told me.”

“Oka-”

“Don't.” He said coldly, away from her. This wasn’t how he envisioned this conversation going. He wanted to text her. Hell, he wanted to go with her. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to-to… to- But all he could do was blurt out a thousand hurt feelings.

Momo tried to ignore the way his aura flared up as he stepped back, red and angry like a welt. He stepped back and wrenched his gaze from Momo’s.

“Just go,” he said.

She opened her mouth, but he'd already turned away. Her nails dug into her palms as she turned.

“I'll leave my number with Jiji and Granny if you change your mind,” she muttered, as much to the ground as anything else. There was no response as she turned away. She dared not look at the boy she loved. She wanted to remember his adoration, not his scorn.

“Miss Ayase?”

“Oka- Mike?”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, you can go-”

He turned until she pulled on his sleeve. “Oh, wait!”

He regarded her warily. Momo didn’t have to read minds to know what was going through his head at that moment: ‘please, don't laugh at my eyeball anus again.’

“No more night-time adventures by yourself! You're lucky you got away with that.”

“Lucky? I haven't gone to the loo in days!”

“Wait, really?” She almost bursts out laughing again.

“No, I'm going now. I guess I'll see you tonight.”

For a moment after he left, Momo stood and stared at the door, her heart hammering a bruise into her ribcage. All she could see was that final, scornful glare from brown eyes drained of warmth. At times like this, she felt so small.

How common was the name Ken Takakura, anyway? She wondered to herself. It couldn't possibly be him. And even if it was... Six years is a long time. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, and she found it difficult to keep up with any single thread. Then, one thought in particular blossomed, and she blanched. Would he even remember her? To remember the argument was bad, but to consider that maybe, maybe he didn’t even remember her…

Maybe she could apologise... No, she could just see if he's alright and then dip. He didn’t even have to know she was there. She wouldn’t have to say anything except “stop checking out haunted locations, idiots!” Bingo. Perfect. No biggie. In her head, she envisioned the same small, quiet little nerd she had known because the alternative – an adult Okarun Ken- was too much. Had it really been so long?

The parcel from earlier lay on the table near the front door, forgotten.

Momo spent the rest of the day tidying and performing rituals for the shrine: general spiritual wellness, wards, and strength rituals. It helped to focus on something other than just who she might bump into later. It helped to focus upon how her chi pooled in her abdomen, about the familiar tingle of magic up her spine, about breathing techniques, and the smell of incense and matches. Anything but those eyes.

By the evening, she had come to the conclusion that it couldn't possibly be her Ken – a Ken who wasn’t really hers anymore. It was a small world, but not that small. She got dressed in her bedroom, staring back at the face of Ken Takakura on her posters as she stepped into a soft green off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of shorts. The nervous woman tried to ignore the coiled bundle of nerves in her stomach and took a shaky, deep breath as she stepped into her trainers and closed the door behind her. Don't get distracted, don’t get disappointed, she thought to herself. You gotta tell people to stop going to haunted sites, after all. That's the real reason you're checking this out.

She set off.

Ken Takakura was pulling heavy wooden tables together so that they sat in front of the long, squishy black sofa that lined the back wall of the cafe, as the first of his group – he’d started to think of them as his group – stepped through the door.

The Cafe Coffee lent them a room in the back, provided they bought some drinks, and he was just about to preemptively settle the tab for the week. He leaned back from his work, he ran a hand through his dark hair – slightly messy, a little long and messy, but haphazardly pinned back, and adjusted his round spectacles; a nervous habit he had never quite gotten rid of. He rolled up the sleeves of his long, blue cardigan and stretched his back out as he turned and almost walked into someone. She was a little shorter than him, so for a second, he could only see the top of her head, but from that alone, he knew she was someone new.

“Sor-” he began, before she looked up, and her large green earrings came into the equation.

What is x + 2 where x = Momo? Explain your reasoning.

She hadn't changed a bit. Same shoulder-length auburn hair. Same thin, but lovely, lips. Same choker. Same earrings. She looked up at him and, well, if she was surprised to see him, she didn't show it.

“No worries, I wasn't looking where I was going!” she said brightly, as though she hadn’t just crashed back into his life and/or thoughts.

“I'm sor-sor-.” Ken choked out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry!”

She bowed her head a little, if only so that he couldn’t see that her eyes were wide with recognition. It was him. Now what? He didn’t seem to recognise her… she flushed with the thought, and bit her lip hard to shake the shivers from herself.

Ken hesitated, then remembered where he was.

“Uhh…can I get you a drink?” he asked.

She turned to him and fiddled with her hair in that way he had always found so adorable, and any lingering doubts he had faded away. This was definitely his Momo.

“Just a black coffee, please,” she said, with a smile that could light up the darkest room. He nodded and brushed past her to the front of the shop to get some space so that he could think, damn it Ken, think. As he flicked on the coffee machine and waited for the beans to pulse, he stared off into the distance and rubbed his face with his free hand. His other gripped the counter.

A couple of minutes later, everyone they expected was there, including Mike Takashi, who seemed to stand near Momo with something akin to pride, or perhaps smugness. He smiled widely in Ken's direction, and Ken returned a stiff-lipped smile as he brought in one frothy coffee for himself and passed a plain dark roast over to Momo.

He stood in front of the two of them as casually as he could. “Who's your friend?”

Mike paused and then he said, “I'll let her introduce herself”.

Momo looked taken aback for a moment. “Huh? Are you serious?”

Mike rubbed the back of his head. “I uh- forgot your name.”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “I should never have given you that ofuda.”

Mike just grinned awkwardly.

If I don’t introduce myself as Momo, he'll never know I was here, she thought to herself. Brilliant, genius!

“Mimi Amaze,” she said. The woman, unmistakably Momo Ayase, turned to Ken and held her hand out.

He took it, slightly bemused. Who is she fooling? Is this a joke? “Ken Takakura,” he said as he gripped her hand, with the hope that, if nothing else, that would prompt a response from her. But…nothing. Did she even remember him? His heart was hammering. After the way he’d left things, why should she? She’d lived a whole life away from him.

Hah! He suspects nothing, Momo thought to herself.

At that moment, Ken cursed more than ever the fact that he never took Jiji's advice and just apologised.

“What is it you do, Mimi?” he asked.

“I'm an amateur exorcist. Exorcised Mike here just this morning!” Mike nodded vigorously.

A small blonde man sat at the table perked up at this.

“An exorcism? What was it like?”

Mike winced. “It was really scary! Miss Mimi” -Ken bristled at the familiarity with which he used her wrong name - “pulled all sorts of scary faces and shouted at me a bunch”.
Momo Mimi took a big gulp of her coffee at the wrong time and ended up spluttering over the table.

“If she hadn't been there, it could have gotten really serious! My life was in danger! She really saved my bacon!”

The woman glanced at him. Is he for real? Still, if I'm lying, I can let him off the hook. She took the moment to gripe instead.

“Damn right I did, and you can't even remember my name!”

Mike grinned again, with the smile of a man used to getting away with murder if only he smiled. “Don't take it personal, I'm really bad at names.”

She frowned, then glanced around the room. “So, who's everyone else?”

Ken took a step back, and the room opened up behind him. Directly to his left, an elderly woman with a burgundy cardigan and bun that was all prim and proper sat, hands politely in her lap. As Momo Mimi looked her over, she smiled.

“I'm Sana Ito. I'm here because I want to learn to contact my husband.” Momo made a mental note to contact her separately, with a pang of sympathy.

Next to her sat a young man who could only be described as a beanpole with an undercut, all in black, -- in this heat --, nails painted and eyes smeared with black kohl. As her gaze reached him, he burst out into a big grin and waved enthusiastically.

“I'm Ren Sasaki! I'm a photographer. I came here because I work with Ken, and my boyfriend believes in the paranormal.” He nudged the air beside him, where a smaller man sat and shifted, his dyed blonde hair coiffed perfectly atop his head. He wore a sunny yellow vest-top and faded jeans.

“I'm Kinji! Sato. Kinji Sato. I've been able to see ghosts since I was a child!” He was so enthusiastic that it all came out as one big word splurge, but then, as though he remembered himself, he went quiet again. Ren patted his hand gently, with a thumbs up. Kinji smiled, tight-lipped and silent once more.

“Kin-kun is a little shy, please excuse him!” he said.

Momo Mimi waved her hand dismissively.“Not a problem. Is that everyone?”

“Well, you've met most of us. We get one-offs every now and then...” Okarun Ken said.

He realised he was watching Momi-Mimo-Momo-Mimi a little too intently and looked away, as another question surfaced.

“Will you be joining us regularly, Mimi?”

It took her a moment to realise he was addressing her, and she turned to him, all stiff awkwardness. Alright, maybe the fake name wasn’t a good idea if she was going to have to get used to responding to it. She looked at him and met his gaze: deep, dark doe eyes that you could really lose yourself in. Momo couldn't believe he was still wearing those same stupid glasses. And that, somehow, they suited him. He'd grown a little but was still that same lanky nerd she remembered.

She frowned at his question and fingered the lip of the coffee cup.

“Mmm, I haven't decided yet. It was more, after dealing with this bozo, I wanted to see if you guys knew what you were doing.”

Ken cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

“You guys haven't the faintest idea! Ghost hunting is serious! You should leave it to professionals-”

“I thought you said you were an amateur.”

“Right, I am. I just know these things.”

“And you don't think I do?” he asked skeptically.

“It's the people who think they know what they're doing that end up in the most danger. The living and the dead must remain separate.” Some people turn into their mothers. I've turned into my grandmother. She cringed internally.

As soon as she'd seen him, all doubts had left her mind. That same aura – blue, streaked with orange-red, at once hot and cold, sitting at the middle of his core. And then... then, she'd chickened out. How could she just waltz in here and expect him to remember her? Those eyes that she once found so easy to read were... nice, yes, but a pair of eyes just like any other. She couldn't see anything in them that suggested he recognised her. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly quite dry.

The rest of ghost club went by without much of anything. Turned out, they didn't go hunting every week, and most of it was spent socialising, sharing stories, and discussing the paranormal. Still... she would have been more comfortable knowing they weren't investigating anything, period.

“Why don't you guys switch it up to an occult discussion group?” She asked.

“Nothing wrong with a little ghost-hunting,” Ken said. Maybe it wasn’t him, after all. Nobody could say that after what they'd been through. She furrowed her brow.

“Easy enough for a casual to say”, she shot back.

“And what makes you think I don't know what I'm talking about?”

“People who really experienced the paranormal wouldn't be so blasé about it!” She could feel her voice rising. This was not going well. “I don't wanna end up exorcising the lot of you every few weeks just because you won't listen! I’ll charge double!”

The atmosphere in the room was getting a little heated. She stopped to take a deep breath. “Sorry, I just feel strongly about this, is all.”

Ken nodded. “Fair enough, but so do we. Anyway, we're out of time. Will we see you next week?” Again, that question.

Momo chewed the inside of her lip. Would he? Could she pretend not to know him? Could she keep pretending? It sounded like some dumb romance manga plot. All of this went through her head as she dumbly remained seated and watched him wave off a few people, until it was just the two of them. As he left, Mike Takashi waved at Momo Mimi a little too enthusiastically.

“Thanks for the help! Maybe having an exorcist around would be a good thing?” He said it so casually as he left that Momo Momo Mimi couldn't help but huff.

“I'm not a token exorcist; it's a serious job. I can't spend all my spiritual energy on idiots who don't know any better.”

But Ken watched as Mike left and then turned to her and gave her a look.

“He's right. Might be good to have an exorcist on hand...” and before she could interrupt him, his next words threw her off balance- "otherwise a lot more people would find themselves in the same situations we did".

Her eyes widened, and before she had fully processed what he’d said, she hit his shoulder.

“You knew?! You idiot!” He couldn't help but laugh, that same geeky guffaw. It wasn't until she heard it that she realised just how much she'd missed it.

"Mimi Amaze is hardly a stunning example of wordplay,” he chuckled. She thumped him again for good measure.

“I made an idiot of myself! Okarun!” the nickname slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, a force of habit of years gone by that somehow felt right in her mouth. He froze a second, a blank smile stuck on his face as he rubbed his arm, and Momo couldn't help but think, yup, that's my Okarun.

And then he smiled, all reassurance and relief and whatever else she had been thinking melted away into a sea of flutters.

“Nobody here knew your name except me. You’re still Mimi to them.”

She pouted, a little embarrassed, her face flushed bright pink as she began fiddling with her sleeve.

“Still! Now I’ve gotta re-introduce myself.”

“We could keep pretending you’re Mimi rather than Momo.” Okarun offered.

As she heard her name emerge from his mouth, she faltered, then swallowed, and spoke.

“Still, I came here to see if you were okay!”

Okarun cocked his head with a quizzical look. “Why wouldn't I be?”

She looked straight up at him, “You're running a ghost hunting club. After everything we saw? Mike got cursed! Are you an idiot?!” She almost sounded cross, but couldn't quite bring herself to be anything but relieved. And yet, her heart was going a mile a minute.

Okarun raised an eyebrow.

“Mike had a curse?”

“Shirime got him,”

“I'm sorry- a what?”

“Butt-eye yokai,” she says, quite bluntly. Okarun winced. I guess he never quite got over the Turbo Granny dick stuff, she thought to herself.

His next words interrupted her train of thought – “Anyway, you've got it all mixed up.” She frowned at him, hand on her hip expectantly.

He recognised that pose, and sighed as he spoke.“I take these people to places they think are haunted. They'd go looking for them anyway, so I might as well manage it somewhat.”

“Huh, that's actually pretty clever. 'I want to believe.'”

Did she just- No. Surely not. Silence settled over the two of them until she let out a large huff.

“I guess if you're alright, that's all that matters.”

She looked at him and decided to push the topic if she could. “I mean... how we left things?” Her voice quivered a little bit, and Okarun rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. Both of them seemed to wither at the shared memory.

“Ah, yeah. That...” he sighed. “I'm alright. Are you?”

She was slightly taken aback that he'd ask, but she smiled. “Yeah, I'm kind of relieved to be honest. I thought you wouldn't recognise me...”

“I thought you wouldn’t recognise me!” he said, and then after a moment, he added, “I'd always recognise you, Momo.”

The air between them was as still as a held breath as Momo searched for something, anything, to talk about. She was coming up pitifully short on conversational topics, and whilst the silence between them didn’t feel uncomfortable, it didn’t necessarily feel comfortable either. It was a no-man's land of discomforting reunion.

Momo twiddled an earring in her fingers, and then, inspiration hit. "I live close by. Fancy walking me home?"

He smiled, and relief flooded his chest.

“Sure!” He held the door open for her, and she couldn't help but smile as she stepped through into the humid night air. Summer in Kamishihiro didn't get cold; it just got dark. The two of them stepped out, and Momo found herself waiting for Okarun, not wanting to get too far ahead.

“So…how have you been keeping busy?” Momo asked in what she hoped was a casual tone. She kicked a pebble, and it skittered off ahead.

“I write for Super Mystery Kamishihiro,” he said, eyes remaining trained on the floor as he searched for his own pebble to kick - if only so he'd stop looking at her damn legs.

Momo paused. “Wait, really? That's awesome! Way to go!”

He couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. “What about you?” and the unsaid hangs in the air – was she still at the shrine? He hoped so. The idea that she might have given it up because of him? Well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“I'm mostly an exorcist, but I also care for this shrine and serve the local god. Kinda just like Granny taught me”, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “If you'd told me when I was a kid that I'd be doing this, I'd have thumped you. I also uh...” she paused here, and found herself strangely bashful. “I also run a support group for alien abductees once a month.” It all came out in one big word vomit.

Most people thought aliens were a joke. This was Okarun, but even still... Momo looked away, suddenly very interested in the shop signs across the street. “I actually run it with Miko and Muko!” she added, as a last defiance. She glanced quickly in Okarun's direction. His face was impossible to read, and she found herself saddened that what had once been second nature had been lost.

“That's cool! I bet a lot of people feel really lost if...” the rest of the sentence went unsaid as the rest of hers dawned on him. “They moved here, huh?”
Momo nodded. “Yeah, after uni.” She paused, found another pebble, and kicked it a little harder than she meant to. “See? It's easy to stay in contact!” she said, a little embittered. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them and she winced at herself. Momo, cool it, you’ve only just bumped into him again. Her walking partner looked away and adjusted his glasses. Momo took the pause to continue, “Ah- sorry.”

“It's okay,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

The humidity of the night hung over both of them, and Momo felt herself heating up. Idiot, why would you bring that up? This was going so well. Emphasis upon was. As she rounded the corner of the block her shrine was on, she stared down at the scuffs in her trainers rather than look across Okarun.

Okarun watched her familiar mannerisms with fondness that had long gone unacknowledged, as he realised that their conversation had petered out. He should be talking more. It was always Momo who led things! He should be talking more! Idiot! Say something.

“I missed you, Momo!” No, not that!

Momo looked up at him from the ground, and her face split into an awkward, beautiful grin.

“I missed you, too, idiot”. She hesitated– no, that's too mean, dial it back, Momo! But he smiled in kind. It was almost like nothing had changed.

Her footsteps slowed, and she motioned to the large building. Kamashihiro Shrine was, overall, more modern than her grandmother's shrine, but still protected by a hardwood torii gate, with seals dutifully placed on the inside, facing out. A small carved wooden sign hung from the gate. The building was all dark wood and light stone, with a small, slightly overgrown path leading up to its front.

It was almost like old times. She thumbed to the shrine. “Well, this is home,” she smiled.

He peeked around her shoulder and looked it over, curiosity getting the better of him. She watched him curiously. Was he expecting to be invited in? The more he lingered, the more it seemed to be the case, and much as she would have liked to...

“It's late,” she said, a little more awkwardly than she would have liked. The walk was almost too short, and she hadn't apologised like she’d meant to. And yet, if she didn't know any better, she'd have thought they were both getting on again.

“I have rituals to do in the morning...” Somehow, the words wouldn’t come.

Internally, Ken wilted. I’ve blown it. Was his standoffishness not as appealing as it was when they were young?

Wait.

There was one thing he could do- As she turned and began walking up the garden, he called after her.

"Ah- hey. See you next week?"

She stopped in her tracks, then turned. There was no point in trying to hide the smile that spread across her face.

“Sure.” She waved as she made her way inside, looking back once to wave at him again.

It was a start. Ken tried to ignore the backflips his heart and stomach were making.

Chapter Text

The office at Super Mystery Kamishihiro contained a succession of grey-beige desks and computers, the only noise the whirr of fans and air conditioning, pleasantly chilled and mercifully empty. For Ken Takakura, the opportunity for reflection was a double-edged sword. He sat in front of his computer, staring at a document that was all red lines and “check this later” notes.

Usually, research would consume him, and yet he couldn't help but revisit the encounter with Momo in his head. He should have apologised. He should have given her his number to show he was more than willing to text. He should have talked more! God, this is just like before. He dragged a hand down his face with a grimace. I guess some things never change.

Still, she had said she would be coming this week, hadn't she? It was nice to see her. No, more than nice. It had been a relief. Not only that she had been okay, but that she wanted to see him, that she had sought him out. And yet, he couldn't help but curse that she was the one who instigated things. Could he not have made more of an effort?

Jiji was always on him to just text her, but somehow he never could. He sat for an irritatingly long time picking and unpicking that knot, only to find more complicated knots elsewhere. It became a tangle he couldn't possibly free himself from. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If she wasn’t there... Well, it wouldn't not be a biggie, but he'd deal with that if it happened.

Then, a thought occurred to him. She wasn’t exactly famous, but surely he could have… Googled her before now, right? All his research, and he never thought of the most obvious thing. He suppressed the urge to facepalm and typed her name into Google. He was right, she did have a presence—nothing huge: some radio shows, a podcast, and some YouTube videos. Yet, this was a dangerous slope to fall down into. If she wasn't there tonight, would this be creepy? Was it creepy anyway? They’d spoken all of once in the past six years, and that had been literally a week ago. Nothing had changed, and yet, everything had changed. Did he want to be friends? Yes. Did he want-

Augh, stop overthinking. Watching a video on a public search engine was hardly stalking. He hovered the mouse over a video called 'Talking with shrine miko Ayase-San'. She was grinning, giving a tour. He paused. She didn't want him in there for some reason... He clicked away. There were boundaries to this, even if they were entirely self-enforced. He wasn’t some creepy nut. Instead, he scrolled a little and settled on another video. She had her serious face on, but it looked, to him, rather like her Abe Hiroshi face. 'Ayase-San Reads Auras!' If anyone asked, it was research for a work project. It was close enough in theme, if not in intention. He settled back in his chair and started to watch.

Momo Ayase stood in her kitchen, staring at the rice cooker she had just turned on, propped up on her elbows, and glaring at it as if that would make it cook faster. In truth, she was a thousand miles away. The week had gone by excruciatingly slowly, and now today was dragging, too.. There were rituals and offerings to make, and mail to check, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Questions kept crowding her mind. Was it possible for two adults who were once friends to become friends once more? And they weren’t just friends, they were the best of friends. It was difficult not to harbour some affection for a man who had saved your life, and vice versa, innumerable times. And then there was the other question, the what-if question, a box she had not opened for years and one she had not expected to again. It was stupid. They’d had one conversation! But then, then…

Surely the best kinds of friendships were the ones that could resume so naturally. It did feel like they hit it off, and he had asked if she would be there this week, so he wanted to see her, too. It felt as though, as often as she came to that conclusion, the doubts that had been seeded through years of separation began to bloom once more. Was he just being nice? She talked too much. She was too pushy. He didn’t want to be friends, let alone-.

Oh brother. This was just like before.

The excitement that it was him, that they’d walked home, that they had talked -even if only a little- about paranormal stuff, was immense. And it wasn’t just that it was him. Nobody else got the paranormal, the occult, the plain fucking weird, like he did. Even though she was a shrine guardian, most people came to her for advice regarding the supernatural, and even if they believed in spirits and gods, aliens were somehow a leap. Even after years, Granny Ayase still referred to Mr Shrimp as a kappa. He had never so much as glanced at a cucumber.

Besides, Okarun ran a ghost group now... maybe he's not interested in aliens anymore? And still, that was only part of the problem. She sank between her arms with a sigh. What am I, a kid again? Ugh.

Still, there was a way to find out something, right? He said he was a writer. God bless Kamizon. She bought a subscription to Super Mystery Kamishihiro and downloaded it to her phone, all thoughts of rice gone from her mind as she moved through to the living room to sit and read. With a sigh, she fell back onto the sofa, which gave a puff as she settled in.

She scrolled through the pages, pretty sure she knew what to expect: ghosts, aliens, conspiracy theories, UMAs. Stuff that, years ago, she would have thought trash. Hell, most of it still was. She was only really interested in the ones written by Ken Takakura Okarun. His articles ran the gamut, with no real preference as to topic or tone. She could almost hear him reading to her, pages thrust in her face, and his voice, excited, animated, as he info-dumped about alternate dimensions, pseudoscientific theories, and his favourite cryptid of the week. It was difficult not to reminisce with the not-Okarun - the Nokarun - of her thoughts. That enthusiasm had been endearing then, and her heart still cherished it. She sank back and let herself daydream.

Over the afternoon, the sun had crept ever-nearer to her feet, which hung over the end of the sofa until it had cast her and the room aglow in amber before she realised that she actually needed to make a move. Should she change her clothes? Would Okarun even notice? No! I’m doing this for me. A couple of minutes later, she came down in a short, white dress and a brown jacket, her hair pulled up into a rough ponytail. As she left, she dutifully checked the talismans by each door and by the torii, then made her way, perhaps a little faster than she would have liked to admit.

Momo hesitated outside for a moment, as she stared at the doorway, propped open by a chair. Approaching Cafe Coffee at dusk allowed for a better look at its exterior – all white-and-brown-painted, wide-windowed shopfront expanse with a sign in kata and a small chalkboard menu. She made a mental note to visit when it was open. The smell of coffee and washing-up liquid lingered in the air. Momo brushed past the chair and made her way through the main shop floor, which was a sea of chairs overturned on tabletops, to the back. Through the doorway, she could see that Okarun had already set up and was sitting in front of two white mugs. He looked slightly tired, and more than a little bit disheveled, in a white shirt and plain black trousers. Over the course of the afternoon, she had gotten so used to the idea of Nokarun that to see him dressed for work was a little jarring.

Mike was already there; Sana was talking to him about the best way to bake cookies to achieve that perfect chewy-crunch ratio and chocolate chip-melt. It would have been cute if it weren't so obvious. As Momo stepped through the door, Okarun stood up and almost tripped over the table leg to pass her a coffee. It made way too loud a thunk for him to do anything but splutter as he grabbed a napkin and wiped at the spilled drink. He offered her the fuller mug. Oh no, he's sweet, she thought, as she took the mug off his hands with an appreciative smile. He froze up, then sank back into his seat.

“It's good to see you, Momo”.

She almost choked on her drink.

Okay, she was fine with him being Ken -in theory- but her name was off-limits. There was little time for her to muse on this as Ren and Kinji came in and the group got down to what the group did best: talking about ghosts.

Kinji talked about the first time he had seen a ghost, at his grandfather’s Otsuya. Through the haze of incense, smoke, and sutra, he had seen a man, standing in a doorway, a man who watched over the ceremony and slowly faded from view the longer it went on until he was little more than a grey-brown smudge and the impression of a smile until that, too, faded. Nobody had believed him – they had put the story down to a child’s first experience of death.

Momo watched quietly, and Kinji’s gaze sank to the floor, where it remained until Okarun spoke up.

“I believe you,” he said.

Kinji looked up. He didn’t say anything, but he smiled. Ren patted his back a little.

From there, the conversation shifted to the haunted stairway, where phantom footsteps were heard, across town from the cafe. Apparently, that would be the target of their next investigation. Momo was quiet for most of the discussion, and Okarun emphasised the importance of bringing water and suitable footwear. There were some debates on what constituted comfortable footwear, and even discussions of the “I have a friend who's cousin works at Nintendo and he went to this stairway” variety. Momo couldn't help but stare at Mike's Crocs a little too intently. They were hard to ignore once you noticed.

Two hours couldn't have gone by any faster. Was this cafe collapsing the space-time continuum? Another mystery for the intrepid duo! Not that they were a duo. Or intrepid, really. But it was easy to settle into old habits and expectations. Momo shifted in her seat with a sigh.

“Alright, everyone, see you next week!” Okarun said as he stood to collect all the mugs and line them up on a tray. Momo sat a moment before she rose to help him. After the room had emptied, she turned to Okarun.

“Are you going to keep taking them to the wrong locations?”

He sighed. “I'd rather they go to the dud locations and stay safe than trip over something really dangerous,” he turned to her, and put the tray down. “I mean, we saw things, Momo. If I can help people avoid that fate, I'm doing a good job.”

He looked so serious as he said it that it was difficult for Momo to do anything but agree. Her mind blanked when he called her Momo, and admiration gave way to incredulity.

"That reminds me... What happened to Miss Ayase?"

Okarun didn't even falter as he replied.

"Well, we're both adults now, and friends. It feels more appropriate." He didn’t tell her he had rehearsed that response for an embarrassingly long amount of time, but Momo was thrown by something else.

"We're friends?"

"I-yes?" He met her confusion with his own. Were they not? Did he presume too much? He did his best to keep the panic on the inside.

"It's way too familiar, Okarun!" she huffed as he stood and took the tray through to the other room.

He shouted through to Momo.

"Says you! You gave me a nickname at our first meeting! You're still using it! Can you even say my name?" he stuck his head around the door and glared expectantly in Momo's direction.

"Ok-Kenrun," she says with puffed cheeks. Her bravado deflated almost as quickly as she had bluffed.

"That's not even close! Seems like one of us still has some growing up to do".

"What kind of immature thing is that to say?"

"It isn't if it's the truth!"

"You haven't changed!"

"Neither have you!"

"... I'm glad.” It came out of nowhere, said with such sincerity, that Okarun felt bad for giving her a hard time, even in jest. But before he could respond in kind, she had pulled the door open and was looking his way. “Wanna walk me home again?”

He jumped at the opportunity as relief once again flooded his chest. She wanted to hang out! Okay, it wasn't quite hanging out, but it was a start.

And then, she smiled back at him. His mind blanked. Mute, he followed her out of the building and carefully closed the door behind him, determined to hold a conversation.

The night air was cooler than its daytime counterpart, but an unpleasant, thick humidity sat over everything. Kamishihiro quietened down in the evenings as stores wound down for the day, and the two walked alone in the blue-orange streaked dusk.

“Hey, you ever think about all that stuff?” Great conversation starter, genius.

She raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“A-yeah, you know, all the spooky stuff.”

“Oh, you mean like Turbo Granny?” Of course, Momo would bring up Turbo Granny. And so casually. It hadn’t been her balls.

“Yeah, I guess.” But wait- this is perfect- “Momo!” he all but shouted.

“I have a real haunted location!” Smooth. Perfect execution! And yet, she turned to him with a wide grin, and the new world record for the number of internal blanks went to Ken Takakura.

"Tell me about this actual haunted location. Where is it? How do you know it's real?" At least play a little hard to get, Momo. She took a breath and waited for his response.

"W-well, part of my job is to follow through on leads. A lot of what we report is... Truth-adjacent, but if a couple of people come up with the same thing independently, it's more trustworthy. Or well, that’s the logic anyway."

Okarun really had grown up, she thought with a small smile. He took the lack of response as a chance to continue.

"And this one, well, so ... We've been getting reports of this place for a while now. Just had our fourth this week. Have you heard of poltergeists?"

"I'm a spirit medium, what do you think?" He grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure, sure". It was a stupid question.

“Still,” Momo continued, “tell me more.”

At least, if nothing else, she sounded confident. Spending the whole afternoon with Nokarun had prepped her for the real thing, and she found herself gladdened that his enthusiasm had not waned when compared to the version of him she had dreamed up. And yet, Nokarun was a pale imitation, the memory of a feeling. The real thing was much better.

They walked slowly, as though neither of them wanted to admit that the previous week's walk had been too short. Now it was Okarun's time to shine. He launched right into his best ghost story voice – just the right amount of spooky, serious, and wiggly fingers for added effect.

"Well, there's this house. Banging, shouting, weird music at strange hours, smashing, stuff being thrown around. Textbook poltergeist.”

"So you wanna check out this actual haunted location?" She asked.

"Well, poltergeists aren't necessarily ghosts," he said. "They could be an energy or an electrical signal. I'll be going anyway to write about it, and well- and if you're with me... It's less dangerous than going by myself." He added, somewhat sheepishly.

She smiled. "You'd want to spend time with me?"

He stopped walking to look at her seriously, his eyes as earnest as they were dark.

"Yes." He said, hands at his sides. She found herself looking back at him with a gentle smile.

"Well, I suppose if I come along, there's less chance of you losing your banana again," she grinned.

Before he could stop himself, the words had escaped his mouth.

"Who knows, maybe they'll be after your melons!"

If Momo had gone red, Okarun had turned into a human-faced tomato demon: a new, hitherto undiscovered form of cryptid defined by their glasses and red, fleshy exterior. Let the ground swallow me up, I've had a good run he thought to himself, all but frozen in front of her. But to his relief, she laughed.

“Okarun, what the heck?! Of all the things you could have said, you settled on that? You some kinda perv now?”

He hesitated, adjusting his glasses a moment, eyes wide. Oh god, stop blushing. Say something! Just not about fruit!

"S-sorry," he said, then looked away.

For a moment, she watched him and saw that shy boy she'd known, and recognised those familiar mannerisms. The word he had used earlier - friends - filled her chest with a sort of relief, a sense of lightness as though she could fly if only he kept calling her his friend. The years had changed them in some ways, and not in others. Here they were, here he was, walking her home again.

"So, tell me - why ghost club? Why not an alien club?"

"Well, we've seen that aliens could well abduct someone regardless of whether it's a hotspot or not. Ghosts aren't the same. They have haunts, and it's a lot safer to pretend somewhere is a haunt than take someone to a haunt". Momo couldn't fault the logic- after all, how could you, having seen what they had?

Okarun watched her for a moment, hoping that she couldn't read between the lines: he had missed her company, and ghosts helped him feel closer to her. Talk more, dumbass!

“Your turn now. Why aliens?” He asked. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was just revisiting her questions, that she had taken the lead again.

“Well, my day job is ghosts, gods, you know. I don't meet many people who believe in aliens and…” She took a deep breath and fiddled with her fringe self-consciously. “It could be scary if someone went through what I did without a safe space to explore that, with people who understand...” she said, and her voice trailed off to little more than a whisper.

Okarun glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He had been so caught up in the very literal theft of his balls that the idea that Momo’s experience could have been scary had never really occurred to him. How quickly fear had made itself a regular fixture in their lives.

“Do you… miss it?”

“Do I miss being abducted by aliens?”

“No, no-”

She grinned. Oh, right. This was Momo. She was giving him a hard time.

“It's difficult to know if I miss the danger, so much as the company…” she trailed off.

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“Aw, missed you too!”

He found, as ever, that she had coaxed a smile from him in kind. It was easier to smile when she smiled at you.

“I mean, I guess some of it was kinda cool.” She said, “We got to see some crazy things!”

“You can say that again.”

The two of them walked side-by-side through the night and rounded the corner of Momo’s block. Kamishihiro Shrine, and the end of their conversation, loomed ahead. It was then that Okarun remembered the other reason he'd wanted to walk her home. He turned to face her and stopped in his tracks, all too aware and more than a little unwilling to admit how disappointed the end of their conversation made him.

“My number!”

“Eh?”

“My phone number!”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Do you want it?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess...” Momo hoped it sounded casual enough that he couldn't tell just how happy she was to hear those words. They were definitely in good territory. It felt good to reconnect with old friends.

“When did you wanna check out that haunted place?”

Okarun could barely contain his excitement. “Well, I mean, I finish work early tomorrow?” Oh god, was she giving him a weird look? Was he giving her a weird look? Were there reciprocal weird looks happening right now? Was it worse if there were, or weren’t?

And then she smiled. Whatever he had been thinking faded to an insignificant afterthought as he watched Momo Ayase smile because of him, again.

“Oh, sure. I'll meet you at your office in town. Text me the address?”

He nodded, his mouth dry.

Kamishihiro Shrine stood to the side of them. In truth, Momo did not want to say goodnight just yet, yet it seemed too soon to invite him back without the pretence of, say, being cursed. There were different rules for being an adult. And besides, she was seeing Okarun tomorrow.

“Goodnight, Okarun,” she said. Okarun nodded and turned to go his own way.

“Hey!” Momo all but shouted.

“Huh?”

“I'll see you tomorrow!” she grinned. It felt stupid. He probably didn't even remember. But it mattered to her. His eyes widened, and he broke out into a grin, and relief fluttered in her chest.

“Oh. Sure! See you tomorrow.”

Momo stood and watched him turn the corner of her block before going back up the path.

It was that easy, huh?

Chapter Text

Momo was a heavy sleeper, but the next morning, she had gotten up early, a feat almost unheard of. Truth be told, she was excited for two reasons: she had forgotten how validating it was to know someone who had been through what she had – texting Jiji or Aira was not the same, and neither was talking alien abduction–, and, perhaps more importantly, rekindling her friendship with Okarun was going well. And yet, Thursday had not gone as she had anticipated. Although she had filled the time with rituals and offerings, by two o'clock she had gotten distracted watching television. Granny Ayase was onto something with variety shows, but Momo would never have admitted that, even were the sun to rise in the West.

Other than that, she had spent most of her time checking her phone for texts and ignoring several other things that demanded attention.

Her phone buzzed.

Okarun: You still on for today?

M.Ayase: Hehe, yh ^^

Okarun: Cool. Meet you outside the office at four?

M. Ayase: ^3^

Come three, she was ready to go, her hair messily plaited and her nicest ‘I woke up like this’ shorts on.

She grabbed a bag and began the walk to Super Mystery Kamishihiro.

These days, a magazine like Super Mystery Kamashihiro had to diversify, so in-person writers were few and far between. Most of the time it meant Ken had a whole office to himself which, honestly, was what he preferred.

His job was a mix of sorting out tips and reports and typing aforementioned tips up into a readable format. If there was one thing he had learned in this job, it was that humanity's capacity to believe the unbelievable was both a blessing and a curse. Having come face-to-face with all kinds of supernatural phenomena had given him a more discerning palate when it came to such stories. But readers didn't want believable; they wanted outlandish. Still, working there was a dream come true, and generally, an empty office meant plenty of time to catch up on sleep.

Today was different. He had been almost too excited to work, let alone to nap. The excitement was twofold: he hadn't been anywhere legitimately paranormal in a long while, and it had been years since he had been anywhere doing anything with Momo Ayase.

Ken leaned back in his seat, looking over what he'd written for that day, a report about a Mothman sighting in Kyoto and the dangers it could portend that played liberally with the concepts of truth.

He'd also been re-reading the reports sent in about the house he was going to later, and had made some follow-up calls to the informants who had left a number. In all honesty, the case seemed fairly open and shut, and the phone calls had revealed nothing he didn't already know, but he had wanted to do his due diligence so that, at the very least, he might regale Momo with more stories.

His phone buzzed.

M. Ayase: I'm outside, ready when u r :P

K. Takakura: Be right there!

M. Ayase: ^^

Momo was more than enough of a reason to double-check his research. Getting something wrong in this line of enquiry could be dangerous, and jokes aside, he had no intention of getting either of them shrunk down, cursed, abducted, maimed, genitally challenged, or otherwise endangered. Since becoming reacquainted, he had decided it was time to be more proactive in all his friendships, but he wanted to show Momo that he was someone who could be depended upon.

Now, it was close enough to four that he could probably clock out with little issue – besides, the only other person in the office today was Hideki, who kept mostly to himself. After a final pass over his emails, he got ready to leave. He was rehearsing facts to regale Momo with in his head, as well as the best way to greet her: nonchalant but not too casual. As he went downstairs, he had a trial conversation with empty air.

“Hi Momo, how are you?” “Hi babe?” … hmm, no.. not babe. “Sup?” No… damn, it was a difficult balance. Hi! I’ve been thinking about you, but a totally normal amount.

Momo was propped up against the wall, scrolling through her phone, a plastic bag dangling from her wrist. She didn't notice Okarun step out until he waved a hand over the screen of her phone. She jolted.

"Oh!" Then came the pout. "I was reading that!"

"Anything good?"

"Eh, not really.” She pocketed it with a grin “So, we're gonna do this?"

Oh, how he had been waiting to hear that from her. His train of thought was interrupted by her rustling through the bag and shoving a packet of chips and a melon soda into his chest.

"Here, thought you might be hungry". It took him a moment. Momo had bought him something? The great tomato cryptid had returned.

"T-thanks," he said.

"Huh? Can't hear you!" Momo grinned.

He sighed, enjoying himself despite it all. "Thank you, Momo!" he said with a soft smile.

Oh right, he’s still using my name. Like, my actual name. It sounds nice on hi- No, no. Her breath caught in her throat. She took a sip of her iced coffee to distract herself.

As she turned away Okarun interrupted. "I'll put that in my bag," he said, motioning to the carrier bag.

Momo handed it across with an appreciative smile, and a question. "Where we headed?"

"You know that dangerous neighbourhood?"

"You're taking me there?!"

"Well, no, hopefully not, but two is better than one, right?"

She huffed, although it was playful more than anything. “Well, you can always turbo out if we need.”

He hummed something that may have been an agreement, or equally, a noncommittal noise.

Is that the first time I've mentioned Yokarun? Can't be.

Momo turned to other matters. “So, how far we walking?”

"It's about fifteen, twenty minutes away, I guess?"

She jerked her head. "This way, right?"

He brought up the rear as Momo talked animatedly, and then came the gentle realisation that he had not used his rehearsed greeting... And yet, they were fine. He sighed audibly.

"You could at least pretend to enjoy my company!" Momo said with a mock frown.

"Oh. I am." He coughed and pushed his glasses up his face.

She found herself staring a moment too long and took another altogether too large sip of her drink, and went redder than she had been trying to, to suppress a splutter.

"Now who's not listening?!" Was his response, and it was her turn to sigh.

The late afternoon was warm and breezy enough to cut through the humidity, and the two made good time, chatting all the while. Kamihishiro City was a city in name if not in population - sure, there was a station, but it mostly served as a link to other prefectures and the bus service was, mostly, a waste of money.

As they got to the outskirts of town, the surroundings became a little more dilapidated, the shops a little cheaper, and the cicadas a little more persistent. The greenery here did not live up to its name; instead, it was crisp, brown, and spiky with summer heat.

Okarun was checking his phone, trailing further behind Momo than before.

"Ah, hey-" he called after her. "-take a right". She pointed for confirmation, and he jogged up to her.

"Yeah, that's it".

The two of them walked to the end of the road. There was little doubt towards what they headed, a house that was somehow, more dilapidated than the rest, stood out.

The front yard was a haven of rocks, dust and bin liners, studded with broken pottery and empty packets, grey-brown, muddied, dusty and wrecked. They stood at a hip-height slatted fence that chewed at the pavement, to which several signs and bills were affixed, and looked over to the house, which was all chipped wood facade and creeping damp. The windows were papered over on the inside with old, yellowing newsprint, and the general impression was one of sepia decrepitude.

"How long has it been since someone lived there?" Momo asked, turning to Okarun.

"It's been abandoned for about four years!" He all-but shouted.

Momo gave him a look - a raised eyebrow "chillax dude" look -, and then smiled. He could have weathered all kinds of withering looks if only she'd keep smiling at him like that. He realised he was smiling, worse, that he was staring, and began flattening down his hair just to have something to do.

If Momo had noticed, she gave no indication of that fact. "That's a hell of a lot of degradation for four years..." she wondered aloud.

"Now that you mention it... Yeah."

"And what's with the signs?" She asked, pointing at a sign stapled to the fence. It warned against entering in bright, bold font. “Don't usually get those for your normal abandoned places unless you're out in the countryside...” She crouched to look it over and poked it, as though expecting it to get up and walk off.

Okarun watched her and then turned his attention back to the house.

“I don't know. Maybe this place has more of a reputation than I thought?”

Momo hummed. "I guess we'll have to be quiet, huh... Don't wanna get arrested for trespassing,” she said.

"I hadn't thought of that-" he said with a wince. "It'll be okay if we're careful.” At this point, he was telling this as much to himself as to her.

"Hold on." He held.

Momo turned around to look up the rest of the street, narrowing her eyes. For the longest time it looked as though she was giving the house a weird look. Okarun watched her watch the house, and dared not break the cicada-laden silence between them.

"Nah, I'm not sensing anything," she said, finally.

Okarun stepped towards the fence and unlatched the gate and propped it open with his foot. Momo came quickly on his heels and wandered past him, up to the front door.

"How are we going to-?" she said, as the door creaked open. Her voice trailed off as she watched it open. "Well, that's obvious.”

Okarun was watching, eyes wide. Was he shaking? He looked a little pale. Why wasn’t he going inside? Wait-

"Are you scared?"

“N-no, it's just been a while, is all.”

“Dude, you're totally scared!” she said, barely suppressing a giggle.

“No!” he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

Momo puffed out her chest and grinned widely. “Don't worry, I'll protect you!” she said, patting her upper arm as she flexed. Okarun smiled, despite the pangs of fear ricocheting through his chest. Then she turned, and over her shoulder spoke.

"Come on! What's the worst that could happen? You lose your balls again?!"

"I wish you wouldn't say that..." He muttered as he approached.

"What was that?"

"You know what I said!"

"You gotta speak up!"

"You can hear me just fine, Momo!"

She was going to have to put a moratorium on him using her name if she was going to clam up every time he did. He was peeking past her shoulder and into the house, which was damper, darker, more humid, and smelled overbearingly of mothballs. Suddenly, the summer afternoon humidity felt the more tolerable of the two places to be.

"Dude, if we're gonna do this again, we've gotta get some masks or something.”

"A-again?" He squeaked, a little too eagerly.

"Well, yeah, we're hanging out again, right?" She said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He simultaneously felt stupid and relieved. "Oh, yeah, we are".

She raised an eyebrow at him and then cupped a hand to her mouth. "Hellooooo~" she shouted into the house. Its only response was silence.

She turned to Okarun. "No splitting up, that's how we get cursed!" The nonchalance with which she treated spiritual violence would never fail to surprise him. And then, her eyes widened as she patted down her pockets. "Oh, wait-" she found what she was looking for and fished an ofuda from her pocket.

"Here, for spiritual protection," she said, handing one over to him.

"You can make these now?!" He asked, more than a little impressed.

"Well, yeah, but they take a ton of preparation and energy, so look after it!" She said, as he thanked her. Her spiritual powers really had come on in leaps and bounds, huh? Maybe the move had been good for her... He felt sillier than ever for not talking to her for so long. It was time to make up for lost time!

"Let's go!" He said, taking a single step into the house before his bravado completely melted.

Momo chuckled and patted his shoulder as she walked past him. "Ladies first, right?"

Her second foot had barely passed the threshold when there was a loud bang from somewhere within. Momo tensed and turned excitedly to Okarun. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked down the corridor past her. Yeah, he definitely heard it.

She took his hand and pulled him in; the motion snapped him out of whatever he had been internalising. She dropped it before he had time to process that she had been touching him, and he came to stand beside her. The door shut behind them, its summons answered.

"Where was it?" She asked, and then, after a moment more of wincing into the darkness. "We should bring torches next time".

She pulled her phone out and shone it down the hallway, thick with dust, black bags, piles of newspapers, unopened mail and, curiously, several unglazed pots. Several rooms branched off from the main hall, but the question of which to enter first went unanswered as somewhere further inside, there was a skitter. Momo's eyes widened as she turned to Okarun and pressed a finger to her lips and swung the light ahead of her gaze. Nothing. After a painfully tense minute, she sighed and turned away, the thin beam of light from her phone moving with her.

She leaned around the threshold of a room and peeked inside. Underneath a thick layer of dust sat the remnants of a cheap kitchen, all plastic, linoleum, and barely enough space for a kettle, let alone a person. The walls and floors peeled at the edges, and the faded checkerboard print was smudged dull with grime. The cupboards were all open and empty of crockery- only old tinned fruits and cup ramen remained.

“Reckon those are edible?” Momo asked, pointing to the packets. Okarun did not grace her with a reply.

Shards of bowls and mugs were piled up in the middle of the floor. They stood and stared at the monument for dilapidation, until Momo spoke again. Every utterance, in this house, felt like it disturbed something.

"Nothing. I can't feel anything here..." She almost sounded disappointed. "Then again, I don't know if my power-"

Okarun was, for the first time, truly glad he was not here alone. His heart was in his mouth, and he could hear little else but his heartbeat, thick and hot in his ears. Am I really so out of practice...? I mean, it had been years.

He'd been so used to going to fake haunts that he'd forgotten the feeling that came with these places - a sense of being watched, that you were never truly alone, were out of your depth and that things were only ever a hair's breadth from going hideously wrong.

He realised she had been talking and he had been zoning out, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sorry, was a million miles away...".

She tutted and walked a little further past him and into the room directly opposite the kitchen.

"This is some kind of artist's studio, check it out," she beckoned to Okarun, who approached with the slow, deliberate steps of a man who did not want to make any untoward noise and who was painfully self-conscious of the positioning of his feet.

Momo shone a light around the room, which was wood-panelled and papered with fine imitation screen, the tiled floor dotted with dust, crisp packets and piles of magazines. In the far corner, there was a board with some sketches and measurements, and an empty table beside it. Before Okarun had even reached her, she had stepped inside and was heading towards it, focusing her phone torch on it.

"There was something on this table," she said, pointing to an area where the dust was thinner and pressed into neat circular patterns. "Then dragged–" she ran the light beam towards herself, through and along the ridges of dirt atop the table. It did indeed appear as though something had been dragged off the edge of the table.

The floor below was empty.

"Can you see any tiny footprints or chewed paper, Okarun?" She asked, leaning in closer to inspect the table and the strange marks in the dust.

Okarun crouched and pulled out his own phone for a light and checked the floor. There was dust, dead flies and the occasional, wispy body of a spider, scraps of paper, mildewed plaster that fell from the ceiling and piles of soggy books closer to the table, but little else.

"Anything?"

"Nah. You?"

"Nothing."

"Huh. No rats." With a final sweep of her phone across the room, she turned fully to Okarun.

"You'd think there'd be rats in a place like this. Plenty of nesting materials."

Before Okarun could respond, she had turned back to the board and stepped towards it with purpose.

A thought occurred to Momo. "Do we know anything about the guy who used to live here?"

She passed the light over the scruffy paper, that was that particular shade of tacky yellow that came with years of damp, but it was mostly legible. There were sketches of bowls and vases, and a list of firing temperatures and glazes dutifully noted out.

"Not much. He was a struggling artist. I think he gave up one day and just moved away."

"That's sad, giving up on your dreams..." She mused aloud as she looked over the unrealised designs.

Okarun nodded in agreement but had little else to add.

A clatter from the other room shook any further conversation from the two of them. As she searched for the source of the noise, their eyes met and Momo once again brought a finger to her lips. As before, the noise died down as quickly as it had happened, and silence once again sat heavy in the air of the artist's studio.

She motioned behind the two of them, to the door, and Okarun nodded agreement towards her, but before they could make a move, almost serendipitously, there was a loud smash from upstairs. Momo frowned, and Okarun took his cue.

"It's said that poltergeists can feed off of ambient energy," he said. Really, the thought was not a pleasant one, but it was one he needed to give voice to. If nothing else than to internally mask the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

"It's possible that us being here could feed it..." Anything he had been about to say was drowned out by the heavy tap-tap-tapping of feet on the floorboards above them, and the gentle cloud of dust that shook down from the rafters.

Momo looked up and squinted, her face screwed up in concentration like a paper ball.

"I can sense something up there..." She said before she fell silent again. "Maybe two or three things?"

"You still have to close your eyes to sense an aura?" Okarun asked, a little incredulously. Momo huffed. She would not be the person to admit that she found Okarun’s eyes distraction enough to get, well, distracted.

"It helps me concentrate,” and there was that angry, adorable frown again.

"So poltergeists aren't spirits of the dead," she said. "And they can feed on electricity or infrasound..." Someone had been doing their research.

"And emotional energy! Intense hormonal reactions and even sexual frustration!"

"Well, if they're feeding on that, that's on you," she said with a grin. She raised her phone and shone it in his face with a triumphant "hah!" that only served to make Okarun go even redder.

Then, as they both stepped out of the studio and back into the hallway she directed the beam of light towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. Whatever was upstairs was quiet again, but the anticipation of another noise, of something to break the cloying silence, was huge.

"Should we go see?" He already knew the answer; he just needed to vocalise it to get his legs moving.

Momo blinked at him and exercised her uncanny ability to voice the unsaid with little regard to manners.

"Well... That's what we're here for, isn't it?" She said, as she stepped past him, towards the stairs. Okarun followed behind, hunching a little behind her as she shuffled forward.

From the floor above, something hollow and glassy rolled across the floor. Momo stopped at the stairs and turned to face Okarun.

"Stay behind me... I'll try and get a hold on whatever aura is closest.”

"Momo, wait–" Okarun said just as she got to the foot of the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"What if it is just rats?"

"If it were rats, we'd have seen droppings or nests or other signs. This is definitely something that doesn't need to eat like you or me."

"Then let me go first!" It was what he should have done all along. He almost tripped over himself as he walked towards Momo, who stepped aside. If he was going to invite her here, he damn well was going to make sure she was looked after. Even if she said nothing, it was the right thing to do. She looked at him strangely.

"You let me enter the place first, and now you're my shining knight?"

"Just let me have this!" He responded, intonated a little more whinily than he would have liked.

She grinned. "Up you go then," and she pushed him, gently, and he took a step.

She wouldn't have said it, but she was touched. Here she was, hanging out with Ken Okarun, investigating the paranormal and getting to spend time with her favourite bespectacled man.

He had paused halfway up. Momo had bounced up the steps and into him before she realised.

"Watch where you're going!" He said over his shoulder, leaning his arm against the wall.

"Then keep going!" She groused.

"Give me a minute!"

She peeked between the gap in his arm and the wall, the stairway a little too narrow to comfortably pass him by, and she was, frustratingly, too short to do little more than crane.

"What, what is it? What can you see?"

"I thought I saw something at the end of the hallway..." He said.

"Well, come on then! Get moving!"

He sighed and took a step. The closer they got to the top, the more the stairs creaked. Somewhere up ahead, in the darkness of the hallway, there was a clink and a rattle, and the dull scraping scuttle of something across floorboards. Okarun froze up again and shone his phone in that direction.

"We'll be here till next week if you keep getting spooked at every noise!" Momo said, gently batting the back of his jacket. "I'm going first next time!"

"I'm just being cautious!"

"Get on with it!"

He took another step, and the door at the end of the hallway slammed shut. Both of them jumped a little, but Okarun took the rush of adrenaline to run up the rest of the stairs with a heavy thunk. He came to rest upon the landing, slightly crouched, madly swinging his phone (and associated torch) around.

Momo made her way a little more delicately as though she had not just jumped. She couldn't stop giggling.

"Dude- we used to do this all the time!"

"I was scared then, too!"

"You were?"

"Yes!"

"But we don't even know whether there’s anything to be scared of."

"It's dark and there's noise!"

Momo directed her phone towards the thick, booming thud of sound that had hit the wall from a room to the right. She could spot nothing but a solitary spider shaken down from the ceiling and hanging by a single thread as he slowly clambered back up. She followed its movements with the light a second longer and then shone it in Okarun's face.

He blocked the beam with his fingers and winced at Momo. "I'm never bringing you along to one of these again," he grumbled.

"You don't mean that!" Momo said cheerily.

She shifted the beam to his chest, but the underlit glow gave him an almost comical underlighting that lit his nostrils and glasses, and she burst into giggles.

"Will you stop laughing?"

"I can't help it, I laugh when I’m nervous!!"

"You're nervous?"

"There are weird noises in an abandoned house. Of course I am!"

"Then why are you giving me a hard time?!"

She shrugged. "It's fun."

Okarun pinched his nose and exhaled slowly.

She swept the thin beam of light back and forth between them and the cluttered floor.

"Say, did you hear anything when we were outside?"

Okarun shook his head.

"Yeah, me neither. Maybe we are setting it off..." She focused light upon a door, closed in its frame and scratched in a way that suggested somewhat regular usage. The door shuddered in its frame as the light passed over it.

She approached the door, hand outstretched, but stopped when it began to rattle and pound in its frame. The rest of the house was still, but something was rapping on this door from the inside. Her hand paused midair as she watched, and then she gripped at the empty space and brought her other hand up as though wringing a rag out, her brow knotted with concentration.

"You get the door!" She told Okarun, holding her hands together in a rough kind of ball.

He carefully stepped past her and prodded the door with his foot. A noise rose from the darkness, like someone was blowing upon a reed whistle.

It swung open into darkness for a moment, until Okarun remembered that Momo was otherwise indisposed, and brought his phone light up into the empty darkness. The beam intruded, revealing a dark wooden floor scattered with pieces of broken pottery in various shapes and sizes; long, short, round, jagged, brown, green, white, blue, mustard yellow, and dark blue.

Momo kept her hands clasped shut.

Something small tumbled out of the darkness and ran at Okarun, straight for his shins. It was small – barely reached his ankle –, and seemed to be made up of discarded paper, all marked with messy handwriting and blotches of ink. It didn't seem to have a face, per se, but a tiny, folded paper whistle that flapped and emitted a reedy shriek. It rustled as it moved in a series of complicated folding and unfolding patterns. The tiny paper man kicked Okarun's ankle.

It did not have the desired effect. It was hoisted up into the air by his thumb and forefinger. The noise it was making was shrill and it kicked the air.

There was little time to process the how, let alone the what or why, as a voice that was all shifting, breaking pottery, smashing plates, and cracked cups filled the room.

"Release me at once!" It crackled.

Momo was so surprised she did exactly that, and Okarun turned to her, the little origami man pinched between his fingers.

"Him too!" the jumble rumbled.

Okarun crouched and placed the paper man gently next to the fragmented pile of pottery, where it stood and seemed to exude an air of anger, or perhaps, shame. It was difficult to tell.

The broken pieces were shivering themselves into a simulacrum of a man. White wedged pottery became hands, attached to a teapot spout arm, while the other arm was a broken mug handle. Atop this sat an ochoko cup, shawl like. Its shoulders. Finally, it tottered up upon two burnished spoon legs. A larger piece of pottery sat atop its shoulders, replete with shifting porcelain patterns in blues, greens, pinks, browns and burnished oranges – vines, feathers, flowers, butterflies, all shifting across the surface until, finally, it settled into a stern, masculine face.

"Are you here to condemn this home?" It asked. Its voice was rough and smooth all at once, like the breaking of a hundred pots. Somehow, even though its voice was as much the impression of a noise as anything, barely syllabic, the two found they could understand it.

Momo crouched down and, as is human instinct when encountering something new and small, prodded it. It rocked back on its spoon legs, then stilled. She turned her gaze to the paper man, who she approached with a finger, pointed and hopeful, but it jumped behind the pottery man before she could reach it and the more solid of the two figures crossed its tiny arms.

Okarun took the moment to interject. "We were investigating the noises people were reporting from this place... Was that you?"

The sound of shifting ceramic filled the room as the figure turned to face him.

"Yes. We were hoping that, with enough noise, our creator might reappear."

"Your creator?"

"The man who crafted the pottery that now makes up my body". It replied.

"And what are you exactly?"

"A man!"

Momo couldn't help but chuckle. "I mean, in a sense."

"I cannot help what I am made of… A man is more than flesh and blood". Somehow, the figure managed to impart his words with a sense of gravitas, and his tiny, flowery eyebrows met in a frown. It was difficult to disagree with him. Years of arguing with ancient yokai had not given her any insight into the process.

"I guess... So what are you?" She asked, instead.

The tiny figure seemed to puff out its chest without ever quite enacting the motion.

"I am made of the destroyed pieces of one Inouye Tomio, artist".

"Hold on, destroyed?"

"Occasionally, if he did not like a piece, he would smash it. I came about as a result of that."

"And you were trying to get his attention?"

The figure nodded.

"A long time ago, he left and hasn't been back since. We thought if we made enough noise, he'd remember us and return.”

Momo straightened up and cast a glance around the room.

"So there's more of you?"

Again, the sound of clashing, shifting pottery filled the room.

"There's me, him, and two others-"

"And you are?"

"I'm me!"

Okarun interrupted here, lest the burgeoning first contact end before it had really even begun. "I think she means what to call you".

"I've had no need of a name to this point. You look at me, you see me".

The two of them sighed. Silence filled the room and the tiny man seemed content to look up at the two of them, its face shifting in and out of various patterns. The origami man still stood, slightly cowed, behind the larger ceramic figure but seemed to, every few moments, glance at Okarun. With each breath it exhaled a pitched whistle.

Momo tapped the side of her jaw, lost in thought. Eventually, she broke the silence.

"How about Seto?" Momo asked.

"If humans need a name, then you may call me that, although I might not respond.”

"You're not making this easy.”

"If this is destroying the place we call home, I will not make it easy.” The figure rankled.

"Hey, hey, slow down. Nobody's destroying anything. People were getting disturbed by your noises, so we came to see what was up."

The figure almost seemed to shiver. It took a moment for Momo to realise it was frustration, or perhaps the equivalent of a sigh.

"People were aware of our noises, and still Inouye Tomio hasn't returned for us?"

The two of them fell silent for a moment.

"It must be lonely here –," Okarun began.

"To have felt the joy of creation in my inception, only to be abandoned, is an empty feeling, yes," Seto agreed. The paper figure began nodding and whistling emphatically, and almost, sadly.

Momo smiled at the two of them. "Give me a moment to discuss this with my friend here, but we'll be right back.”

The figures were silent. The uncanny feeling of eyes watching multiplied as she nodded for Okarun to follow her out to the hallway. Outside, she left the door a little ajar and crossed her arms as she turned to him.

"Well, this is no poltergeist..." She said, and Okarun nodded and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I kinda feel sorry for them.”

"Yeah, me too ... What did you say happened to that artist?"

"Oh, he's alive, living in Hokkaido or something. Gave up art after years of failing to get any recognition..."

Mom's voice was soft. "He created so fervently that he imbued his creations with heart, but then he left them..."

Okarun adjusted his glasses. "We can't just do the same!"

"I wasn't planning on it..." Momo said. It wasn’t quite a stray cat, but she did feel some sort of responsibility. "Still, if we move them away from the house they're attached to, they might..."

"There has to be a way!" Okarun sounded so earnest, so enthused, that Momo couldn't help but smile softly, gently, and pat his arm reassuringly.

"How about if we set aside a weekday to visit them? What activities might a tiny pottery man like?"

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Jigsaws?" She asked.

Okarun chuckled. "Maybe Dodai?"

"No, no, I've got it. Yego!"

They both chuckled, despite being no closer to an answer than before. The silence was less awkward and more loaded as they both searched for a solution.

“Maybe they'll be glad to just have some company again..." Okarun said, a little sheepishly.

Momo nodded but couldn't help feeling that he wasn't necessarily on about the situation in the other room. She shouldered the door open. The tiny figures were still there, the paper man swinging his arms back and forth restlessly.

"You said there were more of you, right?"

"Yes. In his time living here, Inouye Tomio tried experimenting with several kinds of art... Still lifes, pottery, origami, music. We are all here."

"What do you say to having us visit you every now and then? But you gotta do something for us, too."

There was an excited whistle-clank from the pair that Momo took to be an answer.

"But in exchange, you've gotta stop making so much noise. People around here are giving this place a reputation, and that will attract attention."

His face frowned. "But how will Inouye Tomio know we are still here if we are quiet?"

Okarun spoke here, his voice laced with a quiet sadness.

"For whatever reason, he left, and I don't think he's coming back. He couldn't hear you from where he is, anyway..."

"He doesn't want to see us?"

"It would appear he gave up art entirely."

"But he made us! He created us with such passions!"

"I know it might be difficult to understand... Even painful. But please understand, he's not coming back." It sounded almost rehearsed.

The origami figure had stopped whistling and was instead emitting a low, sad warble.

"Do humans often abandon their creations?"

"Not always. Now that Momo and I have found you, we will do what we can to come visit."

"Why would you do that?"

"I can't speak for Momo, but I know what it's like to be lonely. If I can help, I will".

Momo was quiet a moment longer. She watched Okarun carefully, her face a difficult read. When she spoke, it was softly.

"I've always had friends but..." She hesitated. "I'm happy to help if it helps you achieve peace".

"Even though you did not craft us?"

"Even then.”

"Acceptable.”

"You said there are others... Might we meet them?"

Seto shifted, as though hesitant or thinking, before taking tiny steps towards the door.

"They are this way," he said.

It took quite a while for him to cross the floor with his small legs, but Momo and Okarun waited for him to catch up.

The door opposite opened with a gentle whoosh of air, revealing another artist's studio complete with piano and several canvases on easels. Of particular note was the canvas in the centre of the room, where a woman was painted in watercolour. Soft greens, blues, pinks, and oranges made up the bulk of her dress, which was blown around her by a wind only she could feel. She dripped, shifted, moving like a river across the canvas as she turned to see who entered. She seemed to bow in greeting as they entered. It was strange to see such motion in a painting.

A biwa rested against the easel, silent, all carved gourd, hardwood and taut strings. As they entered the room, it started twanging at itself, filling the room with sweet, sad chords.

The pottery man was quiet until the lute was finished.

"She says hello." he explained, as though speaking biwa was second nature to him.

"She's a she?!" Okarun asked, peering at her intently.

"Can't you tell by her slender neck and shapely torso?"

Okarun stared a moment longer at the biwa and found himself wondering what it would be like to feel that smooth, cool neck. And then, in his mind, the biwa became Momo. It was at that point that he shut down mentally and went quiet and red, glasses still gripped in his forefingers, stoic expression on his face.

Momo tapped him on the side of his temple.

"Earth to Okarun."

It started him out of the entire process, and he turned to her.

"Hmm? I was just thinking."

"Yeah, I could see that." She said, with a glance. Then, she crouched so that she was looking at Seto once more.

"So if we were to visit, what would you enjoy?"

The pottery shifted again, as though thinking.

"Company is all we want. To not be forgotten."

Momo nodded.

They left the house feeling not so much relieved as slightly saddened. The silence from indoors had spread outside as the pair of them walked back into town in what was becoming a comfortable silence. It wasn't much past dusk, and the sky was aglow with the embers of the day.

It was a while before any of them spoke, and when she did, it was barely more than a muttered aside, under her breath.

"I wonder why that guy gave up on his dream..."

"I guess, if someone is ignored for long enough, they'll get angry… They didn’t seem angry, though."

"No. I think the joy of creation, the love that went into them, was still there…”

She waited a heartbeat before she continued.

“You do know that was a rhetorical question before, right?"

Okarun smiled gently. "Sure, but I like talking to you."

She looked away to the side, a little bashful, and fiddled with her fringe as they neared the entrance to Kamishihiro shrine.

Once again, Okarun peeked past her into the shrine, and once again, Momo got the feeling he wanted to be invited in for tea or food, like they were back at Granny's. She felt even more awkward than ever having to come up with a reason why that couldn't happen just yet.

"I have some tidying to do –" she said.

It didn't take long for Okarun to get the message, and he smiled, a little fragile at the edges.

"Maybe we can do this again?" He asked, ignoring the shrine-sized elephant in the room.
She nodded enthusiastically.

He supposed that being home alone with someone was different from walking them home or spending the day. Happy as he was, he didn't want to make Momo uncomfortable. As he turned to leave, her hand gripped his upper arm.

"You're forgetting!" she said.

"O-oh. I'll see you next week?"

She smiled at that, though, a little forced. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him, or do ghost group, it was that waiting a week felt like too long. And yet, she couldn't quite bring herself to suggest sooner. As soon as she looked into those eyes, she lost her train of thought. They both stared in mutual muteness a moment longer. It was Okarun who broke the stalemate this time.

"See you later, Momo."

Momo watched as Okarun’s back got smaller the further away he went, she stood vigil until he had turned the corner. It was then she went inside.

There was still the problem of –

She had been woken that morning by a rip and a crash although she couldn't tell through the blear of sleep which came first. She had jumped out of bed and padded down the stairs barefoot.

It was early for her, which meant it was around midday, and to say she was displeased by being woken up would have been an understatement.

As she got downstairs, she saw the package from the other day, left by the door, in tatters, and picked up the largest piece of the brown, vinegary paper that she could.

Return address: Seiko Ayase.

"Granny?"

It wasn't unheard of for her to get packages of books, magazines, incense, or food, but these were usually preceded by a phone call. They were never out of touch long- bickering and gossiping in equal measure, with all the fondness that came with family.

They hadn't spoken that long ago, and there had been no mention of a package. Momo put the paper remnants down and turned to see a trail of cardboard ripped from a Pocky packet leading into the living room. There was a click and a buzz as the TV was turned on. A packet of mushroom chips lay just inside the door frame, and towards the sofa, another empty packet of hard candies.

She followed the trail up to a pair of white paws that sat over the edge of her sofa.

“What are you doing here?!” She demanded of the beckoning cat that sat on her sofa.

Turbo Granny's eyes swivel towards her.

“Is that any way to greet your elders, brat?”

“It's certainly a way to greet you, old bat! Come on, out with it!”

“Me and that hag had an argument, so she bundled me up and posted me off.”

Momo's shoulders sank. That did sound like something Granny would do. “She never bothers asking, huh?”

“Quiet, my soaps are on.”

That evening, she got in a little later than she had promised earlier, and Turbo Granny was peeking round the doorframe with something that looked far too knowing to be anything less than disconcerting.

“Was that Mr No-Balls I spied?”

“N-He has his balls back!”

“Sure, but not where it counts.”

“Don't speak about Okarun like that!”

“Why do you care?”

“He's my friend!”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

“Huh?”

“I spent a lot of time watching you back then, and let me tell you: nothing has changed.”

“Watching us...?”

“That's what I said!”

“What were you watching us do?!”

Turbo Granny stared at Momo, the silence between them heavy, and then turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“Did you bring any sushi?”

Momo jogged into the kitchen after her. “Yes, but you gotta tell me what that means first!”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“You can't leave that hanging!”

“I can and will, I owe you nothing,” she said, with the finality only an ancient yokai could muster.

Chapter Text

It was a dark winter's night, sharp and bitter with cold. The sky was an overcast promise of snow or rain, depending on which side of the thermostat the numbers decided to land on tomorrow. Bright slivers of stars drifted in and out of view through the heavy, grey cloud.

A boy sat alone in the middle of a roadside verge that was all stiff, grey-green grass crisped with frost. The hem of his dark grey woollen jumper soaked up the melting ice where he sat. He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged them tight. Next to him was a beat-up old radio that skipped channels every few seconds with a staticky hiss and the occasional burble of indistinct voices — numbers, adverts, news reports, nothing of any particular note or importance. To the sitting figure, it was just noise to fill the silence.

Humid heat plumed out from his mouth, and his round spectacles fogged against his face. Every few minutes, he took them off and rubbed them clean with the sleeve of his jumper, his eyes noticeably puffy. And then, the glassy shield would go back up and he stilled, and watched.

He stared intently up. The tips of his fingers were numb. He had sat there for hours.

From there, he had a good view of Kamigoe station. From there, he had watched the 4:43 to Kamishihiro depart, some hours ago, until it was no longer even a blur on the horizon, a negative space where she had been. It was then he'd had the idea to just... sit. Like he did when he was a kid. Call it rose-tinted nostalgia. Call it anything except what it was.

He didn't know why he'd come here.

He knew aliens were real. He knew they wouldn't come for him. Or, at least, the Serpoians wouldn't. And if they wouldn't, if even she wouldn't stay, who would, alien or human?

There would be no more evenings with Seiko, no more BBQs or sushi nights. It was vending machines and cup noodles and a dark flat with open curtains from here on out. There would be no more adventures, no more weekly get-togethers. How could there be, when the unifying force between them had moved away?

He didn't know if he was being silly, or dramatic, or even if it mattered what he was being when the damage was done.

She'll never talk to me again. I should have gone to say goodbye. And if not that, then, anything. Anything. It would have been better than having said nothing at all.

There was a large puff of condensation from him as he sighed hard and reached out with fingers stiff from cold to fiddle with the knob on the radio. And then his fingers brushed against something scored into the plastic of his radio.

Had that always been there? Had he dropped it? It was old, and he tried to take care of the things he couldn't necessarily afford to replace. He lifted it close to his face.

M O M O

The O's were hearts, angular and jagged.

He sank his head into his knees and folded into himself with a groan.

In the present, Ken Takakura sat at his desk. Sunday overtime was a good way to make up for any weekday distractions, and, in truth, he was a bit of a workaholic. Life was easier when his head was otherwise occupied, constantly. Friends and social lives, they were things he never had gotten the hang of. Of course, he had friends he texted, but long distance friendships were the only kind he really cared to maintain. Or, that had been the case, until a few weeks ago.

So, today, he busied himself going through emails, organising and clearing out his inbox. He needed to keep his hands busy, or he was going to end up texting Momo an amount between too much and far too much, dude, and definitely in flagrant violation of normal adult human communicative norms. He had to keep reminding himself that they had only been talking for a couple of weeks, that there were rules to friendship that included not making too much of a nuisance, and definitely not wanting to spend every free moment with aforementioned friend. There was, at least, an upside to this: as far as he could tell, things were going well. He'd walked her home! He gave her his number! She had texted. She had smiled. She had touched his arm. He seized upon every minutiae, and yet, in his head, even the mundane became cause for concern. He had no idea of where rational thoughts ended and anxieties began. More than anything, his desire came from a wish to spend more time with Momo, to reacquaint himself with her old habits and familiarise himself with the new.

Should I invite her over? Did that come with a whole other series of expectations and rules? What if she said no?

He had his friend back. Wasn't that enough?

His phone buzzed, and he was glad the office was empty so that nobody could see how quickly he had seized upon it.

M. Takashi: Hey dude. Quick q.
K. Takakura: Sure.
M. Takashi: Any idea if Mimi is gonna be at GC next week?

Ken stared at the screen. Where did he even begin with that question?

M. Takashi: She's single, right?

Ken stared at the screen. Was she? They had talked about paranormal things, gone to the Inouye house, and he had walked her home from ghost club. He had assumed they still shared the same friend group but she was an adult, who had lived a whole five years away. Of course she had other friends. And then he began to panic. Outside of the paranormal, what did they have in common, really? Did he even know her favourite colour? (Green, pink? It had to be one of those, right?) Favourite meal? (Crab? Noodles? She definitely liked food.) Favourite actors didn't count when the aforementioned actor shared your name, but could he name a film the other Ken was in?

Before he could spiral any further, he typed out a quick response.

K. Takakura: Think so.
M. Takashi: To which question?

Okarun put his phone down and got back to work.

The past few days had been an adjustment for Momo Ayase, to say the least. She had not expected to have a roommate, and much less for the aforementioned entity to be the obstinate spirit of a perverse old lady. Or, at the very least, one that took the form of one.

She was used to getting up and making herself breakfast late, but she had learned the hard way that if left to her own devices, Turbo Granny could and would, in fact, throw omelettes all over her kitchen. Momo had begun to suspect she was being sent the Yokai so that Granny Ayase could save on food bills. Any attempts to prod the cat for information on their falling out were, at best, ignored and at worst, ended in a shouting match. For such a small thing, she was a handful, and Momo communicated the only way she knew how: petulant bickering.

She had rolled over that morning and found Turbo Granny sat on the pillow next to her, eyes glazed and staring.

"Were you watching me sleep?!" She mumbled out.

The cat scratched the side of her head and said nothing. Momo sighed and leaned up on her elbows, hair and sleep mask both askew. The window cast the room aglow with yellow heat and sunbeams.

"Are you going to do anything today?" The old spirit asked.

"Hmm, I dunno-" Momo began.

"Good, then you can look into that thing I asked you about."

"No way! I'm a caretaker of shrines, not of cats". Momo crossed her arms and mustered up the most intimidating frown she could, when her hair was a mess and she wore a baggy pink bunny t-shirt.

Turbo Granny stepped into her field of view. "I'm telling you there's something weird! You should listen to me! I'm a font of wisdom!"

"If it's bugging you so much, you do something!"

Momo threw the quilt off and stood up, the quilt falling around her and burying Turbo Granny amidst its folds. As she swore and scrambled herself up and out of the trap, Momo took the opportunity to lock herself in the bathroom.

She towelled her hair as she stepped out into the hallway, and when she looked down, Turbo Granny was there, again, her eyes an insistent glower. Momo strode past her and down the stairs. She heard the scuttle of plastic feet against hardwood as her new roommate followed.

It took Turbo Granny a minute to get to the kitchen. She had to scoot down the stairs slowly, lest she fall, and all the while she muttered about the indignity.

In the kitchen, she – not without some difficulty – pushed a chair across the floor and clambered up so that she could sit and stare crossly at the young medium with her arms folded.

Momo did her best to load up the rice cooker, beat some eggs, ignore the crotchety old hag in her kitchen, and made yet another mental note to call Granny and complain to her at the next available opportunity. As she flicked the kettle on, she turned her head and almost bumped into Turbo Granny, stood right next to her with that same maddeningly stoic expression.

"You better be making me some eggs too," she said.

"Course I am, you old cow." Insults were a form of affection in any Ayase household, though neither Seiko, Momo, nor Turbo Granny would have admitted it.

"Good. And while you're at it, look at me."

Momo closed her eyes and breathed, 2, 3, 4. Exhale, 2, 3, 4. Inh–

"I'm talking to you!"

Momo’s mouth a solid line, she opened her eyes.

Turbo Granny stared at her with large, unblinking, glassy eyes, a paw raised to her mouth.

Momo stared back. There was silence for a minute.

"What are you doing?" Momo asked, her eyebrow cocked.

"I'm being cute," said Turbo Granny.

"You look like you're having a stroke" Momo fired back.

"Is it working?"

"Huh?"

"My cute look. Is it working?"

"No."

Momo turned to her eggs and flipped them in the pan.

Turbo Granny sidled into view, her eyes fixed upon Momo.

"Cut it out! What is this?!"

"I watched a video of cats begging for food like this," Turbo Granny explained.

"You're not a cat. You're in a doll. Those big eyes are just creepy.”

"Then do what I asked.”

Momo portioned off a corner of the omelette and took two plates from the cupboard. She piled rice and egg onto both, and turned to take them to the table. Turbo Granny jumped down from the counter and clattered across the room. The tips of her ears came into view over the edge of the table, then her scalp, and then, finally, her eyes.

"Are you going to keep pulling that face until I say yes?" Momo asked through a mouth full of rice. Turbo Granny's paw raised as if in answer, and the woman sighed.

"Fine, fine. I'll look for those damn cats. Why do you care so badly?"

"If those cats are in danger, I could be in danger. I can only defend myself so well in this form."

"You're not a cat."

"No, but I could easily be mistaken for one. I am cute, after all."

Momo thought better of arguing and took another bite of omelette.

Turbo Granny took the opportunity to push the point. "Why don't you invite Mr. No-Balls along?"

Momo almost choked on her coffee. "Why would you care if I did?"

"I don't."

"Then why are you asking me?"

"I need something to do when my soaps aren't on."

"You aren't watching me a– no, no, I don't want to know."

Turbo Granny took a bite of her omelette. For a plastic cat with a limited capacity for facial expressions, she managed to look exceedingly smug.

As Momo got up, Turbo Granny made a beeline for her usual spot on the sofa. There was already a divot. Momo felt as though her electricity bill had doubled in the three days that Turbo Granny had been living there. Her snack bill certainly had. She took a seat next to the spirit, who was brandishing the remote with what could only be described as gusto.

It was a good idea. Texting Okarun couldn’t hurt. But she would be damned if she wasn't going to tell Turbo Granny that.

M. Ayase: "Hey, u up?"

She put her phone to the side and leaned back into the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Turbo Granny flicked through channels to find something to her liking.

After a few minutes, there was no reply. Momo picked up her phone restlessly and scrolled through her inbox every now and then. Turbo Granny watched out of the corner of her eye.

Oh no, I’m not giving her the satisfaction. Momo put her phone down again and tried to focus on the television.

It was some variety show or other, complete with bouncing graphics, goofy sound effects, and canned laughter. Momo's eyes stayed glued to the screen, but her mind wandered.

Was ten too early to text Okarun on a Sunday? Would he think she was being weird? Were two hangouts in a week too much? She was shaken from her quickly spiralling thoughts by the buzz from her phone.

Okarun: "Hey! What's up?"

Momo's thumb hesitated over the reply button. She didn't quite know how to broach the subject of Turbo Granny.

How about "u rmbr the spirit tht stole ur junk? She's @ my place and tipped me off about smth weird." As she typed it, she realised how insensitive it sounded and deleted the entire thing.

M. Ayase: "nm. U?"
Okarun: "Just getting up for the day!"
M. Ayase: "I hrd about sum weird cat rumours. Wanna check it out? lmk"
Okarun: "Sure, where?"

So it was that easy after all. Momo texted him the block and stood up to get ready.

"I'll accept yeast buns as a thank you." Turbo Granny said.

"For what?!"

"Giving you an excuse to go out with Mr. Numnuts."

A little later, as Momo left, Turbo Granny shouted after her.

“Don’t forget the buns!”

Kamihishiro City was warm that day, even by normal Japanese summer standards. The sky was vast, with only the occasional wisp of cloud to break up the blue monotony. The weatherman had said that a small heatwave was set to last a couple of weeks. On every street corner, a heat haze twisted the air, and already, much of the greenery was crisped brown and yellow. The horizon shimmered like hot oil, greasy and blistering.

The street was mostly empty as people stayed indoors to avoid the midday heat, and the only motion came from the gentle swing of signs and the flash of electric billboards in shop windows. The high street of Kamishihiro was a hotchpotch of food shops – a cafe, a bakery that wafted the sweet smell of melon pan across the street, and a cheap ramen bar that looked to be held up with grease and good intentions –, a manga cafe, a konbini, a grocery store, and a public bathhouse.

Okarun was pacing back and forth outside the konbini as he waited for Momo. He'd already been in more times than could be considered normal, let alone polite, and he'd only bought things on the most recent intrusion. The first, he had gone in just to stand in the fridge section, and that had been the pattern for the second and third expeditions into the shop.

The fourth time, he realised he should buy something for Momo, and by that point, the look the cashier gave him may have been in his head, but he didn't want to push it. His navy blue shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back, and he was glad he had worn shorts today, to say nothing of sandals.

She had texted him about an hour ago, and they'd agreed to meet up outside the shop before they headed towards whatever awaited them today. Missing cats surely wouldn't be anything too drastic, but he couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what, trouble would gravitate towards him.

Still, it was a chance to hang out with his old friend Momo.

Friend. Friend. Friend. He tried the word out in his mouth, and something about it tasted right, and yet wrong at the same time. Were they friends? She had invited him out today. That was something friends did, right? And yet, the thoughts that crowded his head spoke of an old fire, stoked and rekindled and hot, so hot. And so, he walked.

It was a little too warm to be pacing as much as he was, but the alternative – of checking his phone every few minutes to see if there was a new message –, was too much, mentally, for him. He didn't know what would have been worse: if she'd cancelled or if she'd texted.

Had he always been this anxious with friends?

He'd hit it off with Jiji and Unji straight away. Aira, Kouki, Rin, and Vamola were... A slightly different story, but they were still in his contacts list for a reason, as was Kinta, who swung by every few months for a Rumio tournament or three. Outside of that small group, he had a collection of workmates, people he spoke to online, and, of course, ghost club. If he was feeling charitable, they were friends; if not, they were an obligation. He had been okay with a quiet, meandering existence.

And yet here he was, worried about what Momo might think of him. Of his outfit, of his nerves, of his hair, his glasses, his voice, his job, of his height, of the things he had bought her at the convenience store, of his choice of conversation. These were things he'd never worried about until he met her, and now, they too had resurfaced like old friends. What if she thinks I've not changed a bit?

Okarun stopped pacing and sighed as he admitted defeat and checked his phone.

A message from Momo.

M. Ayase: "Behind you!"

He turned.

The large bubble she had been blowing popped, and he jumped.

"M-Momo!"

She sucked the pink gum back and grinned.

"You ready?"

"You shouldn't sneak up on me like that!"

"I texted!"

"It was ominous."

"Me, ominous?" She pointed at her face and puffed out her cheeks, and then her tongue, before the two of them dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Okarun smiled, then quickly pulled his rucksack over his shoulder, opened it, and passed Momo an iced coffee.

"Here. You got the snacks last time," he said. She took the drink with a smile, then shrugged her shoulder, motioning to the strap that lay across it.

"I've packed us lunch," she said.

Okarun was almost lost for words. He stood and stared, all silence and sputters, for a moment, and wondered if he could blame the blush that crept up his neck on the sun.

"You made us lunch?" He squeaked.

Momo nodded. "Nothing too fancy, just some rice and meatballs, I had leftovers," she smiled.

"Momo, that's so nice of you!" Slow down, slow down, remember, there are spaces between those words.

She waved a hand. "You're coming out with me, it's the least I could do". In truth, Momo felt guilty over not inviting him in yet. She wanted to show him she could think of other people, and that she valued his time. She rolled her shoulder and turned around.

"Right... My informant said it was the neighborhood near the park", she said as she pointed away from them.

"And who was –" Okarun cleared his throat of the remnants of the incriminating squeak "- who was your informant?"

It was never truly silent in a Japanese summer. There was always the frazzled, electric hum of an air conditioner unit or freezer, or the buzz of a cicada, and it was those noises that filled the quiet between them.

He cleared his throat again. Maybe she hadn't heard him?

"Who was –"

She put a palm out, and he stopped in his tracks both physically and conversationally.

The question has thrown Momo. How could she answer that without lying to him or revealing that an ancient, ball-stealing Yokai was now boarding with her? She didn't want to rekindle this friendship on lies or half-truths, but she didn't want Okarun to worry, either. Of course, she'd tried to pretend her name was Mimi Amaze on their first meeting, so maybe she wasn't doing as good a job as she had hoped. Regardless, it had been years since she'd seen Turbo Granny in the flesh-uh, plastic, and Okarun's experience had been less than positive, to put it mildly.

She stood thinking so long that he'd started to ask the question again. She shoved out a hand to quiet him.

"Just some old granny," she said as she turned to him with a smile. He seemed to accept that.

"And it's cats going missing, right?"

"Yeah..." She said as she stared at the end of the block. Then she shifted into gear and motioned for him to follow.

The change from high street to domesticity happened slowly, as dozens of summer sales gave way to row upon row of stone and brick houses and twisting roads. The further they got from the high street, the more obvious it was: missing cat posters had been stuck in shop windows and on telegraph poles. Pickles, Dumpy, and Kimchi, all missing. Each bill became more recent until it appeared as though a cat was being taken every few days. As Momo walked, she looked at each poster and, occasionally, she would peel one from its posting, always one that was already falling away.

The collection of fliers got bigger, and as much as Momo did not want to admit, and indeed, couldn't in present company, it became obvious that maybe Turbo Granny was right, and there was something to this.

She stopped next to a telegraph pole with the most recent missing cat taped to it at shoulder height.

A small, dumpy-looking ginger cat. There was a phone number.

"Hey, Okarun?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear anything at work about these cats?"

The man was quiet for a moment, hands in his pockets as he locked eyes with the poster, and then he shook his head.

"Nah. I reckon people report missing animals to the police, that's not really our area."

"What about like, alien abductions?"

"They go for cows and people, not cats!"

"Yeah, but what if they did?"

"What interest would an alien have in a cat?!"

"I dunno! It was just a thought.”

As Momo looked over the poster, she froze.

Okarun followed her gaze to the cat's name. “Someone really called their cat "REDACTED-"

Momo shushed him, her lips pursed, tears in her eyes as she tried to subdue the laugh that was building up in her.

“No, no, don't say it!”

“It's his name!”

She shushed him again, a hand to his mouth.

“Please! I have to be professional. I can't burst out laughing because he's called Mi–” and then, she dissolved into a fit of laughter.

Okarun couldn't help but smile. The explosive giggle fits that Momo found herself subject to were one of those things he had never really realised he missed until he was witness to one.

Momo took several deep breaths, her face flushed pink, then pulled her phone out and dialled the number on the poster. Okarun opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, but he was quieted by a finger on his lips and a gentle shush from Momo.

She pulled her hand away, and for the briefest moment, Okarun wished to prolong the contact, but he thought better of it and turned instead to study the picture of the cat and to repress the looming threat of going bright red. They were here today for cats, not for the return of the great tomato yokai.

The phone rang a few times, until there was a click and a voice that creaked like old wood answered.

"Hello? Shinihara residence."

"Ah, hello, is this Yoko Shinihara?"

"Speaking."

"I'm here about the missing cat –" and before she could finish, the elderly woman had interjected.

"Oh, have you found him?"

Momo winced. "No, no, I just had some questions about him, if that's okay?"

If the woman was disappointed, she did not sound it. "Oh, I'd given up hope of ever seeing him again, thank you, thank you!"

"Yes, well, I was just wondering if you could tell me more about his habits, where he liked to go, you know..."

Okarun watched the conversation unfold and, for the most part, kept quiet. He considered speaking again to give Momo an excuse to touch him, but thought better of it and instead found himself focusing on her mouth. She was speaking, but he was not listening.

He didn't need to ask himself if she had always been that pretty. An answer in the affirmative did nothing for him. As he watched her speak, he swallowed, dry and awkward. To make matters worse, she had noticed him staring and had stuck her tongue out at him. Soon, there would need to be new words added to every language to describe the shade of red that he went.

Thankfully, Momo interrupted that train of thought as she put her phone away.

"Okay, we're going round to her place to talk to her about the missing cats."

"What good will that do?" Okarun asked.

"Well, she has an old collar. I can use that as a foci, maybe get a bead on him.”

"Your powers got really… powerful, huh?" What a great, well-constructed sentence that was. It wasn't like he was a writer or anything, no, sir.

Momo nodded. A small flare of pride surged in her abdomen.

"She doesn't live too far away," she said 'can't get very far.’ I figured we could look for more posters from the past month as we go".

Okarun nodded.

The door was painted an old, weathered grey-blue. Momo knocked on it and waited, with a nervous smile for Okarun. It had been years since they'd hung out, much less done anything like this. She'd been nervous to ask him, and for what? He was here. He was here.

Yoko Shinihara opened the door and invited them in. She wore a light blue summer dress, her white hair cut short and pinned back. Her house was much cooler than outside, and Momo offered a prayer to the god of air conditioning as she and Okarun left their shoes at the entrance and followed her through to a small sitting room.

Yoko took a seat on the large orange sofa and motioned for the pair to take their spaces opposite her, on rickety wooden chairs pulled out for the occasion.

"You'll excuse me for not getting you both a drink," she said. "This heat is awful for my joints. But there's some barley tea in the fridge –"

Okarun could not have sprung up any quicker.

“I'll get it!” He said, and followed her pointed finger. The clatter and open-shut of cupboards in the kitchen, as he made himself busy, filtered through to the lounge as Yoko smiled across at Momo, and she, in turn, smiled back. He returned with a tray and three cups, and passed them out, first to Yoko, then to Momo, and then he took his cup and sat awkwardly on the chair that was just a little too small for him.

Yoko took a sip of her drink and smiled widely.

“Nothing like cold barley tea on a hot day like this!” she said. Momo returned the smile with an appreciative gulp.

"Thank you for doing this!" Yoko said.

"It's no problem at all," Momo responded. "What can you tell us about REDACTED-– your cat?"

"Well, he was adventurous in his younger years, but he settled down when I did."

Momo nodded. "So where did he like to go during the day?"

The old woman pointed to the window. "He never really went far. There's a storage shed at the end of the block, and he liked to sunbathe there. Sometimes he'd be so fast asleep he'd forget about dinner and I'd have to go out and get him ... But that day..."

Yoko looked sad. She took a sip of barley tea from a shaking cup and lay it back down with a large sigh. "He wasn't there. I tried calling for him and... There was nothing. I couldn't go very far, but I started seeing those posters and–"

Momo passed the small stack of bills she had collected to Okarun so that she could lean forward and pat the elderly woman’s hand.

"If we can find him, we will," she said. The elderly woman nodded and smiled through watery eyes.

Okarun occupied himself by leafing through the pages in his lap. So many missing cats. The oldest dated back to the end of May, and in that time, - he skipped back to the front and started again, counting the sheets as he went along –, fifteen cats had gone missing. He looked across at Momo, who was still talking to Yoko Shinihara about her hobbies - birdwatching, tea, needle felting, and laid the bills out in his lap in a neat little pile.

He supposed this crossed over with actual work for Momo. The way she dealt with the elderly woman and conducted herself was entirely different from the Momo he was used to. His Momo. There was an immediate mental backpedal. She wasn't his. They were friends. Did friends belong to one another? No, of course not.

As he tangled with that train of thought, Momo had gotten up and cleaned up the cups. Okarun gripped the bills. He had been mostly quiet during this talk. It was time to say something.

“Mrs. Shinihara, we will save REDACTED-!" He said, the words got away from him before he could process just what it was he was saying.

Momo stifled a grin, bringing the crook of her arm up to her face so that she didn't laugh out loud, and Okarun was a little too invested in the intentions behind his words to feel any embarrassment. He stood solid and resolute.

Yoko Shinihara smiled at him and patted his elbow. "Thank you, Mr. Takakura."

The use of his name did not help Momo's situation.

He nodded once. Momo came up for air and seemed to have composed herself as the two got up to leave. Momo palmed something all the way to the door. Then, at the last second, she turned.

"I'll get this back to you, whatever happens," she said, with a motion to the small blue collar in her hand. Yoko Shinihara went to the door and waved them off. As she turned back to go inside, she thought to herself that they made a lovely couple.

Outside, Okarun and Momo turned to face one another.

"We're going to check out that storage shed, see if there's anything there.”

Okarun nodded.

"You okay? You're quiet?" She had already gotten used to the sound of his voice again. The silence that took its place did not sit right with her.

"It's a lot of missing cats," he said.

"Yeah."

"What if it isn't a supernatural cause and it's just some guy?"

Momo waved a hand. "My informant was sure it had some kind of preternatural cause."

"Can they be trusted?"

There was another hesitation from Momo. "Uh, yeah.” Turbo Granny could be trusted. If she couldn’t, it was a little late for Momo.

She didn't sound sure, but he didn't want to push it.

"Where'd that come from anyway?" Momo continued.

"Where'd what come from?"

"The whole 'what if it's just some guy' thing?"

"Oh, uh–" Okarun rubbed the back of his neck. "I watched Don't Fuck With Cats on Petflix the other day."

"Since when have you been into true crime?!"

"I'm not, usually. Unless it's like, mysterious disappearances or unsolved murders."

"So which was this?"

"It started with cats and it ended with murder.”

Momo pulled a face, very glad, all of a sudden, that her speciality was the paranormal.

"Has it ever been humans in any of our encounters?"

"Well, no... That's what worries me. Statistically speaking –"

Momo found herself watching him intently as he spoke, a dull, warm buzz in her chest. This, she thought. I missed this. I missed him.

They walked to the end of the block as Okarun regaled her with the full story of the television programme, with all the enthusiasm she had come to expect from him.

The storage shed was a rickety old thing held together with moss, lichen, rust, and a selection of tools, all propped up against the areas that needed reinforcement. It sat in someone's garden, so it was not exactly accessible.

The house that it belonged to was, storage shed notwithstanding, rather prim and proper. It had a neat little path that led all the way up to a little white painted door. Momo approached it and knocked with a confidence that Okarun could only witness, never partake of.

A middle-aged man with a paunch and what seemed to be a perpetual sheen of sweat opened the door. Momo seemed to have everything in hand, so he decided instead to check the local news on his phone to see whether there was anything about the cats. He scrolled through and caught snippets of conversation in between the long stretches where his mind was otherwise engaged.

"—Missing cats?"

"Yeah, I heard—"

"Do you remember ever seeing —"

"— On the roof"

"Yeah- used … him fish—"

"He isn't in y—"

"— You find the little guy."

Momo tapped Okarun on the shoulder. He had been so engrossed in his reading that he hadn't noticed her approach. He jumped, but managed to catch his phone before disaster struck. Momo grinned at him.

"Looking at something you shouldn't be?"

"N-no. I was just —"

"You protest too much."

"Stop sneaking up on me!"

"It's broad daylight, pay attention!"

"I was! Just not to you!"

The easy rhythm with which they had settled back into an affectionate sort of back and forth was not lost on either of them.

It was then that Ken really noticed what she was wearing. Just a simple white tennis dress with dark blue detailing and a straw summer hat, hair loosely half plaited. She looked the part of a candid photography subject, and even though it was nothing special, on her -maybe because of her –, he couldn't help but think she looked—

"Pretty."

It was a fairly close-knit race when it came to who blushed first, but Okarun won. His round spectacles only served to highlight the shocked, rabbit-in-the-headlights look that was plastered across his face.

It wasn't very long at all, but internally, it felt as though years had passed in those scant few seconds.

"Ah-uh, that's a pretty dress, Miss Momo!" he said. He couldn't possibly get any redder, right?

The glacier that had been Momo melted. She did her best not to show it.

"T-thanks. Do you wanna hear what the dude said?" She asked, as she nodded in the direction of the house and fiddled with a stray strand of hair.

Go on, reach forward and brush it aside, said something deep inside Ken. His brain seemed intent upon setting him down a path to ruin today. He nodded and flattened down his hair nervously.

She seemed to have given him the once over at least twice in the short amount of time it had taken him to reply.

"He remembers the cat, but hasn't seen him in, well, basically as long as he's been missing.” She said.

"Interesting!" his voice had returned, a few octaves higher than normal. He wasn't sure if it was a mercy or a disaster waiting to happen.

Momo was tapping a finger to her jaw, hand on her hip as she stared into the distance. Boy, she was not equipped for this kind of work. Then, she remembered the collar and pulled it from her pocket, held it out in her hand, fingers curled inward. Just as Granny Ayase had taught her. At this point, that phrase was as much a part of the ritual as anything chi-related. It helped her to focus on someone she cared about.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Chi filled up her chest, and then her abdomen, where it began to tingle and fill her up. She was reaching, reaching through the rocks and stones, through the grass and flowers, through the cicadas and wasps and every heat shimmer, every shaded tree and telegraph pole until she had homed in on the small orange aura she could feel connected to the collar.

Her eyes snapped open. She pointed behind Okarun.

"That way!" she said. "Not actually sure how far, but ..." She beckoned to Okarun, who pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and followed her.

There was little in the way of conversation when her mind was otherwise occupied. She had to maintain an open chakra through careful breathing and focus, so she relied mostly upon the ghostly pull around her navel to guide her feet.

They passed houses and gardens, a konbini on the corner, and came to a stop outside of an alleyway that snaked off in several smoky directions.

"There's a –" she screwed her eyes shut once more. "A building here. Our cat is there. And ...I can-I can feel—."

She set off into a jog. Okarun followed close behind until she skidded to a stop at the front of a warehouse.

"How are we going to —?” Okarun began, but the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the thud of rubber against wood as Momo kicked the door.

Or more accurately, kicked a hole in the door. Her foot had sunk into it.

"Quick, before it closes!" She said, as she crouched and stuck an arm through the hole, and then another, and then she pulled. The hole seemed to spread across the door with a gelatinous schwup.

She climbed in. Okarun had been in the process of hesitating, but her hand came back through, and he took it without much thought. She pulled him, and together they both fell into the entranceway to what was most definitely not a warehouse.

Chapter Text

The Ayase household could be heard streets away that morning as Momo shouted and packed, packed and shouted and various variations upon that formula. She stamped around looking for this or that, so that by the time it was time to say goodbye, her throat was well past the point of being sore.

Granny had pulled her into a hug, the scent of incense and cigarettes thick in her jumper. Momo held onto fistfuls of her lapels a moment longer and took a deep sniff. Seiko, cigarette in hand, ruffled her not-quite-granddaughter's hair. She'd had one daughter leave the nest, and had been through all these emotions then. Somehow, this time was worse. Every question, every doubt she had about her ability to mother her daughter was twofold when it came to Momo. The thing about leaving the nest was, you had to let them try, even if it went hideously wrong. There were plenty of things Seiko could tell her, but learning them meant living them.

“Is he not coming to say goodbye to you?” Seiko asked with a smoky exhalation.

“Who?” Momo did her best not to feign innocence, but nonchalance. Unfortunately for her, Granny was a psychic, and, her Grandmother. Seiko didn't belabour the point but, she did notice that in the morning light, Momo's face looked puffy. There was another exhale of smoke and things unspoken.

“Don't play dumb with me.”

Momo's chest burned. Her face burned. Her eyes burned and stung. Her heart burned, and ached, and beat, and wouldn't stop.

“Oh, him. No.”

Granny Ayase knew when to push and when not to. This was a fact surprising to most people unacquainted with the kind of tough love with which she had raised Momo, where even arguments were fuelled with affection and barbs came as fast as affection. The older woman was quiet for a moment. She sucked on the end of her cigarette as she looked her not-quite-granddaughter over. Seiko brushed something on her shoulder, then gently cuffed Momo's cheek.

“Cheer up, kiddo. Can't be bringing all that bad energy to a new shrine.”

Momo knew that what she meant to say was 'good luck, I love you'. But, to Granny Ayase, that was about as close as she could get, verbally. It was that and a packed lunch.

Momo sniffed and wiped her nose.

“Thanks, Granny. I'll call you later, okay?”

As she had been about to turn, the sudden, violent tapping of plastic paws on hardwood had filled the hallway. Turbo Granny, not quite living up to her name, ran full-tilt towards Momo.

“You were going to go without even saying goodbye!?”

“Why would I say goodbye to you? You're nothing but trouble!”

“No respect! I'm sending you off with a thousand curses!”

Momo flipped Turbo Granny off. Seiko raised a hand to the tiny yokai, who flinched almost reflexively.

“You curse my granddaughter, I trap you in a kokeshi doll for 6 weeks!”

Turbo Granny had learned to grovel very quickly in the Ayase household. Momo crouched down and patted her head. She didn't know what she had expected, but patting the smooth, plastic dome of her head was strange for the two of them.

“I'll think of you every time I see an old bitch.” She said.

Turbo Granny huffed. “I'll think of you every time I see a clueless skank!”

With that, Momo stretched up, stepped off, and out. Both grannies stood in the doorway and watched as Momo walked further and further away, in the kind of shared silence that precluded a storm.

Later on, in her oversized hoodie and backpack, Momo was very conscious of the fact that she looked younger than all the salarymen and college students on the train and even more conscious that their normality was her abnormality. She didn't get university. She got a shrine and a familial obligation. All those college firsts — first passes, first fails, first drinks, first loves, first fights — were a world away from her, even if, in that moment, they shared a carriage.

She had taken a seat facing backwards. Even as the train turned the corner and her view of platform two curled out of view, she had hoped, and dreaded, one last view of a boy with round spectacles. But all she saw were people leaving the platfor.m. And still, she craned her neck. He wouldn't see her but the train, but she would. She would see him, and look. And she would know. The station shuddered and blurred out of view, and finally, she turned away.

Once Kamigoe station was out of view, it had not taken her long to fall asleep. Whatever tumult had kept her restless had abated in the gentle warmth of the train carriage as she swayed into an uneasy rest. Her forehead had scuffed a damp, oily stain into the glass she had fallen asleep against. Her eyes were sunken and dark with last night's tears, and her fist was curled around something.

The note – titled To Okarun – was crumpled, finished, unfinished, written and un, in her palm. She had put her feelings down, every contrasting thrum, thrown it away, then picked it up and smoothed it out repeatedly the previous night. Because what could you say that you could put in a note?

You blew it?

I blew it?

I'd say we, but there's no we.

She could have drawn Okarun with a penis for a head, but that achieved even less than what she had already failed to achieve, and she was still too raw to find it funny.

With the sleep and the sway, Momo's grip loosened, and whatever had been written on the note was scuffed aside by trainers in the rush to get off at stop four.

She wouldn't wake for over an hour, yet. Kamishihiro was about two hours away on the carriage that she or Granny Ayase could afford. She had been sent off that morning with a packed lunch — Granny never packed lunch, and she never cried.

It was a morning of firsts for Momo.

The floor Ken and Momo had fallen onto was soft, like standing on a cushion. The walls were ribbed in some places and gilled in others, and vaguely spongey, mottled brown and cream. The walls gave the impression of movement, in shudders that perpetually rippled the surface fronds. There were no windows, but neither was it dark. Instead, the space occupied a strange middle ground. In the closest approximation to a ceiling that Momo could identify, tiny clusters of fanned-out lights cast a gentle glow over everything. There was a smell, not unpleasant but earthy and strong, and a strange, stagnant stillness that one came to associate with empty space. There was a feeling of wrongness, of intrusion, like they were in some place they shouldn't be, and the sensation of looking down a corridor that was both straight and curved, still and shivering, was dizzying.

The only identifiable noise was a faint mewling from further down the corridor. Momo leaned and pushed herself up, arms outstretched to keep herself steady. She turned to Okarun with the smug look of someone who knew she was right.

"See?! Aliens!"

"Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions?!"

"I jumped. I jumped and I landed. Perfect landing! This is aliens. Come on, you know that feeling —" she paused a moment to let the dark and the still fill the spaces between them. It was like standing in a void, suspended, neither here nor there.

"We've never seen anything like this!" Okarun protested, though his heart was only half in it.

"The Okarun I knew would never disavow the chance to discover alien lifeforms!"

She had not seen him look so outraged in a good while. He gripped the rim of his glasses and glared at her.

"I just don't want to make an assumption that could cost us!"

"Weird door leading to some kind of pocket dimension, check. Animal abduction, check. Weird non-Euclidean geometry in aforementioned pocket dimension. Check. Empty space, check!"

There was a strange surge of pride in Okarun. Years ago, when they had first met, she had sworn aliens didn’t exist. And here she was, using terms like pocket dimension and non-Euclidean. His heart beat in his ears.

"What?" Momo asked, an eyebrow raised

"Huh?"

"You were staring!"

"I was?"

"You know you were!"

The fact that he had been staring sent a shiver through her. Oh, to be looked at like that. She just had to ruin the moment. Okarun looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

No, no, look here. Look at me.

"Sorry, was just thinking," he said.

"What about?"

"I don't remember the last time I interacted with an alien," he said.

"Come on, how hard can it be?"

"Alright, but if they ask for any of our fruits, I'm out of here."

"Couldn't you just Turbo?"

"Don't you remember what the Serpoians could do?"

"Wuss."

She turned and started to walk down the corridor, slowly and precisely. Each footstep punctuated by a sticky, velcro-like ripping noise. Okarun followed as closely behind as the unstable footing allowed. Together, they wobbled. The closer they got to the end of it, the louder the sound of cats — mewling, eating, purring, hissing, snoring —, became. At the end of the corridor, what could only be described as a doorway sat, its edges fringed with more fleshy, wriggly, protuberances.

"Ever heard of any aliens like this?" Momo asked. Okarun shook his head.

The noise on the other side was heartening, to say the least. There was the occasional mew or chirp. The two of them stood dumbly in front of the door.

"Ladies first!" Okarun said.

"No way, I went first last time!"

"That was your choice!"

"And?"

"I'm choosing to let you go first this time!"

The look Momo gave him threatened to make him wilt.

He held his hands up. “Okay, okay, I’m going!”

He took a step and put his hand towards the opening. He brushed it with his fingers. It was strange and warm, not slimy or wet, but soft like old leather or suede, and yet, it was unpleasantly sticky like some sort of dry slug. He winced, but took another step, and his wrist sank into the doorway. He was up to his elbow before he decided to get a grip and took several steps forward.

Momo watched as the fingery fringe that ran around the edges of it enclosed him, and took the lack of screaming, swearing, crying, and/or bleeding as a good sign. She followed behind him.

The doorway opened up into a small chamber of similarly fleshy and strange materials, but the inherent strangeness of the situation paled in comparison to the sight that greeted them both.

At least a dozen rather round cats were engaged in a variety of cattish activities: a black and white cat and a long haired Calico were playing on a cat tree that sat in the corner; in the middle of the room three tabbies were eating; a greyish cat was sat grooming himself, legs askew in the uncoordinated way only a cat could manage; a black cat sat on a mat; four cats were sleeping on soft, warm, fleshy beds and a fat ginger cat that Momo recognised to be REDACTED was sat in the lap of a large, slightly flabby, soft-featured creature with frills, or perhaps, gills. It shimmered, like some far-off heat haze, a solid mirage who changed from a fleshy, mushroom-looking thing with several sets of small beady eyes in rows across a flat, broad face, where a fringed moustache lined what could only be thought of as a mouth, although it was thin and wide and didn’t quite seem to open. The sides of its head were fringed like gills. And then, the image shimmered into a stooped, leathery, elderly man with a large nose, sharp cheekbones, and a long moustache and wisps of hair, like he was peering out from a particularly persistent cloud. Regardless of the form, it wore a dark blue shirt, several sizes too large for him, that had a wolf and a moon upon it. The two figures fizzled in and out of each other. The air melted.

Both figures sat stroking a cat that sat in his lap, but from one perspective, his fingers were thin, wrinkled, wiry. From the other, its three thick fingers stroked along the same cat, who seemed largely uninterested in the form his worshipper took so long as he was being pet.

Two faces looked up.

Six eyes and two eyes all at once. A mouth and a maw. A flickering figure.

"Your cloaking technology doesn't work, huh?" Okarun asked.

Its gaze had been focused upon the cat, but when they entered, his eyes flicked up to them. Then, a soft, monotonous drone filled their heads. After a few seconds, the sensation became words. The room thrummed with feeling, intense and pointed.

Two voices burbled. They filled the room.

"How do you know about that?"

"This isn't our first rodeo," Okarun said and pushed his glasses up his face. Any coolness he may have felt was immediately pushed aside by Momos' stifled giggle. She recomposed herself and turned to the alien. Because it was totally an alien.

"You're totally an alien," she said.

Two hands stroke one cat.

"Yes." It was a statement of fact, not agreement.

Momo gave Okarun a look and raised her eyebrows. There was no part of him that felt bad about being proven wrong if only she'd keep finding reasons to hang out.

"And all these cats are ...?" Momo turned back to the alien, her voice trailed off.

"Under my protection," the alien said.

Momo took a step towards him. "Those cats belong to people." She said.

Eight eyes appraise her. There was no response.

"You want that fixed, right? Your cloaking device. We can fix it, but you've gotta give the cats back."

"Who are you?" It asked.

Okarun took a step forward so that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Momo. More conversation! Be more proactive! Show Momo you’re a changed man!

He held his hands out palm-forward, flat, in a way that he hoped intoned his intentions.

"We come in peace". It was the only thing he could think to say in the moment. And, okay. He had always wanted to say it to an alien and had never had the chance to before now. But nobody could know that.

"Why?" The creature asked. The room filled with a feeling. Curiosity, bemusement, mistrust, all at once.

"We were investigating what had happened to all the cats and..." Ken motioned around the room slightly awkwardly.

It didn't nod, but its fringe of gills did rustle as though a breeze had passed across it, once up and once down.

"These cats are mine," it said.

"Hey, not so, Mushroom Head! They already belong to people!" Momo piped up.

His eyes turned to her. "I found them in the street. In the heat. Hungry, thirsty."

"Cats go outside sometimes!"

"They are safe here."

She couldn't technically argue with that. Deflated, she stopped talking, and Okarun stepped up once more.

"The people who own these cats are really worried," he began. "What are you even doing with them?"

The figure gestured around the room.

"What does it look like? I am looking after them". Its gills waved again. "They are happy here".

"Well, yes. But they belong to other people!"

"If I had such lovely creatures, I would not let them out of my sight", it said.

"Some of these cats have been missing for months!" Momo said. "Was it all you?!"

"Yes,” and then after a pause, “probably.”

"You've gotta give them back!"

"They're happy here."

"They belong to other people!"

“So?"

"You can't just take other people's cats."

"Why not?"

"It's not what people do."

"I am not people. To me, you are the aliens."

Okarun gave Momo a look that could roughly be translated to can you believe this guy? She responded with a series of complicated improvisational gestures that Okarun took to mean I know, right? What's with the navel-gazing? Aren't aliens usually trying to kill us? Have you seen his stupid mushroom head? Okarun smiled, then turned his attention back to the alien.

"Say, where are you from?" Okarun asked.

"Many, many, many galaxies away," it replied.

"How did you come to be here?"

"It is a long story, but if you wish to hear it, I may tell it."

I come from a proud peoples. War is our nature, as second nature as breathing. We slew many, took over cultures and peoples and planets.

I served as a general to one of the most successful military campaigns and our empire grew.

Once our galaxy had assimilated, we looked ever outward and conquered those galaxies, too. We command hundreds of planets and peoples, all under one.

I was rewarded with the greatest honour of all - to investigate the Milky Way, but when I got here, my ship was damaged by an errant moonlink satellite, and I crash landed. My ship was destroyed by your Earth's atmosphere.

Momo interrupted at this part-

"Hey, 'Shroom Head! Okarun here has dealt with invasion parties before, think twice!"

Okarun smiled stiffly and spoke through his teeth, "don't take risks with my life!"

“I'm not taking risks! You're powerf-”

It was Okarun's turn to interrupt.

"Oh! The meteor shower a couple of months ago. That was you?"

Again, the creature did not nod, but its gills rippled. Then, it continued.

I landed on an island southwest of here. Initially, I intended to find a way to beam a message back home. It would not be the first time I had commandeered a planet for the good of our empire. But on that island, I found something more important.

These strange, soft, vibrating, four-legged things. Hundreds of them. We do not have anything like them where I am from. They began following me around, and I grew fond of their company. I watched. I watched as humans, many humans, brought them food and visited the island. I watched as these cats would get attention and food when they wanted. But when they didn't, the cats would hunt and enjoy their own company. They relied upon nobody. I learned what they were called. Cats care not for others' feelings. They do what they must, what they will, and live with the consequences. I began to feel a kinship with these creatures.

But I couldn't live on the island. The sea air was drying out my skin. I had to move inland. It took many months of walking. Eventually, I came to a place I thought I could settle.

I lost everything that wasn't on my person when I crashed. But I had a small cubo-hut.

"Does it work like nanoskin?!" Okarun asked excitedly as he leaned forward. Momo watched his excitement with a soft, weathered fondness. It occurred to her, in that moment, just how much she had missed him.

"I know not what you speak of."

"The Serpoians... They have this material called nanoskin. It can become anything you imagine."

"I know not of whom you speak."

"Whoa, you must be from far, far away."

"Yes".

"Do you miss home?"

The gills ripple again. It did not seem to be something he could control, like the contraction of a pupil.

"Occasionally"

And then, as though to fill the empty silence, it continued.

"The nano-cube works as a small pocket dimension crafted from a tessellation pattern. You unfold it and attach it somewhere. I crafted myself a home in this alley. During a nighttime stroll in the rain to replenish my moisture levels, I heard a cry and followed it. There, he was."

It twisted and pointed to the black cat, who was still half-asleep on the mat.

"He was there, making a noise. A kind of wail. As soon as he saw me, he approached me without fear and demanded food. So I brought him some. He followed me back here."

The cat opened its large amber eyes and blinked slowly as though to say, "Yes, that's me.”

"After him, came others," the alien concluded.

"I mean... If you offer food to a cat, it's bound to say yes," Momo said with a sheepish grin. As she looked around the room, she came to another realisation. "They are kind of tubby.”

The alien's gaze snapped to hers. "I will tolerate no shaming of my cats.”

Momo winced. "Just, you know... You could feed them less? Wait, no, don't feed them! They're not yours!"

"They must be spoilt. You humans do not realise how lucky you are to have such creatures grace your presence. We have nothing of the sort."

“Yes, but you are on Earth now, and those cats have owners!”

"If they are owned, let their owners stake a claim; else they are forfeit.”

"That's a really flimsy justification.”

"Life is precious. That is why we must demonstrate our life through violence and survival.” Although its voice was stable, the room filled with a sense of righteous passion. As feelings went, it was vast and intense. Momo found it difficult to commune with a creature who used psychic abilities that seemed to amplify her own.

"I long stopped trying to make sense of alien logic." Momo sighed. Her head hurt. "Look, just return the cats."

"If they did not want their cats stolen, they should have fought."

"Oh no, don't you try and twist this!" Momo jabbed a finger at his fleshy, spongy chest. It left a little dimple that rose like dough. Touching him had been a bad idea. Every emotion in the room seemed to coalesce into her finger in a sharp burst like a static shock, but worse. It hurt and throbbed in her skull all at once. She took an unsteady step back and would have fallen, had Okarun not put his hand to her lower back and steadied her.

Okarun stepped in, so to speak. His hand lingered in the small of her back. She could feel his fingers, his palm, through her dress.

"How would you feel if someone walked off with all these cats tomorrow and you didn't know what happened?"

"Nonsense! Nobody would ever!"

Okarun adjusted his glasses. "Just think about it a moment?"

"N-oh..." There was another flutter of gills. "Oh.”

"If you give them back, we can help you apply to adopt from a cat shelter..."

"A cat shelter?"

"It's where unwanted cats are sent."

"Maybe I should come out of retirement and teach you, humans, about respecting life."

"No! That's not necessary!” Okarun put his palms out as though to steady the creature.

“Even so, I cannot go out like this...” the creature rumbled and gestured to itself, both human and inhuman, a simulacrum and a fleshy thing. “You humans are quick to judge.”

Momo was rubbing her right eye with the heel of her hand, and looked at the alien with her left.

“Would you like to go out?”

He rippled, thoughtfully. “Yes. I would see more of Earth. More of its creatures.”

“We know a guy. Another alien. He can help.”

"Is he a Serpoian?"

"No, he's a Mantisian."

"A Mantisian? There is so much life out there. What is his name?”

“Peeny-Weeny.”

“A noble name.” His gills rippled. “Fine. I will release these cats. But you must help me obtain another!”

It, gentle as anything, placed the ginger cat on the floor and turned to appraise its collection.

“Go forward, my friends!” he said.

It padded towards the black cat on the mat and stroked him with a gentle finger. The cat leaned up and nuzzled into him with a chirp.

“And you, my first, be well.”

Okarun had moved away from Momo and was leafing through the posters. He nudged Momo with his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“That black cat... nobody is looking for him.”

“Really?”

She looked over to the posters in Okarun's hand, and counted off the cats as she saw them. Every cat could be seen in this room, or rather, a much fatter, rotund version of each cat.

“-Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen – no, he isn't on these... Hey, uh... Mushroom Head?” Momo called out to the creature, which had paused and was stroking the black cat slowly. The alien turned.

“That cat,” Momo pointed to the small, fat black cat as she spoke. “He doesn't have an owner. Or, at least, nobody is looking for him.”

The creature turned away from the pair for a moment.

“Then he stays.”

Momo and Okarun gave each other a look and then a shrug.

“Okay, but the ginger one needs to come with us,” Momo said, as she pointed at the cat who was sitting grooming himself. “The rest, you have to let go.”

She stepped towards the cat and picked him up with a grunt. Man, he was heavier than he looked.

“Geeze, Shroom-brain. What have you been feeding them?”

The alien turned. “Fatty tuna”.

“Hmph, figures. I'd hang around too if I got endless tuna...”

A little more time was spent on the logistics of returning over a dozen cats to their rightful homes, given that many of them had been missing for a while at that point, and the consensus was that he would let them out and stop feeding them, and that they'd probably return home. If Momo and Okarun started handing out lost cats left, right, and centre, it could look suspicious. All that remained was to phone Granny Ayase and ask Peeny-Weeny to send something over so that the alien general could get his cloaking technology fixed. Okarun had questions about his biology, his galaxy, and the technology he had on hand, and it was strangely amenable to all enquiries. It had even agreed not to make too much of a problem of itself.

Eventually, the two readied to leave.

“Hey, what do we call you?” She asked.

His gills rippled.

“You have already been using my name,” he said. “Or, at least, the closest human approximation—”

“Huh?”

“Mushroom Head.”

Momo had carried REDACTED all the way back to Yoko Shinihara’s. The cat seemed to have been mostly happy with this arrangement, and the elderly lady had been grateful, albeit a little confused as to how REDACTED could have gotten so fat. Momo and Okarun had both decided that some secrets were best kept and said they had found him a few streets over from where the posters ran out and a little far out of Ms Shinihara's normal range.

The old lady had waved them off with a bow and Momo had to admit — it felt good to give back to the community.

“I guess this counts as alien community service, too.” Okarun said to her as they neared the end of Ms Shinihara's road.

“Huh. Never thought of it like that.” Momo paused and then glanced at Okarun. “Should we check on him?”

Years ago, Okarun would have jumped at the opportunity. But he had met aliens. He had talked to them. He had fought them, and won, and lost, and barely scraped by. It took some of the mystery out of the whole thing when aliens were, frankly, a little dick-crazy. This one was cat crazy, but there were enough double-entendres in there for him to be wary. The galaxy felt a whole lot less mysterious when aliens wanted things such as bananas, cats, or war.

“Maybe in a couple weeks?” He offered.

Momo hummed. It was neither an agreement nor a disagreement. “We did say we’d get his … whatever-it-was fixed.”

“Yeah, but we can get Peeny-Weeny to do that.”

“I guess. Maybe knowing another alien will be enough?” Momo sighed. “We’re collecting strays,” she said, after a moment.

“Strays?”

“Well, we have to check in on Seto at some point…”

“Oh. We do.” Okarun had forgotten. “Have we gone from fighting to friending these things?”

“I hope not. I’m exhausted! Bring on a fight.”

Okarun made a noise that was neither an agreement nor a disagreement.

"Hey, shall we go have lunch in the park? Be a shame to waste a nice day like this..." Momo asked.

Okarun made another noise. Very much an agreement.

Momo glanced at him. There was mischief in her eyes. No sooner had he processed the implications of such a look than she had grabbed his neck with her arms. She held onto him for dear life, her legs around his waist as she tried to jump on his back. She was laughing, and he chuckled. She leaned in, and he stumbled.

“Carry me like you used to!” He came to a stop, leaned forward a little so she didn’t fall, his hands on her thighs to steady the two of them. He tried not to think about how soft she was.

Somewhere behind him, she shouted. “Okarun, come onnn~ Turbo!” She leaned in so that she almost hugged his neck. He came to a standstill, an arm still hitched up behind and against her. Any rebuttal he had had was choked out of him. He tapped her arm, a little frantically, and after a moment she released him and dropped back down.

“Warn me next time!” He gasped.

“Hey, what’s the issue? You used to do that all the time!”

“When I was Turbo!”

“What’s the difference?!”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe the power of an ancient yokai?!”

“You’re no fun!” She pouted.

Okarun was glad she was no longer on his back, but he would be thinking about her thighs, about how they had felt against his hands, for a while. He patted the hair on his head down so that he was doing something, anything, other than staring. He had done enough of that.

A moment later, she peered at him. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

He rubbed his neck. “No, no, I’m fine.”

They looked at each other.

What was that? An almost-comfortable silence. A soft smile shared between the two of them. His eyes, large, looked her over.

Keep looking at me like that.

Momo straightened out and nodded down the road. They walked, vaguely, towards the strip of green at the end of the block.

The closer they got to the park, the less the heat of city concrete constricted them. The park was small, with parched grass and a gravel path lined with camphor and chestnut trees, fresh and sweet and woody all at once. The shade looked too inviting. To the side of the entrance gate, a small board had been set up with a map and information. Momo jogged over to it and then swung around on a heel to face Okarun with a wide smile.

"Lunch?" She asked. "I think we deserve it for a job well done!"

Okarun followed her and looked over the board and the map.

"Huh, Anokoku," he said. "Didn't realise that was here."

Momo followed his gaze and his fingers; her gaze settled on the temple for a moment. The Shirime –
Could wait another day. Weren't many people who went to that old place, and even fewer who attracted his wrath. She toyed for a moment with the idea of inviting Okarun along, but the only thought worse than losing your testes to a Yokai was of losing your butthole. At least, in her mind. Besides, she thought. I don't want to come across as too clingy.

She looked up and across the park, following its path with her eyes until a small grey metal bench came into view. She pointed it out. They made their way over. Okarun sat down beside her, his leg knocking hers as he did so. She didn't move hers away, and for a heartbeat, they were close. And then he shifted. Momo pushed down the disappointment that hollowed in her chest as she pulled picnic chopsticks from a side pocket of the rucksack, clicked open the containers, and laid them on the bench.

In one container, a mound of soft white rice; in the other, six large, glazed meatballs sat in tomato sauce. She didn't want to admit how long she had spent preparing lunch, nor that Granny's cooking lessons had helped her. Instead, she handed Okarun a pair of chopsticks. She motioned for him to begin.

"Itadakimasu! Smells great!" He smiled.

She watched him chew, and, seeing that he didn't seem to be spitting the food back out, smiled back. For a little while, they chewed in quiet, appreciative silence. The meatballs were juicy and savoury, with the right amount of browned crust and sauce.

It was Okarun who broke it.

"So, missing cats? How did you know it was paranormal?" He leaned across for some rice, palm out and under his chopsticks.

Momo chewed on her rice as long as it took her to think up an adequate, truth-adjacent response.

"Just one of my hunches," she said.

"You have hunches?!" He asked.

"All psychics do!"

"I've never read anything about that."

"You only read from that magazine. You gotta know there's baloney in there!"

"Not while I'm writing!"

"Come on, you believe in a little bit of the baloney."

"My standards are much higher!"

"Oh yeah, what about that article on Japanese Bigfoot?!"

It was out of her mouth before she could swallow it back, and her stomach dropped. Crap, he was gonna know she had been reading ... Was it weird? Was it weird that she hadn't thought about how weird it was until then?

Okarun swallowed down some rice that had gotten stuck at the back of his throat and reached for his drink. After a few deep glugs, he spoke as he twisted the cap back on.

"You read my articles?"

"Y-yeah," she said.

"And..."

"Huh?"

"What did you think?"

Oh. Of course, he wanted to know that. "I thought they were good, mostly. You have a good way with words. I could almost hear you reading them to me". It was Momo's turn to discover the existence of a second great tomato cryptid.

It was all out before she could stop herself. It was difficult not to spill everything to Okarun. Despite their years of incommunicado, it's truly felt as though nothing had changed. And yet, everything had changed.

Okarun had gone a little quiet. Had she just complimented him? Had she just admitted to thinking about him? No, don't make this weird!

"I watched some videos you were in!" Fuck.

"Oh yeah?" She sounded less bothered than he might have anticipated.

“Yeah, your aura reading ones.”

“Ah, yeah. I learned from Granny, the best way to get customers is to put yourself out there...” she trailed off, as she thought of the number of times her grandmother had been laughed at. At the times she had been laughed at.

“So, what did you think?” she asked.

“Interesting! I mean, I can't see auras... Hey-” he swallowed.

Even though she knew what he was going to say, she let him say it.

“Can you read mine?”

She adjusted the angle at which she was sitting so that she was fully faced towards him and could look him in the eye. Okay, so she didn't have to do that, but it added to the illusion, and she had her reasons. Big, brown, gorgeously dark reasons. Reasons to get lost in. Reasons to strip any meaning from the word reasons.

He motioned to take his glasses off, but she caught his wrist in her hand. She could feel his pulse in his wrist, and he could feel hers in her fingers. They shared a moment neither wanted to admit to sharing.

“Keep them on.” She said, barely a whisper.

“O-oh. Okay.”

She continued to hold his gaze. To him, it looked as though she was looking for something, her eyes flitting to and fro as she tipped her head from left to right, all the while. He had no way of knowing she had found what she was looking for. She held his gaze for a few more seconds and blinked, and whatever tension had been there evaporated like dew under a midday sun.

“Your aura is the same as it's always been,” she said, rather cryptically.

“I don't know what that means!”

“Ever since I've known you! Or, at least, ever since you absorbed Turbo Granny...”

“Ever since I absorbed Turbo Granny, what?”

“I'm getting to that! You're so impatient!”

“You're taking your sweet time!”

“It's just fun to wind you up...”

As had become a pattern, Okarun went beet red at that.

“O-oh.”

Momo felt... Well, she didn't know what she felt. The sight of him going red at her words, at her actions, filled her with both a gentle affection and a desire to keep prodding, if only to fluster him more.

She swallowed.

They'd only just reconnected, and already she was thinking of that? That quiet, unrequited something that had sat in her chest for almost as long as she had known Okarun? No-way. I am not dealing with that right now. Repression was the way to go! An excellent idea! Some ex or other had already told her she was too pushy, too forward, too unladylike. She didn't need to hear that from Okarun, too. Besides, if he hadn't picked up on her feelings by now, he either didn't return them or never would. And she could never quite bring herself to say them out loud. That made them real. Repression was the way to go!

“Your aura is blue, which is normal,” she said. “But it's like, streaked with orange? Which, isn’t normal.” she tapped a finger against her lip. “It's warm, which is normal, and cold, which isn't. Your energy is totally mixed up with Turbo Granny energy.”

Momo made a mental note to check Turbo Granny's aura when she was asleep to see if her aura had any traces of Okarun. What would she do if she did? Wring it out of her? Save it for later? Or was it just there, a little exchange that left an indelible mark that she could see, but nobody else could. For a moment, a pang of jealousy wracked her. She had no effect upon Okarun’s aura, but Turbo Granny did? It was a daft train of thought that, nonetheless, she spiralled into. That skank!

Okarun’s voice broke through and pulled her out, though.

“Even after all this time?”

“It's not a bad thing!”

“O-oh, that’s good.”

“It's how I knew it was you back at the coffee shop.”

“And you still pretended to be Mimi Amaze?”

She went red and thumped him, gently. “I was nervous!”

Okarun found it hard to think of her as nervous. And, he didn’t know what to do with that information. She was nervous… thinking of him? Why? It was one of those things that could be over-thought, and damn, if he wasn’t the king of that.

“You didn’t have to be nervous.” He said, quietly. Their eyes met again, and Momo smiled at him. It wasn’t a grin. It was softer, smaller, quieter, prettier. More her. A smile all for him, if only he would only let himself admit it.

“Turbo Granny really left a mark on me, huh?” He said. Smooth. In between that and his heart, hard in his chest beating a rhythm into his ribcage, the idea that Turbo Granny had left such a mark upon him was … surprising. And, he didn’t know why. Of course she had. If Momo could –

No, no. He shut himself down.

Momo gave him an out.

“I mean, she stole your dick, dude.”

“Do you have to phrase it like that?”

“Sorry, sorry, how should I phrase it? She stole your shaft?”

Okarun spat out his drink, and then, laughed. Momo’s cackle joined his. There they were, sitting together, laughing at old jokes like old friends, rather than reacquainted adults.

“You remembered I said that?” He winced as he said it, though, it was a good-natured enough question.

“It was pretty memorable. Granny flipped. ‘Don’t call it that, pencil dick!’” She chuckled.

“Oh god, I’d forgotten. She chased me round the house!”

Momo laughed hard at that, and leaned into Okarun’s shoulder.

“She did! Oh god, she did!”

Her laughter was a joy to behold. Okarun would never say it, could never say it, but he had missed Momo’s laugh – the quiet hitch as she caught her breath, before laughing again. The fact she laughed, there, in the moment, because of him? With him? He wasn’t sure he had the words. That, and the smallest hint of physical contact had him a little flustered. He changed the subject.

“How is she?”

“She’s good. We talk every few weeks. Sends care packages. Still doin’ the Dodoria thing.”

Lunchtime had long since passed, the tupperware containers between them sat empty, and conversation came to a natural conclusion. Behind them, the sun set fire to the horizon in smeared streaks of orange and pink. Momo took that as a cue to stand up.

Wow, time passed fast here, too! Is the time-warp from Ghost Club spreading? She thought to herself.

She stretched out her shoulders and turned to Okarun.

“Well, it's getting late. I'd better head back...” she said.

Okarun nodded. “Yeah, I have work tomorrow...”

Should he ask to walk her back? It wasn’t dark… But, before the question had time to simmer, Momo had spoken.

“It's my turn now!”

“Your turn for wha–?”

“I'll see you at Ghost Club!” she smiled, as she collected up the boxes, piled them into her rucksack, and waved goodbye.

He waved back. The two of them waved at each other for an altogether rather obnoxious amount of time before Momo hitched the rucksack up her back.

“Well, gotta get back. See you soon!” She smiled and walked backwards out of the park in slow steps, so that she could keep her eye on him for as long as possible. She waved one last time and turned.

He smiled back, his head filled with a single word, a single possibility: friends.

Chapter Text

It had been around a month since Momo Ayase had reappeared in Ken's life. And, it was good, right? Nothing had changed. Same glasses, same earrings. And yet, everything had changed. They were both adults. She had filled out, he had gotten taller. She still laughed at his jokes and he found himself unable to look away from her smile, the way her eyes creased and her earrings jiggled and his heart quickened and his mouth went dry.

He was older but certainly none the wiser as to why it was her, Momo, who elicited these feelings in him. He'd had friends. He'd had best friends. He'd had girlfriends. He'd been in love. But there was only one Momo, and there was more than one feeling when it came to her and their friendship. It was a month. A month! It was ridiculous to entertain them, and yet, that was what he did when he wasn't working or writing or watching. Any time that small, difficult question reared its head he tried to quash it.

But really, what was he to her?

A friend, sure. A friend who had hurt her. Neither of them seemed to have acknowledged that, yet. He didn't want to be the one to bring it up. He feared that to do so might break the illusion and she’d disappear again.

In the small, sticky hours where the Kamishihiro heatwave waned enough to allow for fitful sleep, Ken tossed and turned in his room. It was small, unassuming, dark with hazy, orange heat. There was a bookshelf, stacked books, a bed, a laptop on a table, and cream walls but there was little of the man he was - no posters, plain linen, bare walls. It was as though he didn’t want to leave a mark, any trace of himself. An old, bad habit he’d kept up from childhood.

He lay atop his mattress, fringe stuck to his forehead. He tossed and turned until the sheets bunched at his feet and tightened around his arms in that strange twilight between wakefulness and sleep where every sensation could become something more, something else.

And then, it wasn't the sheets but Momo stood over him, hands gripped at his wrists as she leaned over and in. Ken gazed up at amber eyes, afire with hot anger.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He gasped. “Momo? What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “Ask your imagination, dude. I'm No-Mo.”

“No-...Mo?”

“Geeze, are you always this slow?”

“I'm supposed to be sleeping!”

Was he talking to himself? Was he talking to a figment of his imagination? Would his neighbours hear?

Nomo snapped her fingers under his nose.

“I'm talking to you!”

Ken tried to roll over, but she had him pinned well enough that all he could do was look up at her. She leaned in. He stared up. His heart hammered a bruise into his ribs.

She leaned in close, close, closer. Ken held his breath.

And then, she laughed.

“God, look at your face!”

He had no idea what fragment of his subconscious was responsible. Somehow, the fact that he blushed at this, an entirely subconscious manifestation, made it worse.

“I wouldn't do that. You're not even really my friend!”

Nomo's smile stretched a little too far, a little too wide, a little too cruel. Her fingers twitched. Ken pulled back from her, and as the last pressure of her fingertips left his wrists, she was gone.

It was still hours from dawn.

***

Momo still hadn't corrected any of the group on her real name. Every time she thought about it, the immediate next thought was that's a problem for future Momo! and shunted it further down her to-do list. In between getting to know Seto, Turbo Granny, a spate of catnappings, and the beautiful problem of Okarun, she thought there were, perhaps, bigger fish to fry. Future Momo had become Present Momo, had become Past Momo, and so on and so forth in an endless, mad repetition.

She had walked in from the heat that day with the intention of putting that little problem to rest, only to be waylaid by another sensation. Something was wrong. It was cold. Not the comfortable chill that came with air conditioning on a hot day, but genuinely, hackles-raisingly, skin-bumpingly, cold. She had come dressed for the sun in shorts and a pastel green vest, but her arms prickled with goosebumps as though it were a cold winter's day.

She strode through to the back room to see who was there. There was no sign of Okarun, but Sana, Kinji, and Ren were all there. Sana wore an elegant, light pink sundress, her nose chalked white with sunscreen. Ren had insisted – in this heat – upon an all-black outfit. His boyfriend wore the light, summery antithesis to gothic fashion in yellow and orange florals.

And, there was another figure sitting in Mike's seat, one that was undoubtedly not him. There was no sign of Hawaiian print or Crocs, only a crisp white shirt and beige cardigan – in this heat –, and loafers. The figure sat in a pale, creamy Noh mask yellowed with age and old lacquer, its perpetually shocked expression turned towards Momo. She squinted at him for a moment. It wasn't quite clear if he was staring back, where his gaze was fixed, or, indeed, whether he was surprised, but Momo didn't like it. Didn't like him.

The cold definitely seemed to come from him, and yet, nobody else was bothered. That was enough to set alarm bells.

No sooner had she peeked around the door than Kinji accosted her, a nervous glance on his face.

"Hey, uh. Ren said I should ask you directly so …"

"Mmhmm?"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't catch your name the other week and –”

"Oh! Call me Momo! And you're Kinji, just to double check?" Her face split into a smile so infectious that he returned it.

"Y-yeah! And Ren is my boyfriend."

"And he works with Oka-Ken, right?" She swallowed and hoped she hadn’t gone too red. More than that, she hoped that he hadn’t picked up on Okarun. It was her name for Ken Okarun. Her name for him.

"Do you two have nicknames for each other? That's so cute! Ren sometimes calls me Kin-Kun, but I've never been able to make a cute nickname out of his name..." Kinji wrapped a strand of hair from his fringe around his finger as he spoke.

Did he think –

Her and Okarun?

Did they give off that vibe? (Maybe?)

Did she mind? (No).

Did Okarun have to know? (No. Oh god, no).

Kinji had taken the silence to turn around and give Ren a thumbs-up, and he returned the gesture with a mouthed "way to go!". He turned back to Momo. He was a little flushed. And of all the thoughts she could have conceived of, her head decided that front and centre, she was going to wonder, do I look like that when I talk to Okarun?

"Well, it's been nice talking to you!" He said. "Make sure you say hello to the new guy! Never know who's going to stick around here, haha." She followed his gaze to the man in the corner. As he turned, Momo tugged at his sleeve.

"Hey, quickly. What do you think about his mask?"

Kinji turned to look at the stranger as though this was the first time he had registered the mask, and shrugged. "Could be some fashion thing. Didn't give it much thought." She smiled at him, let go of his sleeve, and watched as he all-but-ran to Ren, buried his head in the taller man's chest, and threw his arms around him. Ren grinned widely and patted his shoulder. Momo watched and wondered.

***

The man in the mask wasn't still. His chest rose and fell with the crinkle and uncrinkle of his stiff, starched shirt, and the air conditioner made the ends of his dark hair shiver like leaves in winter. He sat with his hands in his lap. He gave the overwhelming impression of someone small, neatly folded and rigid, a man with hard edges and dark shadows and a big, blank something behind the mask that couldn’t possibly be a face.

A hand cupped at her back knocked Momo out of her silent appraisal of the stranger, and she swerved around, all wild eyes and flailing limbs that connected with someone's chest. Okarun had come up behind her, wearing shorts and a low-cut vest top. Her fingers skirted the edge of his collarbones, heat on heat on heat, even more palpable because of the cold she seemed subject to. He was firm yet soft, toned but not overly muscular, and the faintest hint of a tan ended at his neck and left his chest bare, pale. A little of her wanted to rest her hands there. She wanted to feel if his heart raced as much as hers did.

"Gotcha!" He smiled down at her. She came up to his chin, and from there, his mouth was front and centre. Had he always been so tall? Or was it that she was small? She pulled her hands back, fingers curled in on themselves as though to catch his heat, and never let it go.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You're always jumping up on me!"

"Yeah, and?"

"I made you jump!"

"That doesn't count."

"Eh? Why not?"

"I was checking out that creepy guy, my guard was down."

"Creepy guy?"

Momo flicked her gaze, and Okarun followed the trajectory into the back room. From there, it was an easy guess as to who everyone was staring at. To say the masked man was the focus of the room was an understatement. He was, after all, a stranger in a Noh mask at a ghost club. Any one of those would have been cause for concern, if not alarm, by itself. He took a breath. Best not to jump to any conclusions.

"Anyone heard from Mike?" He asked. A succession of shaking heads swept the room, all but for the man in the Noh mask. There was a mouth behind the mask. And, it spoke.

"Any chance I could get a latte?"

His voice was clipped and neat, quiet. It fit his presence and was alarmingly normal. If anything, the curt syllables and steady tone that came from motionless lips was less of a comfort than if it had been some guttural, black speech. The normality, the familiarity, was unnerving from such an unusual sight.

"S-sure. Anyone else?" Okarun addressed the room, but Momo answered the question.

"Ah, I had some of the orders. I'll come with you."

***

Okarun made sure he flicked the blitz button on the coffee grinder. The kitchen filled with the sound of pulsing beans before he spoke.

"So who's that guy?"

Neither of them had to ask for clarification as to whom he meant. Momo shrugged, grabbed a whisk from the counter, and poured a measure of matcha into a bowl. She was spooked, and more than that, afraid that Okarun would know, but all he noticed was her shivering.

"You alright?"

"Mm, just cold –.”

She stood still a little longer. Her breath had caught in her throat, but she couldn’t let him know that. She reached up and tapped his hand, her fingers fluttering against his.

"Uh, Okarun? You can stop now."

Oh shit. She definitely thought he was weird. She thought he was one of those NEET hikikomori types. She thought he was Kinta. Where there had been a total blank, now rushed a blush that spread across his face and down his neck.

"S-sorry, I thought it might warm you up."

She gave him a look. Definitely the look of a woman who'd just realised the guy she's hung out with was deficient.

"Isn't that a hoodie?" She asked as she motioned to the jacket tied around his waist. Oh god, please let the ground swallow me up. He untied it and handed it to her.

Her smile defrosted just a tad as she put it on, then brought the collar up and smelled it.

"Smells like that fabric softener you always use," she said.

Was that good? Was that bad? Did he smell? Should he switch brands?

Ken's mind had completely blanked.

Error in Okarun.OS.

Sending crash report.

Sending... 50% complete

Sending... 71% complete

Sending... 86% complete

Sent!

"Coffee! Wouldyoulikeacoffee?" It wasn't quite a shout but it was certainly audible over the sounds of the coffee machine scalding milk.

“No thanks. I'm on something cool today.” Momo said, with a lift of the bowl. She tipped in soya milk, whisked, and filled three glasses with a lovely, frothy, soft green. Once finished, she took a step back and appraised her work with a satisfied nod.

Then, she lifted the whisk from the counter, brandished it like a wand, and flicked it so that specks of foam flecked across Okarun's face. There was no way that wasn't intentional. She watched him, as though gauging his reaction. He removed his glasses and wiped them on the bottom of his vest.

“You can't be that cold if you’re messing around.” He said.

She grinned. “I'm better wearing your hoodie.” She motioned as though she was going to flick the whisk again and he flinched.

She snorted. “It's just matcha!”

“Stop it!” It sounded a little whinier than he would have liked but it seemed to work on Momo, and she put the whisk down.

"So what do we do about him?" Momo turned with two tall glasses of matcha, placed them on the tray, and picked up the third for herself.

"Has he done or said anything weird?" He asked.

She shook her head. "Something is off about him but I don't know what... Call it a… hunch.” Even the thought of him sent shivers up her spine and spiralling down her arms. She pulled the hoodie a little tighter around herself, the little that helped.

“Is his aura ...funky?”

“Funky?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know, off?”

“Oh, no. Normal.”

Okarun nodded as he considered the facts. "I think we just keep an eye on him for now."

“Fine, fine. But if he sprouts wings and tentacles, don't say I didn't warn you!” Momo grumbled.

He grabbed the tray and nodded with his head to the other room.

***

Back in the back room, Momo handed out two glasses to Kinji and Ren. Kinji took a sip and smacked his lips.

"We should get you to make our matcha every time! This is so good!"

“I used to work in a cafe, you get good at it.”

“Oh, what sort of cafe?”

“The maid kind.”

“I bet you looked super cute then, hey Ken?” Kinji said with a smile and a wink.

The problem with being a writer was, your thoughts always got away from you. Ken had had enough risqué thoughts about Momo recently, encounters within the past ten minutes notwithstanding. He had no idea how Momo could be so cold when he was so hot at that moment. Oh, how he burned.

Kinji gave Momo a look and a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and despite everything, she chuckled.

"The secrets in the wrist," She said with a grin.

He did not need to take that statement to its logical conclusion. Instead, he passed the mystery man his coffee.

Friends. They were friends. They'd only just reconnected. It would be rude to– to –.

Shit.

It was so easy to get tangled up in his thoughts when they seemed so intent upon entrapping him.

The masked man was speaking to the whole group, who were rapt. Momo, too, listened intently. She leaned forward, the heel of her hand under her chin and the cuff of his hoodie pressed to her skin. Ken tried to listen; he really did. After all, it was rude not to listen to the new member of ghost group because you were down bad for the idea of a girl you used to know, especially when the real person was there too. Would it smell like her when he got it back? What did she smell like? Should he sniff it? Why was every train of thought weirder than the last?

The masked figure spoke quietly but firmly, a man used to commanding an audience.

"-ew to the area, I moved into the old Yami residence. So I thought, why not come to a group like this? Never know who you might find!"

Momo got the impression that, had he smiled, he would have shown too many teeth, a slit-mouth, a grotesque, long tongue, or some sort of evil moustache. Something weird. There was something about him, about his voice, about the mask, about the cold. Two was a coincidence, but three was a pattern.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" She asked the masked man.

"Go right ahead".

"What's with the mask?"

The man looked at her.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. "This is my face." He pointed to the mask that was most definitely not a flesh face of any description. Momo glanced at Okarun, and then, they at Kinji. They looked as confused as she felt.

"Is this a joke?" Sana's voice cut through the looks and the shared, silent questions the three had given one another.

"Sorry–?" Okarun asked her.

"He's not wearing a mask!" Momo resisted the urge to look at him again just to check. No, thank you, creepy mask. Instead, she forced a laugh.

"Right, right. Sorry, just a bad joke." She hoped that the way she moved her eyebrows could adequately communicate to Kinji and Okarun that they play along. Okarun was adept at Momo sign language, but Kinji, less so. He did, however, seem able to follow the leader.

The man in the mask remained quiet before he once more rumbled into the conversation.

"I'm afraid I don't get it either!"

“Get what?”

“The joke!”

Momo bowed her head. "Sorry, just a reference to a TV show."

"Ah, I don't watch much TV."

"Then what do you do with your time?" It came out before she’d had a chance to review what she was going to say.

"I read and write, mostly. That's actually why I'm here today. I wanted to test my new stories on you all."

"W-well, we're a ghost hunting group primarily," Ken began.

The Masked Man interrupted.

"Ah, these are ghost stories! I've collected them from all over." The man said.

"Well, if Mike’s not here, why not wait to go to the staircase with him and listen to some spooky stories instead?" Ren asked. It was difficult to disagree, heat notwithstanding.

Momo felt a sense of satisfaction fill the room.

"I don't have my boards with me today, I'm afraid". The man said.

"Your–?"

"My boards. For illustrative purposes. I'm a kamishibaiya."

"O-oh." Did that explain the mask? Could it?

"A dying art, some would say." He continued. "But I do what I can to keep it going. Festivals and parties, mostly."

He stood up and went over to the window to close the blinds, and then the door.

As he turned, he explained. "A good story is 50% atmosphere."

Momo couldn't help but shiver. He had done nothing but attend ghost club in an unusual mask and say he had stories, but something in her – premonition, hackles, a gut feeling –, felt wrong.

He pulled a chair across the floor and took his place facing them, knees parted and hands placed neatly on each knee. He sat straight. He began to speak.

“It may be difficult to believe but one of the stories I'm telling today is true. I know, I know, how many times have you heard that? But I swear it! I want you all to listen very carefully, and when I'm finished, you tell me which you think it is. Okay?”

“Wait!” Momo shouted. Everyone turned to her. Embarrassment was even worse when you were the sole focus of a small room. The man in the mask tilted his head. Cute, like a puppy. The movement was totally incongruous with the version of him that she had built up.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get these stories?” She asked.

“Oh! Internet forums and newspaper archives, mostly.”

"What kind of place is the internet to go to for stories?!" Momo huffed.

"Uh, Momo?" Okarun raised his voice with a tone of well, actually.

"What?"

"The first time we met, you quoted internet forums at me!"

"That was different!"

The man in the mask watched patiently, then politely cleared his throat with an abrupt, clipped cough that felt pointed.

Then, he started.

“This story was posted by someone called DreamOfDreams21. It goes like this.

Have you heard about the Kiritani Tunnel? Well, technically, it's a busted old walking underpass outside town. Anyhow, don’t go in there after 3:00 AM, unless you want to get verbally destroyed by a dead middle schooler. I knew a guy who knew this other guy, who knew this guy, who knew this girl's cousin. And she was very kind to share her narrative with me.

She’s walking home late one night, right? Phone? At 10 percent. Too tired to take the long way. She decides to cut through the tunnel. Halfway in… she hears sneakers squeaking. You know the kind— fancy, whatever is trending, dragging across the ground. She turns around— nobody there.

Then she hears it. Aggressive gum popping.

Suddenly, out of the shadows comes this 13-year-old brat in a sailor uniform, hair in a side ponytail, middle-part, friendship bracelets up and down her arms. Then she looks her up and down… and says:

‘Ew. Six.’

So this girl is like, ‘Uh… excuse me??’

And the kid pops her gum, leans in, and goes, ‘Six point zero. Generous, considering your bangs and your bad cuticles.’

So she tries to keep walking, right? But the kid slides in front of her and blocks her from leaving.

The girl made a mistake in this situation. There are certain rules involved, and according to anyone who has experienced being roasted, Naomi-chan—that's the ghost's name—evaluates your appearance on a scale of 1 to 10. You can't leave until you say, 'Okay, that's fair. Thanks, babe.'

Argue? You have to prove you’re hotter. Fail? She says your face will match and then stay at that score forever.

So this chick tries everything: Pulls out her best selfie game, says she gets hit on all the time at work, drops her Instagram handle.

Naomi-chan? Absolutely vicious.

‘Filter. Minus one.’

‘Well liked? By who? The blind?’

‘People only like your pics cuz’ your dog’s in the picture.’

Then the insults get worse, right?

‘If only we could fight rising sea levels with whatever is receding your hairline.’

‘Your face is giving before rather than after.’

‘Your teeth look like they’re social distancing.’

And then it gets creepy. Naomi-chan starts copying her face, but like, totes wrong. Jaw too wide. Eyes slightly off. Until suddenly, every little insecurity is multiplied by 1000. Then, over and over, in the same flat tone, Naomi-chan starts saying, ‘Your score is dropping. Your score is dropping.’

By now, girlfriend is like totally panicking, right? And finally blurts. ‘Fine! I’m a six in the right lighting!’

Naomi-chan freezes. Pops her gum. Then smiles— big, and smug. ‘Ten out of ten… for honesty.’

Next blink, she’s outside the tunnel. It’s like 7:00 AM now. She walks the rest of the way home. Then, when she goes into the bathroom, in the corner of her mirror, written in Pillow Talk by Charlotte Tillsbury, is a 6. She tries to wipe it off, and it turns into a 5.5.”

Momo stared at the figure. Somehow, such youthful language coming from his mouth was even worse than she had anticipated. What kind of evil spirit knew about Charlotte Tillsbury? She had little time to muse upon the implications, as the voice behind the mask launched right into his second story.

“I found this story on a Witter thread.”

Okarun leaned forward and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Actually, it’s Q now.”

Everyone in the room looked at him. Momo stifled a chuckle.

The masked figure was silent a moment, a held breath.

“Elon Husk is an idiot,” he said.

Momo stared at him. What kind of yokai knew about Elon Husk?!

The mask waited a moment, then recited that same intro, an exercise in verbal cut and paste.

“I found this story on a Twitter thread. Someone called OMGStilinski posted it.

They say there are songs we shouldn’t listen to. Songs that blur the line between life and death. Supposedly, Blue Thursday is one of those songs, causing its listeners to do anything in their power to cross over into the afterlife. This tale is about a young girl telling a story that, unbeknownst to her, has the same effect.

Ayako was one of four members of a weekly afterschool book club that had just formed. This week, they were discussing urban legends. Their homeroom teacher, and club advisor, had been tasked with recording this week's meeting for the journalism club.

She tries to tune out the other kids' stories as best she could until she realizes it’s her turn to share. She starts to tell them all about Hanako-san, the toilet paper ghost, when they cut her off. Everyone knows about Hanako-san! What’s the scariest story you’ve ever heard?

She looks to their teacher, the club advisor. He says nothing.

Ayako didn’t even want to be here this week. All these kids have ever done is bully her during their actual classes and she would have quit the club by now if doing so wouldn’t have dropped them below the minimum requirement needed to continue being a club. Besides, she hated scary stories! Last year, her brother had teased her about this by telling her the worst story he could, a few sentences at a time, over the course of the summer. He’d moved away after that and she never heard from him again.

Good riddance.

Fine. If they want a scary story, she’ll tell that one. Let it live in someone else's head for a change.

She tells them a story about a village in the mountains, known for their terraced rice paddies. Every year, they would harvest and dry the rice in the fall and their strongest would take a large portion down the mountain to be sold. If they were fast enough they would even come back before the snow made the route impossible to navigate. The surrounding province would have their rice but the men delivering it would be cut off from their families until the snow melted in spring. Needless to say, this village valued time, hard work, and lending aid above all.

Unfortunately, there was a young man from the village, as frail and as weak as a newborn calf, who was unable to live up to these principles. He was no good at tilling the fields. He was no good at working in a shop. He was not good at cooking or cleaning. The only thing he was good at was telling stories, and his favourite kind were the ones that scared people stiff.

During this year's harvest season, he finds a cow skull near the edge of the rice paddies. It feels like a bad omen, but it would make such an exciting prop for his next stories! The skull proved to be their final straw however. Their window for harvesting was ending. They were behind and needed help to insure the men made it back before the snowfall, not more of this young man's distractions slowing them down. They tell him either he shuts up and helps or they'll throw him to the mercy of the mountain and its wolves.

The man stops talking altogether and helps, but keeps the skull as an emotional support blanket of sorts. But the more he helps the less they seem to reap. The water is drying up and the rice is dying faster than they can harvest it.

They send what they can down the mountain to appease the Shogun and possibly ask for help. Maybe he will accept half of what's being offered and the men can return with the rest. The snow comes in and the men never return. There's not enough to get them through the winter but they can't leave the village, there's nothing.

They blame the man in the skull mask. This was all his fault for flaunting such a dangerous omen. He says it's not his fault. He's pleading with them, but they're done with the excuses. They cut out his tongue and throw him outside of their borders and threaten to kill him if he returns. One less mouth to feed.

Outside the village, the man tries his best to make it down the mountain to seek help. Mercifully, they’d missed the artery in his tongue. He manages to stop the bleeding but worries about infection from using the snow as his only source of water. After several miserable days, he realizes he has no way of knowing which direction he's going. He’s surrounded by peaks and valleys alike and he's so, so cold.

Eventually, he comes across travelers in the mountains. A rarity, especially in the winter! He approaches their fire, unable to talk, but they don't attack him. They let him warm himself and feed him. They seem to understand something is wrong with him but they aren't sure what. They tell him they’re out there hunting a yokai. Something has been going around causing madness and famine, but they're unsure what. The man’s trying to listen but he’s delirious from hypothermia so only one thought prevails in his mind. These travelers look well fed and competent. Clearly they know how to survive the winter.

The young man retraces his steps, running back to the village to lead them to these kind souls that can save them.

In their madness they see a cow come out of the wood, grunting, animated.

They eat him alive.

As Ayako is telling the story she sees her bullies are horrified. They look more and more unwell the more she shares, so she thinks she's doing a good job of telling a story they probably didn't even think would be scary.

In reality, the more she tells, the harder and harder it becomes to understand her words. Soon, the kids don't even hear words. They hear pure incomprehensible horror spill from her lips.

It's creeping in, crowding them, consuming their air and constricting their hearts

They're trying to speak over her to cut her off, but she talks louder. She's tired over being stepped on by them.

There's a slam and they look over at the teacher who slammed his fist on the desk. He's holding a pair of scissors upright in his fist. She blinks and he slams his head face first into the blades and another student punches through the window so he can jump out. The glass is too thick to fully get through but it's slashing his arms.

Another still is banging their head against the wall harder and harder each time, trying to crack their own skull.

The last one is desperately trying to tear out their own throat with their bare hands before grabbing the broken window glass to finish the job. Ayako is too horrified to scream.

Suddenly, they all stop and their heads all snap with unnerving precision to look at her. She's so scared she swears she sees a mirage of a skull mask on each of their faces.

They eat her alive as they bleed to death.”

The room was quiet after this story. What could you say to that?

Okarun was the first to speak. “Oh, so like, the Donner party?”

The mask nodded.

“What’s that?” Momo asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Okarun replied.

The masked figure sat small and neat for a moment, and then politely cleared his throat. The two of them turned back to him.

“This story, I found on an AKB96 fan-site. Megarasmonsters posted it.”

What kind of evil mask knew about idol groups? Momo had little time to focus upon that as he launched into his next story.

“This is the story of the Wisteria Tree. On the outskirts of Saitama prefecture, lies an estate in ruins with a single wisteria tree on the grounds. Despite its beauty, it holds a tale of vengeance and blood.

Long ago, during the Meiji restoration, there was a beautiful young woman named Aoi. She drew many suitors with her beauty and charm, but turned them all away, not interested in the men who came to promise her the world and their small fortunes. One day, though, a handsome man named Kazuma came to the village to buy fabric for his family's booming textile business. Captivated by Aoi, he pursued her relentlessly. Soon, she fell deeply in love with Kazuma, but little did she know that Kazuma was a notorious philanderer and betrothed to another woman named Fujimoto Hina.

Not long after, Aoi found herself with child. Desperate, Aoi travels to Osaka to tell her beloved, only to find out that he is to be married within a week's time. Heartbroken, Aoi swears revenge against the man who ruined her. Eavesdropping, she learned the nuptials will take place back within Saitama, in the wisteria grove in the Fujimoto estate. With that knowledge, Aoi set her plan in motion.

She disguises herself as one of the servants and waits until the bride comes the night before the wedding to sleep. Aoi crept into Hina's room carefully as the bride-to-be slept. With her father's blade, Aoi beheads the sleeping girl in one swift motion. She cleans up the blood and hides the now lifeless body in a grand wooden trunk. Once day broke, Aoi dressed herself in Hina's wedding robes and placed the watabōshi to cover herself the best she could as she applied her wedding makeup to hide her features.

Once dressed, Aoi steps outside, bowing her head ever so slightly and staying silent to not give herself away as she clutches a wooden and velvet box in her arms. During the wedding procession to the temple, none of Hina's family suspected a thing. The ceremony began as Aoi and Kazuma sat side by side. As the priest gave his final blessings, Kazuma turned to his bride and, in shock, realized it was Aoi.

“Aoi, what are you doing here?” He hissed under his breath. “Where's Hina?”

A cruel smile splayed on Aoi's lips as she opened the box. “She's right here.” Kazuma shrieked in horror and accidentally kicked the box, causing Hina's head to roll out for all to see. The attendees all screamed. Hina's father and brothers’ shock turned quickly into rage as they grabbed Aoi, dragging her by her hair as she cried in pain. Hina's lifeless eyes locked with Aoi in a teasing glint as a wicked grin spread across her face, mocking Aoi. The head laughs as Aoi's blood-curdling screams fill the air.

The men drag Aoi outside to the grove of wisteria trees. One of Hina's brothers, Daisuke, wrapped a rope around her slender neck. She struggles as her feet leave the ground, kicking and crying, the more the men hoist the rope up a branch until the girl no longer struggled, leaving her body to swing in the breeze.

After that day, the grounds slowly fell into ruin as the crops began to fail. The once beautiful grove died out, except for the single tree that Aoi's body swung from on the noose. It is said that if you cross the threshold of the Fujimoto estate, you may encounter the ghost of a lovesick woman in white as moments of her life play out in an endless cycle for all of eternity, still longing for the love that she will never have.”

As he came to the end of his third story, an uneasy silence fell over the group. He leaned forward, fingers steepled. He stilled, the only sound steady crinkle of his shirt as he settled.

Momo looked around at the group. The general mood varied from stunned to unsettled, all except for Kinji who was grinning.

"Woah! Those were scary!"

"Are you not freaked out?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I love a good story!"

Momo looked at Okarun. He had blanched. She looked back to her lap and realised she shook, too. The stories had been... Well, alright, they'd been pretty good and the man in the Noh mask knew how to project his voice and command a room. She raised a fist to her face and rapped against her jaw, an obvious attempt at nonchalance that didn't warm her stiff fingers or appear at all genuine.

Okarun had adjusted his glasses, his expression steely and neutral. He maintained hold of them, and blinked a couple of times as though dazed by a bright light or sudden noise. The mask didn't seem to bother him as badly as it did her, and yet the question of why it was only her, Okarun and Kinji that could see it remained. She supposed that Okarun had contact with the paranormal through his connection to Turbo Granny. Kinji was like Jiji. And she, she, was properly attuned through years of practice. And yet every time she looked at him, it seemed like he was okay. Normal, grey, human aura. That made the least sense of all.

The other members of ghost club were quiet, almost reflective. There was a chill in the air, along with a smell like ozone and a feeling like earth before a thunderstorm, as though all the elements were poised to strike.

The man in the Noh mask watched on, coiled tight like a habu poised to strike. In the shadow, the light fell across the mask differently and transformed its expression to a blank smile.

Seconds dragged on until Momo broke the surface tension. Maybe if she talked loudly enough, nobody would hear the race her heart was running. Her ears were thick with a heart that couldn’t possibly be hers. She didn’t get scared.

Kagome, kagome,

"So one of those was real?"

The Noh mask didn't move, continued staring ahead but a noise, a voice, came from between that static, lacquered mouth.

"Yes."

Momo hummed. "It's a trick question; none of them are."

The masked man did not falter. "Are you so sure?"

She nodded.

"Wrong!"

Her face dropped. "Huh?! What do you mean wrong?!"

"Exactly that. Wrong."

The mask turned and its attention settled elsewhere. "Anyone else?"

The rest of the room stiffened.

Itsu itsu deyaru,

Okarun leaned forward. "They're all true."

Somehow, the smile on the Noh mask seemed to stretch wide for an instant, and then the impression snapped, and it was just a mask once more.

"What makes you say that?"

"My job is stories. I've heard variations on every one of those dozens of times."

"Good, good, very good. You’re not right, but, almost."

Okarun and the masked figure looked at one another across the room. Again, that silence that crackled with something unsaid.

Momo tried to concentrate. Okay, now he's definitely being weird. I can check his aura. Generally speaking, she tried not to expend spiritual power without cause. It could attract unwanted attention from whatever side of reality she was currently within. But this was a new situation – something, someone, so close to not only her and Okarun but a whole bevy of innocent people.

Her spirit hands were second nature. Her spirit powers were a little more difficult to pin down. She took a deep breath. Felt the pool of chi in her abdomen. The way it churned and hummed, like something alive. She closed her eyes and felt around for anything that could be a clue.

Okarun's aura sat warm, like embers, to her left. Grey and orange.

The strange man sat directly in front of her. Greyness as hard as the silhouette he cut.

And then, it was like a punch to the gut. Any and every bit of chi she had been collecting was forced out by the strange pressure of the blow. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at the man across the room.

Somehow, the mask seemed knowing even though it hadn’t changed from that same, blank expression. There was a whole conversation going on that she was not listening to. She would apologise later.

She took a deep, shaky ache of a breath. Okay. Feel the breath go down your throat to your stomach. Feel your abdomen expand and imagine the chi sprea–.

Another gut punch nobody but her could see or feel. Another wasted expulsion of air that she tried hard to let go of slowly. He, no, it, wasn't going to let her, huh?

Well two can play at that game.

She took a deep breath. It got as far as her ribcage before she tensed for the blow as she, once more, tried to get a read on its aura. That time, she managed to get a sense of something small, flickering, black, in its head. It pulsed and throbbed, wriggled, as though it beat with some dark, impossible energy. And then, bam! There goes your breath. This time, she gasped with the sudden, panicked realisation that that time had hurt, a sting that penetrated her whole body. She leaned back in her chair. Slowly, the voices came into focus.

"So?"

He spoke and everyone's attention was once again upon him.

"So what?" Momo asked. In truth she was a little fed up with the mysterious storyteller act.

"Which story was true?" He repeated.

"Huh? Really? None of those hokey stories were real!"

Maybe if she dismissed them, the fear grumbling in her gut would quiet.

The man turned to her. "Okay, let me rephrase. Which of these stories happened in this very city?"

Tsuru to kame ga subetta.

It was Sana who spoke next.

She turned to Momo. "You weren't born here, were you?"

Momo shook her head.

“Yeah, makes sense. You would have had to be born here to know the answer, and be a certain age.” Sana hesitated as she shuffled forward a little in her seat, hands still folded politely. "He changed up some things, but I recognised it right away," she said. "It was a trick question."

Somehow the mask seemed to leer.

"Very good, very good," he said.

"Belligerent kids, the winter, the murders... You split the story up into three bits. Very clever."

That seemed to satisfy the man in the mask, who leaned back and crossed his arms, a job well done. Momo shivered and even though she wore Okarun's hoodie, it suddenly wasn’t enough, wasn’t even close.

And Okarun? His heart was going a mile a minute. Huh, I guess I'm no good at ghost stories even when I'm living them. Mind you, he had to admit, I was fucking terrified then, too.

And then another thought, equally pulse-pounding, dawned upon him. He and Momo were almost touching. She had instinctively leaned against him. He didn't want to relieve the pressure of her thigh.

It was Kinji who asked for the real story.

Sana hummed. “I’m not sure I should tell it. It was so long ago. We should let the dead rest.”

Momo leaned forward. “No, please do! Our guest told a story; you should too.”

“It’s difficult to tell the story when it was people you know, but… alright, I’ll try.” The elderly woman assented, though not without hesitation.

Sana leaned forward for her own story. "Well, I'm not sure I'll tell it as well as our guest here, but I shall do my best. Let's see... It was after the war, I think Godzilla had just released."

"You know what Godzilla is?" Ken asked, despite himself. Sana tittered.

"Of course. I was a kid then. I went to see it."

"Who was your favourite?!"

She hesitated. "It was a bit later of course but I always liked Gamera. So, anyway, I guess around 1954. It was a very tense time in Japan. A lot of the old clashed with the new. I think that might be why the crime stood out so much... It was like a microcosm of everything going on. And it was local. That added to it. Everyone here knew someone who knew someone. Or, they were that someone."

"Which one were you?" Momo asked.

"Oh, I knew someone. My best friend knew the family.”

“As you know, Aoi park is at the base of the mountain. You have to walk through the old park underpass to get to it. This whole city built up out of a small village. Hundreds of years ago people still worshipped the gods of the land and they settled here. But in the postwar era, nobody had any time for the old gods of the land.

This park warden did what he could. Tidied up the old Aoi Anokoku, left offerings, prayed. But as he got older making the walk got more difficult.

It was a particularly cold winter and you know what the snow is like here. It comes in November and doesn't leave till April. It started snowing as he entered the tunnel and by the time he’d gotten to the other side, the entrances were both covered.

He'd been independent for years. A proud man. Nobody found him until the next thaw. He'd fallen asleep in the tunnel and, well..."

Sana stopped and sniffed. "Sorry, these stories get to me more than they used to. Getting old does that to you."

"Sana, I would never let that happen to you," Okarun said. She smiled, seemed genuinely touched. Kinji nodded emphatically.

"Yeah, if you need anything, don't be afraid to text." He said.

Momo considered how nice the group was, notwithstanding a strange man bearing stranger stories.

Sana dabbed her eyes. "Thank yo,u Ken, Kinji."

Momo had to breathe through the palpitations. When had his first name become such a big deal? Was it that there was an implied Takakura after the Ken? Was it that it was him?

"Anyway, where was I? Ah. So, yes. Very sad. But it was the strangest thing. He died, and offerings kept appearing on the mountain. People started to say he was still leaving them. Now, his son, I think his name was Toshiro, took over for a while, but he wasn't a true believer like his father. He had seen awful things in the war, and it had ripped his belief from him. I don't know what spurred it on but after a few months of this, of the offerings still appearing, whether it was stubbornness or fear, he went up to prove there was nothing there. But there was. It wasn't much, just a couple of yen and a candle. Toshiro thought, 'I'll take it and that will put a stop to this!' and so he left with the money and the candle.

Nobody could quite say if it was the elderly warden or the spirit of the mountain, enraged after this final insult. But this man started hearing things. Knocks on his wall. Scratching on his roof. Someone is asking to be let in. His dog ran away. Someone left dead animals, headless, outside his house. He documented it all in his diary.

Everyone he asked to stay with reported seeing nothing, but he would be hysterical by the time night came. One day, he got up and stabbed the friend who was staying with him. And then, he wandered into the mountain, and nobody ever saw him again. They went to his house to check on him, and a single mask was affixed to his door. Nobody dared touch it.

They say his house is still there in the old park. So you see, there was a kid, a wintery death, and a murder. That's where you got the inspiration, right?" She asked the man.

The mask nodded. Sana leaned back, satisfied. Whatever small dark thing sat in the mask coiled.

Momo leant forward and broke off the heat between the two of them.

"Do you have the address?" Momo asked. “You said it was through a tunnel at the base of the mountain, right?”

Sana hummed. "I don't think it's there anymore..."

"But still, there's something, right?" She pressed.

"I mean, sure."

Momo glanced at Okarun. He locked eyes with her, both of them confident in their shared agreement.

"Could you give us the address, please, Sana?" Momo asked.

Sana opened the bag that was sitting to her side and pulled out a notebook and a pen.

"I don't know why you'd want to go there ..." She hesitated, as her hands scrawled.

"To see if it's haunted! I'm a psychic, remember?"

Kinji cut in. "Oh, are we going to investigate?"

Sana frowned. "That seems to be in bad taste."

"No, no. I'm going to see if there are any unquiet spirits. To offer a prayer. Nobody's mentioned this to me before..." Momo explained.

This seemed to cheer Sana up. "Such a nice girl," she said as she handed over the paper.

The masked man had been quiet. He leaned forward. To Momo, it gave the impression of bulging.

"Could I come?" He asked.

"... Why?" She asked.

"I think it would be a great ending to my story. To tell of how a strong and adamant miko banished the evil."

In front of everyone, it was difficult to say no.

Momo glanced down at the address Sana had scrawled.

"It's a bit of a jaunt," she said.

"That's fine," he said.

"I'll probably go before I head home tonight," she said.

"That's fine," he said. She got the sense there was a smirk hidden behind his mask.

"That's okay then."

Okarun took over. He stood. "Well, I think that's all we have time for this week!" His voice was tense, a little squeaky, as though he might crack up at any point. He hoped nobody had noticed, and glanced at Momo, who turned to him in kind.

“You coming with, Oka-Ken?” She thought back to Kinji’s question earlier, and realised she wanted her name for him to be their thing, not something for ghost group. She so wanted to have in-jokes, little pet names, rapport between them. And there was, right? 

Right?

He couldn't help but admire Momo. She was so assured. So keen to help. So stubborn. So... Her. It was difficult to argue with a woman who made even stubbornness look achingly good. He had no way to know her thoughts trod the same lines as his.

It was even more difficult to say no to her when her desire was born of a genuine want to do good. It was one of the things he... Liked? No, no, he didn't like her, he admired her, but he didn't admire her either – that was too adoring. And speaking of that, he didn't adore her, he didn't. He appreciated her, but it sounded so clinical it couldn't possibly be the right word. Ken, you're a writer! Use your damn words! And yet, the only one that came to mind was as much taunt as torture. Friend. Friends. They were friends. On friendly terms. Good friends, best friends, maybe. What other phrases could there be? He looked up to her? But that was so neutral, it didn't convey just what she was, what she meant.

Momo's desire to do good meshed with his own need to be of service to people. Because if he was able to make others happy, it was easier to assume they would want you to stick around. It was part of the reason he had jumped at every opportunity to hang out with her. He wanted her to know he could be relied upon. He wanted her to know he would put the effort in this time. He wanted her to feel wanted. Because if he said no, well, who was to say she wouldn't realise she had outgrown him? So many thoughts crowded his mind, each jostling for the first-place position at the forefront of his mind. Each was an exercise in insecurity and self-doubt, in fear that he had fucked things up and that it would all catch up with him eventually. It was futile.

"I suppose it might be too much tonight..." Momo began.

"No, no. It's okay, I can do tonight." Okarun said to her.

Ushirono shoumen da are.

"That’s alright with you, O-Ken?" He nodded. Of course. Always. Indefinitely. Yes. Somehow, her using his name rather than her nickname felt cold, and yet, intimate at the same time.

"Okay then..." She said, suddenly conscious of the time and the dusky light that settled over the back room of the café.

Okarun stood up and smiled at the group. “Okay. I’ll see you all next week! Hopefully, if Mike is back with us, we’ll be checking out that staircase over in central. Remember to bring water!”

It was easy to go through the motions when his mind was in turmoil. He could churn and obsess, and nobody would ever know because he had memorised scripts and routines for these situations. He nodded at everyone as they left, and then turned to Momo and the man in the mask.

He held the door open for the two of them, and Momo went to exit, but then realised that, for some reason, the idea of having the unknown man behind her made Momo nervous. She stuck close to Okarun, who stood between them like an overprotective guard dog, and waited for the third to go out ahead of them.

***

The sky was darkening, but night brought no relief from the day's warmth, only a different, sticky kind of heat.

"Which way are we headed?" Momo asked as she looked down either end of the road and then back to the scrap of paper in her hand.

The man in the mask pointed. She followed.

Momo held onto Okarun’s elbow and walked slowly so that the masked man was always ahead of them. She gripped him a little too firmly, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to reach over and hold her. Reassure her. But he was afraid of what she might say, how she might look at him, if he touched her again. He made do with the millimetres of warmth between them and the sensation of her thigh scuffing against his leg.

"So, how long have you been in town?" She asked the figure ahead.

"Oh, a couple of years." He spoke but didn’t turn to them. He just kept walking.

"And we've never had you at group?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is your first time at the ghost group?"

"It's my first time doing this sort of thing."

She nodded and relaxed a little. She let go of Okarun's elbow. Her heart rate slowed. Walking warmed her up but she wanted to keep his hoodie on.

And, although he was glad she no longer gripped him, he yearned for the pressure of her hand, her thigh, her fingers, her mouth. He noted that final one with a guilty pang.

***

The path split into two at the end of the road. In one direction, it carried on, concrete and conurbations, grey, white paint, and wiry streets that stretched out and on.

The path that veered off to the left was much the same, though the street sat in the shadow of a hill, in a way that made the shadows look painted on, impressionistic, dark, angular, and engulfing. Somehow, Momo knew it was the way they had to go, and she pointed, nodded, and waited for the man ahead of them to set off.

She stayed close to Okarun but said very little to him. She focused upon the back of the man ahead of them, in anticipation of an Exorcist head-spin or something. The further along the road they got, the closer to the end of it, and the hollow of a bricked-up tunnel loomed; the red brick in the centre stood out from the grey surrounds. The bricks in the centre had crumbled, and behind it, only darkness. The tunnel hollowed out the hill. It was a tight fit, but large enough for one to scramble into. The masked figure’s feet disappeared into blackness as she approached. Once he was inside, she turned to Okarun.

“Listen to me when we’re in there,” she said.

He nodded and watched as she crawled through the hole. Once she was inside, a bright light shone from within, and he followed her. For the first time that day, he regretted wearing shorts, as gravel and bits of scree pressed painfully into his bony knees. The masked figure was a little way ahead, and the other side of the tunnel was a far-off blur of fading daylight. Their footsteps ricocheted back and forth around them and gave the impression of many stamping feet all around them. It was cacophonic, overwhelming, a harsh feedback loop of feet.

Momo stuck close to Okarun but focused upon the torch in her hand, which she shone ahead of their feet. The figure was somewhere ahead, in the dark. She was almost afraid to shine the torch over to him. Both she and Okarun no longer wondered how he could see in such darkness. The answer was evident.

The floor was damp with lichen and mud, which would have been pleasantly cool had the outside heat penetrated the tunnel. It hadn’t, and Okarun wished, for a moment, that Momo didn’t have his hoodie. The second thought chasing that one was that he would suffer the cold if she were warm.

The light at the end brightened, the last embers of the day bouncing orange and red off of slate walls in thin splinters of light that stretched in.

The man in the mask had stopped. He faced inward.

Momo shuddered.

As they approached him, he turned once again and wordlessly stepped out.

The two winced against the dulled daylight, harsh after the long dark of the tunnel. Once Momo had adjusted, she looked around her.

An old path, concrete from which weeds and grass poked their way through. Trees on either side of them, withered and worn but still budding and crisp with dry leaves. Bushes and bracken obscured much else.

“Any idea how much further?” He asked. She paused and looked over the note in her hand, and shook her head. She went to pull her phone out, but –

“No signal.” She said. She supposed they had just walked through an old tunnel, out and through to the other side of a hill. Okarun pulled his own phone out and checked.

“Huh, yeah.”

It was only then that the two of them realised how daft it was to agree to accompany a strange man to the location of a decades-old murder, without telling any of their friends or checking to see whether he was dangerous. The two of them looked at the man, expectantly.

“Oh, I don’t have a phone!” He said as he patted down his pockets. “Never got on with them!”

A curtain of silence fell between the two groups, and then, the façade of amicability dropped.

"Well, shall we get this over with?" He asked. The shadows seemed to stretch across his face, and set it into a broad, ridged frown.

"What do you mean?” Momo spoke, though her heart was in her mouth. She took a step forward, and Okarun grabbed her wrist, held her in place. It was as much as he dared to do.

"My little game. I knew you would not be able to resist." The mouth of the mask moved, somehow. "I'm feeding on this idiot, but it was your energy I could sense. After so long asleep, I need sustenance and the two of you simply drip with occult power."

He dropped Momo’s wrist and then to his knees, and for the first time that day was glad he wore such loose-fitting clothes. He reached for a shoelace. If it came down to it, he would go Turbo to protect Momo, and nobody was there to see it. Momo put a hand out: it said, stop, no, desist.

"That's what he wants," she said.

"Clever and pretty," came the mask.

"Pretty bold of you to come to a ghost club." Momo said, fixated upon it. "I suppose it makes sense if you're borrowing Mike's body ... Nobody but the spiritually attuned would notice."

It paused, a flicker of emotion between anger and smugness that settled into a smile that did not fit the mask.

"Stalling won't stop me," it said.

"Who said I'm stalling?" Momo said. "I just thought you should know, I don't care what happens to Mike."

Okarun had been halfway to telling her that was harsh when the mask dropped to the floor with an empty, cheap clatter, as though it was some Halloween prop. Behind the mask, the face of Mike Takashi came into view, stuck somewhere between gratitude and bashfulness.

"God that thing was humid," he said.

Momo had knotted her hands together and was concentrating on the mask. It shuddered on the floor, fighting against its restraints.

"You could at least say thank you.”

"That's twice you've saved my ass now! Once literally. Being saved by so beautiful a lady is truly an honour." Mike said, with a low bow. Okarun had been confused. By that point, he was... Well, a complicated number of things. How could Mike say so easily what he couldn't?

Momo turned to Okarun. "In my bag there should be an ofuda. Can you stick it on the mask?"

Mike seemed to be stood waiting for a response to his compliment. Momo watched Okarun.

"-Front pocket. Yeah that one. Should be-- yeah you got it. Now stick it on the mask." As he did, the mask seemed to shrivel like a dead leaf with a thin, whiny hiss. The talisman blackened until both were on the ground, still and silent.

Then she turned to Mike. "What did I tell you about going to cursed locations by yourself?!"

"I didn't think it was really cursed! Besides, who even gets cursed?"

"You do, apparently. Twice!" Her jaw was set with irritation.

"I guess, but think about what a cool story this will make!"

For a moment, Momo had to check he was no longer suffering the effect of any lingering spiritual influence or damage.

"I know, I know. Bet you've heard enough stories from me." He smiled. "But it is my business!"

"Your... Business?"

"Yup. I'm a kamishibaiya. That bit was true. How do you think I knew Ken was bullshitting us all?"

"For your own good!" Okarun interjected.

"I can take care of myself!"

"That's how you got cursed twice?" Momo elbowed her way back into the conversation. Okarun couldn’t help but find her angry expression cute. She could never know.

"What's it to you?"

"Curses can spread. And I have to keep fixing you. I swear, next time I'm leaving you to it."

"Aw, let me make it up to you. How about a coffee?"

Time seemed to contract around Okarun. He found himself, eyes wide, looking at Momo. Surely, she wouldn't?

“Okarun you need to put that talisman on the mask-" she chivvied. Okarun hoped the sudden draining of blood from his face wasn't too noticeable in the light. "And, no, Mike." She said.

"Wow, just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"To get cursed? No I definitely can."

Okarun wasn't sure whether to be alarmed by how much Momo sounded like Granny Seiko. Alarmed, and slightly impressed.

“Ugh, and these clothes…” Mike said, as he looked down at his outfit. “Mask has no rizz.”

Neither Momo nor Okarun said anything. Mike seized the opportunity. "So, I can go?"

"Now the mask is neutralised, sure."

"Oh, cool. What... What was it?"

"Amanojaku. Spirits of words and stories. But they're compelled to do the opposite of whatever it is you say."

"Cool, how did you know?"

"It's my job to." She paused. “How did you manage to get cursed this time?”

Mike looked at her. “Oh. I read about the case on the internet and decided to go look, get some inspiration for my Halloween stories. There was a mask. I thought it’d make a cool souvenir.”

Momo sighed. “Please stop going looking for dangerous occult sites.”

Mike was quiet a moment as he looked the two of them over, and it was then that he seemed to fully comprehend that Okarun was there. Okarun, a man used to blending in, had had no problem with that.

His eyes widened with realisation. "Isn't that his hoodie?"

Mike narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I see how it is..." He said, with a smile that spread like oil across his face.

"Ken you dog," he said, and stepped forward to elbow him in the chest.

Okarun gasped. Mike had sharp elbows.

"N-no!" He said. Oh god, thank god it's dark and Momo can't see me blushing.

Momo was a little preoccupied with the no. For some reason, hearing it made her feel sick. Was that how it was…? They'd been hanging out weeks. It had been fun. More than fun. It had been everything. To be back in contact with her best friend, to find that everything they had had remained. So why did her chest tighten when Okarun denied... That?

"Okay, I'll leave you two lovebirds to it. I can get home safe." Even in the dusk, Momo could hear the smug leer in his voice.

"We're not lovebirds!" Momo insisted. If that was how Okarun felt, who was she to question? He had said it so definitively and really, it was silly of her to think it would be anything like before. At least before, things went unsaid rather than denied. At the time it had been awful, but compared to this, she would have taken the quiet, lingering, impossible hope. Had she really thought..? After all, she'd apologised but, she was the one who'd hurt him. Who'd left without warning. Who'd sat on the last carriage of the train so she could keep Kamigoe in her sights as long as possible that far off, crisp winters day. Of course, after that, she was lucky he wanted to talk to her let alone hang out. She couldn't, she wouldn't, push things.
"Gotcha!" Mike said with a click and some finger guns. "I'll see you next week!" He said to the two of them. Momo handed him the torch.

“You’ll need that, it's dark in there.”

Mike nodded. “Thank you, m’lady.”

He was already on his way, so he missed the glower that Momo shot his way. She watched the light bob until the vague outline of his shirt. They stood in a mutually assured silence. Neither wanted to be the one to broach the subject. Maybe if I ask her how silly a suggestion that is? Okarun thought to himself. That way I can gauge her reaction.

If I play it off as just Mike being weird, we don't have to focus on the other weird bit, Momo thought to herself.

"Can you believe him?" bled into "what a silly suggestion!" so that they both spoke in tandem.

No small amount of time was spent on spluttered clarifications.

Momo laughed a little too high-pitchedly. "Right? As if we're, you know-."

Okarun felt small and wilted like a flower that needed water. "I can't believe he'd be so obvious!"

Silence gave way to awkward, forced laughter, gave way to genuine, spluttered laughter until the two of them were bent double.

"God, he's such an idiot-" Momo began.

"Hey now, he's not that ba-"

Momo gave him a look. "Two curses! Two!" She held her fingers up for emphasis.

It was hard to argue with that statistic.

"Still, he's harmless."

"Yeah, and clueless..."

"Right. Imagine thinking we're a thing!"

Momo went quiet again as she thought of Kinji asking if they were a couple. Of the secret nestled in her chest — that she wasn't against the idea. That she had, even, humoured the idea. That she'd practiced apologies and confessions to the Nokarun she shared her afternoons with.

There was a version of her who could be all smooth confidence but once emotions came into it, well, she didn’t know what to do with that. Her face could smile, while her heart raced. In her head, she considered how she might even broach the unsaid with Okarun. What mask would that require? The kind that she could strip away if things didn’t go her way? What even would she say? Would she apologise and tell him that she… that she…

She…

If she couldn't even think it, what hope did she have? They'd been talking a while. She woke up and the first thing she did was check her phone and if he hadn’t texted, she would. It was the last thing she did before bed, every day.

"Ridiculous!" She chuckled.

Of course. She's right. It's utterly ridiculous. Rather than focus on that thought, of the empty void where bad thoughts lived, he asked her a question.

"Shall I walk you home?"

Momo smiled. "Sure, I'd love to."

It was a longer walk than normal, if only because the fourth dimension stretched out vast and vague in front of them. It wasn't quite awkward. It wasn't quite not. Okarun rubbed the back of his neck as he walked, and Momo fiddled with a sleeve.

What to say what to say?

When did I get so awkward with guys? Momo thought to herself. When the guy was Ken Takakura. Okarun. With those large hands and soft eyes, with the ripple of muscle in his neck and the flutter of a pulse in his wrist, any time she grabbed him. His glasses and his enthusiasm, his messy tousle of hair, the way he got bashful when teased. It only made her want to push his buttons, watch him blush because of her, more.

Things had changed, including her feelings. They deepened. But how could she expect him to feel the same?

If I told her it would just bring up bad memories. Better to let them rest. Besides, what would I even say? The things I rehearse? There's a reason I rehearse them.

He was beginning to think there was no string of words in any language to describe his feelings for Momo Ayase. She was heat and light, she was water and air, she was art and music, she was colour and passion, and every hobby he had ever had. She was a feeling. She was an impossibility.

And here he was, a nerd who had been too scared to say "I'm sorry". It was difficult to not think of friendship as a second prize when first was her. Truly, he was glad they were friends. To be anything less would be a waste.

It was happiness and a twist of delicious guilt every time he saw her.

And for her, it was him.

The two of them walked close together, engrossed in their own thoughts so that the world around them was an after-image. And then, there they were again, standing outside the shrine. Momo’s shrine. At that point, Ken was sure he would not ever be invited inside.

Momo turned. He hesitated. Questions he wanted to ask and the things he could never say rushed through his mind.

“Hey, Momo?”

“Mmm?”

He decided on something safe.

“How did you know what it was?”

"I asked about the mask and drawing attention to it meant people who hadn't already noticed it were put under its spell, so to speak."

“Makes sense.” He said. “I wonder if all cities have this many yokai. It seems like we’re seeing more of those than ghosts or aliens, recently.”

Momo hummed an agreement.

Who’s turn was it?

Okarun answered the question for her. He did not want to tell her how he had rehearsed their goodbyes.

“I’ll see you … soon?” He said. He hoped, he ached, that it didn’t sound too desperate.

She smiled. “Soon.” She nodded with a wave.

Chapter Text

Momo Ayase sat up in bed.

Her bedroom was cast in murky, bluey early morning haze, her window wide open, for all the good that did. The heat, very much in the middle of a wave, had been unbearable a week ago. Now, it was unconscionable even for Japanese summer standards. Hours ago, she'd had a shower and still found herself uncomfortably hot, sweaty, sticky and fed up hours later.

Momo threw her quilt to the floor and stretched out, arms and legs splayed, upon her bare mattress. She had considered going downstairs to get a cold towel or an ice pack, but she feared that any attempts to exert herself would be an exercise in folly. There was only so much heat she could realistically endure, emotional turmoil notwithstanding.

She'd read once that if you couldn't sleep it meant that someone was dreaming of you. From there, there was only really one place, one person, her mind could wander to.

Okarun. Was he awake in his own room, thinking of her?

It was the not knowing that was the worst. Their friendship had been reforged, but like kintsugi, the deep, golden cracks of their past tempestuousness lingered, webbed, indelible scars in places neither of them could quite reach. It would never quite be the same, but it was, perhaps, stronger. It was certainly something Momo didn't mind. After all, they'd been hanging out for a good chunk of summer and things had been fine, more than fine – they'd been great. They'd gone on ghost hunts, searched for lost cats, and befriended sentient pottery. But more important than any of that, was the pure and simple fact that she had her cute nerd back. Okay, so maybe he wasn't strictly speaking hers, but that didn't stop her feeling possessive. She wouldn't proclaim it, and he wouldn't admit it, but they both knew it to be true; she just knew it. It was how she liked it: straightforward in its messiness.

Momo didn't need answers to the questions she wouldn't ask. They were rhetorical for a reason. She was a grown woman; she could handle her own emotions and had been doing so perfectly fine up to now, thank you very much. Not that they – those uncomfortable pangs of longing and affection she felt for the quiet, soft man that was Okarun – needed handling, just careful management and compartmentalisation. At the beginning of summer, before Okarun and the sudden swell in paranormal detecting that they both ended up doing in one another's company, she'd sworn off of love. And she kept telling herself that same refrain. Besides, love was a heavy word to use casually.

Had she ever loved Okar-Ken? As a teenager, the obvious answer was yes, sure, implicitly and wholly and consummately and always and yet, she argued back and forth in circles with herself. She loved him, she loved him not, pulling petals on a flower to decide the outcome. Was puppy love in any way comparable? Teenaged love was a whole different beast – it was obsession, lust, and passion all in one indeterminate, volatile mix. Momo went round and round in her head. As it had been, as it would be: just a crush with extra steps that she had convinced herself was something more, something meaningful, because his name was Ken Takakura?

She would have argued yes, before reconnecting. Now, now, she didn't know, or wouldn't admit it to herself, and therein lay the problem and the solution in one obstinate, stubborn woman. There was something – call it a spark, a flame, butterflies, a red string, fate, destiny, but it was something – and that was what was most frustrating. It got much harder to ignore the feelings when she had to actively repress them. Because a teenage crush that never went anywhere wasn't the basis of a healthy adult relationship. She knew that. She knew that.

And then, her mind circled back round to the hitch in his voice when he revealed he had known she was Momo, not Mimi all along; she thought feel of his heat against her fingertips, of hands grasped in dark rooms where it could go unacknowledged but also unchallenged; his gentle kindness; his eager desperation to be friends, and then, then it wasn't just the temperature that left her hot and bothered.

It was the beautiful frustration of Okarun.

She sighed and rolled onto her side, onto a new, cooler patch of mattress in the vain hope that it might chill her out.

At some point, she fell asleep.

Momo opened her eyes to the faint sound of scurrying. She made a mental note to get some traps. Whatever it was could live somewhere else, thank you very much. The thought of tiny creatures shunted her train of thought elsewhere, to the Inouye house, and Seto. How long had it been since they had promised they would visit?

She reached across the bed for her phone and opened it to an empty home screen.

Disappointed? Not her.

M. Ayase: hey did u pick up any Dodai

Her refusal to use proper punctuation would never not be a thorn in Okarun's side. He winced as he read the message, his thumb hovering over the reply button.

Okarun: Oh, not yet.
M. Ayase: okarun!
Okarun: Why am I buying it?
M. Ayase: u look like u knw more abt it than me
Okarun: Kinta was the Dodai nerd!

The Beautiful M. Ayase: yo kinta
Kinta: Yes, oh spectral beauty?
The Beautiful M. Ayase: cut that out.
The Beautiful M. Ayase: Whts a gd dodai fr beginners

[Editor’s note: for brevity's sake, Kinta's response has been shortened]

The Beautiful M. Ayase: thx
Kinta: anything for you Miss Ayase.
The Beautiful M. Ayase: yh yh
Kinta: Cruel to be kind!
The Beautiful M. Ayase: w/e lemme knw whn ur back in town ill get every1 togetha 4 a meal
Kinta: I knew you were sweet on me!
The Beautiful M. Ayase: dont push it.

M. Ayase: this
Okarun: Okay I'll grab it and meet you at the house?
M. Ayase: after wrk?
M. Ayase: i mean if ur free
Okarun: Sure. See you at 3.30.

Ken closed the messenger app, slid his phone across the desk and turned his attention back to the computer in front of him. He was halfway through typing out an article on local urban legends, inspired in no small part by their adventure last week, but now all he could think of was the ever-shortening fourth dimension that stood between Momo Ayase and him and the usual cacophony of doubt that manifested whenever he thought of anything to do with her.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair with a groan. What was worse than having a crush on the first girl you ever spoke to? Having that same crush, six years later, and still, still, not having done a damn thing about it. Momo was vocal in her desire for a man's man, a real Ken Takakura type who did no harm and took no shit and drank Nescafé Gold – even though it tasted awful –, because he could grin and bear it. Swagger and streetwise cool bragadoccious was hardly in Ken's lane, let alone his ballpark.

He thought of the ease with which Jiji conducted himself, the quiet assurance, the confidence of his every action. Maybe that was it. He could text Jiji!
K-Tak: Jiji!
Jiji: 'sup?

And then, he lost momentum. Where to even begin? And if he told Jiji, would he tattle? Wait, did Jiji even know they were talking again? He hadn't mentioned anything. Had Momo? Was it arrogant to want to know what she may or may not have said about him?

K-Tak: Girl problems.
Jiji: About time my dude! How long has it been since you broke up with Hana?

Hana had been nice. They'd met in the same aisle of a manga store – picking up the sequel series to Kyoto Ghoul, the imaginatively named Kyoto Ghoul+ –, and they'd hit it off. A bookstore date had led to coffee, in several senses. But at some point, he'd stopped caring. It was a recurrent thing for him, and he was under no illusions: he had hurt her quite badly. It was the last thing he wanted to do to Momo, and it was a large part of the reason behind his hesitation. Maybe he wasn't cut out for all that romantic stuff. He had never been the “sweep her off her feet” kind of guy, Yokai form aside.

K-Tak: On second thought, forget it.
Jiji: oh no! No, my dude. Get yourself out there!

It was easy enough for Jiji to say. He was handsome, athletic, tall, ripped, popular. What was Okarun, at the end of the day? A quiet little nerd who knew too much about cryptids and spent too much time playing video games. A miserable pile of secrets unspoken, unshared, unacknowledged except in the dead of night. Before Momo, he hadn't gotten out much beyond ghost club, and now she was almost all of the reason why he did at all. He was awkward. He had always been awkward. What once he could have blamed on teenage angst had become, at this point, a lifelong bad habit. He was much more used to, and comfortable with, communication over a distance. He regularly texted Jiji, Aira, Kinta, Unji, Vamola, and Rin but he seldom met up with them, and that was a large part of the appeal. In person was a lot different from words on a screen. He had to look his friends in the eye and not do or say anything too weird, something that he felt he had consummately failed at as of late.

And then there was the matter of the word. Friends. Was that what they were? Was that what he wanted? Sat there, Ken sank his head into the desk before him. It was difficult to know when he was in his own head. It was even more difficult when it came to Momo Ayase, who was so unlike anyone he had met, even now, all those years later. There had been a couple of girlfriends, but there was still only one Momo. And that was stupid, right? An adolescent crush that never went anywhere because he never did anything with it. A missed opportunity that had long since run ashore.

Besides, she was so pretty, she was definitely seeing someone, and there was no way for him to ask that question without revealing his entire hand. Throughout this thought process, his phone had been buzzing, incessantly, in a fervor only Jiji could sustain.

Enjyoji Jin: d'ya need a wing man?
Enjyoji Jin: do I need to get myself to kamishihiro?
Enjyoji Jin: you know I'm always game.
Enjyoji Jin: and I won't take no for an answer.
Enjyoji Jin: I know you're reading these.
Enjyoji Jin: hey, isn't Momo in kamihishiro?
Enjyoji Jin: want me to work some of my jiji magic and arrange a meeting?
Takakura Ken: no!
Enjyoji Jin: you sure? I bet she'd be happy to see you.

Had she been? She had smiled. Multiple times. She had smiled. At him. Because of him. In spite of him. He had made her smile. And then, that smile, her smile, became the only thing he could think of in that moment. Her smile, her lips, the cute way her cheeks dimpled. He wanted nothing more than to be the reason she smiled, and some small part of him shrivelled up at that realisation.

Takakura Ken: Yeah. I actually have a girl in mind…

Okay, so it was a half-truth. He would get some advice and work out how to tell Jiji later.

Enjyoji Jin: oh yeah? What, another book shop girl?
Takakura Ken: no not quite.
Enjyoji Jin: well come on, spill, or do I need to call you?
Takakura Ken: not while I'm at work!

The last thing he needed was a giggle fit in the office. There was nobody quite as funny as Jiji, except perhaps Momo. He resumed his write-up of his article, allowed ample time for Jiji text breaks – even if he was a little disappointed every time his phone vibrated and it wasn't Momo –, and found that the rest of the day went by rather fast.

Momo waited outside in a grey t-shirt dress, looking beautifully disheveled with her hair thrown up in a half-bun. She hadn't quite gotten used to the sight of Okarun in smart, non-gakuran clothes. Maybe it was the fact he was a little taller and a little broader, or maybe it was that the first few buttons of his white shirt were undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Momo tried not to focus upon the strip of skin she could see where neck met collarbone or upon the ripple of tendons in his arm. His dark blue trousers were a little more straight-legged and fashionably cropped, showing off thin ankles and dark socks. Okarun wore his hair slightly long, undercut, and smoothed back into a small stub of ponytail. Momo liked it, but also lamented the fact she couldn't reach out and brush his fringe from his eyes, as she had so often wanted to. He looked cute, in that post-work kind of tired way – a kind of familiar, worn tiredness that only close friends got to see.

He cleared his throat as he walked over.

“Uh, hi.” He said. His head lit up with half a dozen different scolds for that triumph of an introduction.

Panic spiked in Momo's chest, utterly separate from Okarun's and yet, glaringly, obviously, similar. Had she been staring? Had he noticed? She grinned, easy as anything. It wasn't faking if he never even knew she was doing it.

“Good day?” She asked.

He nodded. Small talk suited neither of them, and any potential conversations about the weather had long since overstayed their welcome as the heatwave got into its fifteenth day, with still nary a cloud in sight in an empty, darkening sky.

Momo fished around in a plastic bag that hung off her wrist and pulled out a Loca Cola for Okarun. She followed the gift up with a question.

"Where do we buy Dodai anyway?"

"Beats me.” Okarun reached out for it, cold condensation wetting the tips of his outstretched fingers.

"What kind of nerd are you?!"

"The bookish kind." He said, with a soft smile and a slight adjustment of his glasses.

Well, she couldn't argue with that. Her heart had other ideas, anyway.

"Shall we just head over and grab something on the way?"

Okarun popped the tab on the can of Loca Cola and took a large gulp. “Okay, but what if we don't find anything?”

Momo hummed.

“Wing it!”

The walk to the Inouye house was different in the evening. The part of town that was run down felt a lot more dangerous in the evening, as though the shadows that pooled at the edges of the road would unfold and swallow everything, an uncomfortable twilight zone between safety and public health disaster.

Momo and Okarun walked almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Occasionally, they bumped into each other and neither would admit the secret thrill of contact to the other.

Along the way, they had managed to find a small shop selling tiny tins of paint, airbrushes, and kits of slot-together Dodai that weren't as complicated as the real thing, but which they had both decided would be good until they worked out whether or not Seto enjoyed Dodai.

"So how do these work?" Momo asked as she pulled the blue bag from Okarun's grasp and took out one of the Dodai. She lifted the box to eye level and stared at it as the two of them walked along, as though that alone would impart its secrets.

Okarun returned it to the bag.

"If you wanted one, you should have said."

"No, I just thought maybe you'd know."

"I told you I'm not that familiar."

"You're a nerd, right?"

"Not that kind!"

"There's types?!"

Okarun sighed, pushed his glasses up his face, and lifted his other hand so that Momo could not re-pillage the bag. She reached up, but he held it just a little higher than she could manage.

"They're not for you!" He insisted as he pulled his rucksack over his shoulder and deposited the bag inside. Momo watched, huffed, sighed, and then crossed her arms.

"Fine, but I'm making them with Seto."

"Suits me, nerd."

She shoved him with a shoulder. "Hey, I'm not the nerd!"

Okarun paused. He gave her a look that was all raised eyebrows and questioning intentions.

"What?" Momo asked.

"I mean, you kind of are..." He said, and braced for the next thump. It didn't come.

"It's your fault!"

"We didn't see each other for six years, you could have reverted at any point!"

"Well, maybe I like that about you!"

"So why are you complaining– " he squeaked out the last few syllables as what she had said washed over him. Was it hot in here? In this... Open, public street? In the middle of a heatwave? Technically, yes, but the blush that crept up his face was all, unquestionably, him. Not that she noticed, Ken thought to himself: she seemed blissfully unaware of the effect she had upon him, or else, her poker face was very good.

“I never said I was complaining! I happen to like what you bring out in me.”

Momo watched him. It was as though she was waiting to see if he reacted. She took a bite of the Papico pop she had pulled out of her own bag.

Her heart was thundering a storm.

Okarun had blushed. She'd watched it creep up his neck and down his chest, an unmistakable blood rush. He seemed to avoid her gaze for a moment, looking away as if she wouldn't be able to see the gentle red heat on his cheeks and chin. Momo realised she had been inspecting him and turned away in awkward kind.

They turned the corner onto the block where the Inouye house stood, backlit by a sunset that sank slowly into the horizon and cast a long creep of shadow scattered across the pavement. The house, in the evening, squatted down ahead, looked even more ominous than before. Momo knew the inhabitants were friendly, and, better still, she was in good company. There was nobody she would rather have at her side investigating abandoned, confirmed-to-not-be-haunted places. But something about abandoned houses still put her hackles up.

It was the windows. Papered up from the inside, they darkened and deepened with velvety shadow, as though they were eyes, looking back at her. She knew what was indoors, and yet... Okarun put a hand on her shoulder in a manner that he hoped was reassuring, even if the words were not. She jumped.

“Got you!” He grinned, with a squeeze of her shoulder.

“That doesn't count!”

“What is it this time?”

“The house is –,” she paused, considered, frowned. “– Its scary!”

Okarun turned from Momo to the house, and back again. “It is pretty scary.” He paused, pulled his hand back and pushed Momo gently forward. Her shoes scuffed against one another as she took an unsteady step.

"Well, ladies first!" He said.

Momo puffed out her cheeks. "If I get tetanus, it's your fault!"

"Mind your step then!"

"What happened to Mr Brave Guy?"

"Who, me? I'm just a nerd." Momo sighed.

And then, the door to the Inouye house slammed open, the sound cracking and reverberating in the still air across the street. Momo was sure she saw a puff of dust and old plasterboard falling away as it swung outwards, but her attention was focused elsewhere.

There was a man coming out of the house, moving with a slippery, spidery gait in a jog across the yard. In the shadow of the house, it was difficult to get a bead on him – he was more impression than man. Momo glimpsed the edge of a yellow tie

He jumped down the step and bolted across the yard, dressed in an outfit that, well, Momo couldn't quite place. All she managed to get was a glimpse of a yellow tie. It was familiar, somehow. And boy, was he fast. In the time it had taken to process that most basic of information, he had crossed the yard and was about to hop the fence. He did just that, his legs haphazardly splayed.

The door opened a second time with an insistent crack. Seto came tumbling into the picture, all crunching, clanking, shifting ceramic, and a voice that was about as big a mismatch to his stature as was possible. For a spirit with no lungs, it was as impressive as it was abrasive.

"Stop him!" He shouted. "He stole priceless art!"

The shock had completely winded Momo, who walked in the vague direction of the figure who was now almost at the end of the block.

"Okarun!" She turned to face him.

"Huh?"

"Turbo!"

"What– no! Where am I going to put my clothes? My shoes?"

Instead, he took off after the man on feet that were most definitely human to a fault. No matter how hard he ran, and in truth, he had gotten out of practice in the years since leaving Kamigoe, he barely kept up with the dust trail kicked up by the figure. He was fast, sure, but the thief was faster. Okarun lost him around the corner in the scant few seconds it took for him to cross the yard. He came to a reluctant standstill, eyes fixed upon the blank space where the thief had been, while Momo caught up to him.

"What the hell, dude, you let him get away?!"

"What did you want me to do?"

"I think I made that pretty clear! Turbo! What's wrong with you?" She threw her hands up to the sky.

"If I Turbo out, I ruin my clothes! My shoes! Clothes are expensive!" He threw his own hands into the air.

"So is some thief making off with priceless pottery!"

"How could it be priceless if the guy never sold anything?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Temper your expectations!"

"Do what I tell you!"

"Are you going to pay for my shoes?"

Momo hesitated. "Okay, okay, maybe you have a point!"

Okarun was a little thrown. He had forgotten how accountable Momo could hold herself.

"Sorry, Okarun," she said. Her hands came to rest at her sides.

He followed suit, an apologetic air accenting his actions."It's okay. I don't want to rely on just my Turbo powers to-to... protect you." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. Bashful and awkward, he could manage in his sleep.

The prideful bit of Momo wanted to shout back that she could take care of herself fine, but she knew that was not what he had meant. He wanted to protect her. The moment of quiet stretched out between them a little too long, a gulf at which they stood on opposite shores, as what he had said settled over the two of them. Momo had found whatever words she wanted to say obscured by the thump thump thump of her heart.

She swallowed dryly, swallowed back the words she couldn't say.

Okarun's watched her. Had he gone too far? Had he said too much? He was making it weird. He smoothed down the back of his hair and sighed.

"Sor–."

"Don't." Momo said quietly.

"Don't what?"

"Don't apologise."

"I said too much."

"No. I'm glad you said that."

She had begun fiddling with her earring, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger absent mindedly, out of nerves and just to give her hands something to do. Okarun was a little lost for words, but he struggled against the current his heart beat into him until he found some. They locked eyes.

"I'm glad we're –,” what were they? "–friends, Miss Ayase." And he was. But, oh god. He also wasn't, and that quiet guilt stuck with him.

She wanted a friend, not a lap-dog. You can't just say what you want to say. It's too much. Too soon. Too you. Too awkward and weird and socially inexcusable. Friends. The word blocked up his brain. All other thoughts faded. He had to focus upon it to dull the thunk thunk thunk of his heart.

She seemed to, for a moment, tense up, and then her gaze dipped once more. Then, she smiled. Not a wide-eyed grin but a gentler, softer smile. The kind of smile reserved for friends friends friends.

"Me too.” She hesitated. He'd tested the waters, and they'd been fine. He could tread water a little longer before he drowned in her.

Momo had been holding her breath, and with it, the words that she couldn't say. Slowly, they dripped down her throat and recoiled back into her core, along with the question. Could she..? And then, it was not a question of whether she could, but of how. She swallowed and spoke before she had time to think.

“Next time you say that... Say it with your chest."

He had no idea of the correct response to that. He just nodded.

The tiny figure of Seto jumped up and down in the doorway, his tiny china body clanking and shifting alongside his sharp, ceramic shouts until all he was was noise and clatter.

"Thief! Thief! Kidnapper!" He shouted, like the smashing of plates against walls.

He stopped jumping after the second or third round of shouting. He stopped jumping and instead settled upon shaking his fist, which was a small teaspoon curled in against itself.

The two of them turned around and away from one another, and filed away whatever that was for later, as Momo crossed the yard. As she did, Seto accosted her.

"He stole Inouye Tomio's priceless pottery!"

Okarun's phone buzzed. There was no question of who it was – with Jiji, it was more a question of how many messages he had missed in the half hour it had taken them to get to the Inouye house –, but he supposed he should reply.

Enjyoji Jin: so when am I winging your man?
Takakura Ken: I don't think that's what you're doing
Enjyoji Jin: maybe not but it'll be a thing, just you wait!

At that, Okarun had written something out along the lines of:

Takakura Ken: Stop trying to make winging your man a thing.

But, he had forgotten to send. In the time since, Jiji had messaged him several more times.
Enjyoji Jin: I've got a bit of free time this week. You thinking what I'm thinking?
Enjyoji Jin: if you weren't it's too late now. I can crash at yours right?
Enjyoji Jin: I'll be getting in at midday. You better be there with juicy gossip!
Enjyoji Jin: you sure I can't arrange a Momo meetup? I'll be seeing her and you. It'd be a waste.

Momo watched him. Who was he texting? A girl? A guy? She almost felt guilty for the instinctual stab of jealousy she felt.

"Okaruuun~" she called. His head snapped up, and he jogged across the front yard. And in that time, Momo had turned away and was crouched, talking to Seto, who had only just been convinced to lower his voice.

Ken winced and glanced down either end of the road to see whether there were any neighbours or onlookers poised to complain. Aside from the two of them, the street was empty, or at the very least, all of the action was concentrated in that portion of it.

"If nobody came looking after that performance, I reckon we're probably alright," he said as he walked up to the two of them. He reassured nobody but himself. Momo's attention was upon the seto taishō, who shook his head, ochoko cup shawl clanging around his shoulder like an old bell.

“What is the world coming to?” He lamented.

“Are you okay?” Momo asked. “Did he take anything important?”

"Just the intact pots. It was all we had."

"We'll get them back."

"Thank you. Why are you here?"

"Oh. Me and Okarun decided to bring you some stuff to do. We said we'd visit, right?"

The small man craned his neck, such as it was, to look up at both of them. The patterns on his face shifted as though ruffled by an unseen, unfelt wind. Tiny, blue flowers formed a smile.

"Can we come in?" Momo asked as she straightened up. Seto's face swiveled a full three hundred and sixty degrees so that he was facing inward, and he took tiny, tinny, hollow steps into the house.

The scant light that came from the front door illuminated the dusty wooden hallway of the Inouye house, all dusty grey and brown, the inescapable smell of mothballs and wet paper. As Okarun entered, he closed the door behind him, gentle as could be, and turned to appraise the house. Was it less scary knowing the inhabitants of the house were not, in fact, the mortally challenged? For Okarun, the mere threat of a particularly large rat or spider was enough to give him pause, not to mention the dust and potential for splinters. It was not something he would have admitted to Momo.

She, meanwhile, occupied herself with retrieving a torch from her rucksack. She clicked it on and swept across the dust, debris, and piles of old papers, boxes, litter, and bits of ceiling that now found itself on the floor.

"Hmm. Maybe if we're coming here regularly, we should tidy up a bit ..." She began.

"If we make too much noise someone's gonna notice," Okarun pointed out.

"We've been here twice now, someone is going to notice that," she countered.

"Even more reason not to attract undue attention." That verbal back and forth had ended in Okarun's favour, or so he thought, until Seto's shrill voice emerged from the darkness like a fork on a plate.

"We wanted to keep it exactly as Inouye Tomio left it."

Momo bit back on the part of her that wanted to point out the obvious, and instead, hummed thoughtfully.

"Well if you think that's best."

"Yes. We have had several meetings on the matter."

"Oh, right..."

That was right. In addition to Seto, there was a tiny origami man, a sentient painting, and a biwa at the very least. Seto was –quite literally– the face of them all, being the only one who could talk, but it had never occurred to her before.

"Do they have names?" She asked, as she stepped over a pile of books and swept the light beam back in Okarun's direction so that he could see.

"Names are a human thing."

"Sure, but we're here now."

"I suppose."

"Didn't Inouye Tomio give you names? If I were an artist, I would name what I made."

"He did."

Momo sniggered as Okarun tripped over his feet when she shone the light in his eyes. He raised a hand to block the beam, and his other hand into a rude gesture. She grinned and turned back to the small figure, who stood in front of the staircase. He gazed up at the immensity of it, tiny arms reaching for the lip of the first step.

"We need to get you guys like, a pulley system for this staircase or something..." She mused aloud. I wonder if nanoskin would do the trick? Could she get Peeny Weeny to post her some? Would that get her in trouble with the postal service? She made a mental note to check postal regulations with regard to alien technology and instead bent to pick up Seto.

"Express elevator!" She said.

The tiny man floundered. "Unhand me!"

"No way, how long does it take you to get down those stairs? Can you even get up them?!" There was a sckrch of consideration, a fork on a plate.

"Fine, fine." Seto perched over the crest of Momo's thumb, peering ahead as they clambered up.

"First door on the left, right?" Momo turned and glanced at Okarun over her shoulder and gently placed the creature on the floor with a pat-pat for good luck.

"No, the left,"

"Right that's what I said,"

"No, you said right, right?"

"No I said left, alright?"

"O-oh." Okarun adjusted his glasses and fell silent. Momo peeked around the door and saw the biwa, resting on the painting, and the tiny origami man sitting on the ledge of the palette. He was dangling his legs. She entered and placed the torch so that its beam focused upon the painting, casting a white glare across everything in its light and lengthening the shadows of everything else.

Seto tink-tink-tinked his way past Momo with a sound like a spoon hitting a glass and walked into the room. His voice filled it.

"Those two humans from the other week came by! I told you humans could be trusted."

The figure in the painting had been napping against the edge of the canvas, a steady stream ofうとうとfloating across the canvas and out of frame in a neat, clipped handwriting.

Okarun passed by Momo and went up to the canvas board. He peered in close to watch the bits of the painting that moved, his glasses grazing the canvas. He was stuck deep in thought about what happened to the lettering when it left the canvas, when Momo came and unzipped his rucksack to get to the Dodai. She pulled it -and the rest of the bag, a book, a portable charger, and a wallet- out with a clatter of clutter onto the floor.

Okarun reached blindly out behind him, blindly grasping at the air.

"What are you doing Momo?!"

"Getting the Dodai!"

"Could you at least ask first?"

"It was quicker this way!"

Okarun bent over, more of his rucksack falling out. He splayed an arm out to grip at the base of the bag, pinched the rest of it in and together, and glared up at Momo from his twisted position.

"Geeze Okarun you're so clumsy!" Momo grinned.

Okarun swung the strap off his shoulder and put the rucksack down, then leaned up and unzipped Momo's rucksack in retaliation.

Her bag was empty save for the hollow crisp of a plastic bag that stuck empty in the zip.

"Nice try!" She said.

Okarun huffed and busied himself retrieving the assorted junk that scattered the floor. He piled it back into his bag. Momo watched a moment, and then crouched beside him to help. More than once, their hands brushed up against one another, and more than once, Okarun flinched his hand away as if burned. Momo didn't say anything, but her stomach flipped every time. Does he not want me touching him? Have I pissed him off? She handed him back his wallet.

"Sorry," she said, a little sheepishly.

"It's okay. I just don't want to cross any boundaries."

Her stomach did another flip for an entirely different reasons. He's still so considerate. At this point, she didn't know if it was better or worse that he was such a gentleman.

"It's okay. If it's you, I don't mind." She said with a small smile.

Okarun busied himself by pulling at the tabs on the Dodai box. It came apart and clattered to the floor in tiny, plastic bags containing tinier plastic pieces. Momo, still crouched, fished through the pieces and grabbed a random plastic bag filled with tiny squares. She lifted it and shook it. It rattled.

"So how do we do this?" She asked, as much to the room as anything.

Okarun looked at her. "I dunno! I keep telling you!"

“I'll stop doing it when you stop falling for it."

Okarun sighed, took the bag from her, and offered the tiny folded instructions sheet in turn.

"We should follow these," he said. She stared at the sheet, at his fingers, at the bag he held, and then, like a cat that knew exactly what it shouldn't be doing, seized upon another bag instead, and opened it. The contents spilled out, interrupting the beam of light as it fell across the canvas and the now awake painting within. Okarun sighed, then pulled the ribbon of waxy instruction paper apart. He flattened it out and started to match pieces to numbers. Momo watched for a while and then, with the Dodai freed and the bag cleaned up, turned towards Seto, who was watching with what could only be considered a quizzical expression.

"We were trying to think about something you might enjoy doing. It must be pretty lonely here."

As she explained, Okarun had started to click together the pieces of a leg. She, meanwhile, picked up some of the bits she had tipped out and began fitting them together, trying bits and pieces until they fit in the right holes. The scrape and clatter of plastic filled the room as the two of them worked. Seto walked up to the remainder of the pile. He tipped his head to the side and lifted a large circular piece, which he turned this way and that as though it was a smaller piece to a puzzle he had not yet worked out.

"Why would I be lonely? I have my friends." He asked.

Momo paused, took a piece that Okarun was having difficulty with, twisted it into place wordlessly, and passed it back.

"Well, we know you miss Inouye Tomio."

Seto watched in silence, put the larger piece down, then took two small square pieces and clicked them together.

Okarun took the piece back from him.

"No these go there –," he said, as he tried to prise the two pieces of plastic apart. "– Or maybe not." He sighed exasperatedly at this change of plan.

Seto clearly did not understand the flow of conversation or Dodai. Either way, he responded to Momo's question.

"He will come back someday. He wouldn't leave his creations. And until then, I have companionship."

It took Momo a moment to realise that he was responding to her.

"Well, we still wanted to visit."

The patterns that made up Seto's face formed a smile.

"Thank you, human."

"Hey, I'm Momo and that's Okarun."

"Names are a human thing."

Okarun, meanwhile, had strung together several pieces into a torso and was posing the arms. Superman! No, Ultraman. He held it up for the painted lady to inspect. The figure on the canvas gave a massive thumbs up. The origami man rasped a question that only he knew the answer to, but Seto clacked pensively.

"Origami #5 wants to know what happened to the pots."

"Origami number 5? That's a mouthful."

"It's what Inouye Tomio called him."

"Anyway–." Momo began.

"You will get the pots back, yes? They're like family to me. To us." Momo looked at him, at the individual pieces of pottery that made him up: greens, blues, greys, golds, and browns, at the tiny cracks and patterns that rippled and formed his expressions, of the different textures each pot contained - slippery, shiny, smooth, rough. She searched for something, anything, familiar, and found much.

"I never thought of it like that..." She said. She passed a leg to Okarun and clicked it onto the robotic hip joint.

"We'll get your pots back," she said.

Okarun clicked the other leg into place and passed the figure to Momo to appraise. She lifted it and twisted it around to make sure everything was correct, sans the small piece that Seto had stuck together, which she affixed to the toy's shoulder where it jutted like an out-of-place growth, then nodded, satisfied. She set the Dodai down on to the floor and realised she was holding her breath as she waited for it to fall. It teetered but remained standing.

"We should name it," she said.

Okarun held up the box. "It has a name!"

Momo waved a hand. "No, a proper name, not one of those geeky ones!"

Okarun sighed. "What should we call it?"

"Ramen Rider Rage!"

"Why are you like this?" He groaned.

Seto walked up to the plastic figure and walked around it in circles. It stood slightly taller than him and was posed like a Power Ranger.

"Hello, Ramen Rider Rage." He said.

He waited a few seconds.

"Hello Ramen Rider Rage."

And again.

"Hello Ramen Ride–.”

Momo put a hand out. "No, he's not like you guys. He's just an action figure."

"He was built."

"Yes, humans do it for fun."

Seto's face shifted. It screwed up and unscrewed and twisted like a discarded paper ball.

"Do all humans create with so little thought?" He asked.

"Hey! We came to see you."

The origami man wheezed, and a puff of dust blew from his mouth.

“Origami #5 wants to know if you will be back and if you will bring the pots with you.”

Momo straightened up. "I promise. We'll see you soon, okay?"

She nodded at Okarun to leave, and he followed behind her.

The night air was stuffy with heat and humidity as they left the Inouye house. Okarun closed the door behind them and glanced across at Momo.

"When did such weird things become part of our lives?" He asked.

"Think of how boring things would be without it!"

Okarun sighed and turned his mind to other matters. "How are we going to find the thief? Police?"

"Can we even report this to the police? I mean, we're technically trespassing," she mused, with a thoughtful hum. Okarun was quiet. He hadn't thought of that. The two of them faced one another.

"So... Bearing in mind our thief is probably human... What do we do?"

Okarun shrugged. "Why are you asking me?!"

Momo gasped, prophet of a great revelation.

"What, what?!"

Momo pulled her phone out and dialled a number. Okarun came up behind her and peered over her shoulder, craning his neck to get a better view of the screen. A loud clatter of excited shouting blared from the speaker, tinnier and shriller than Momo had anticipated. She held the phone out with a wince.

“Hey girls!” She said.

There was a squeal from the other party. It took Ken a moment to place it. Miko and Muko. They sounded exactly as he remembered: excitable, loud, and unrestrained. He hesitated a moment before he spoke.

“Hi!” He leaned into the phone. Momo jerked it back with a squeak.

Another eruption of sound emerged in staticky bursts. It took him a moment to decipher them, but it seemed as though they hadn't quite heard him. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, hi –,” could he call them girls? “Hi, um, girls!”

“I knew it!” Came a voice from the phone. Momo had gone quiet. Her face, indecipherable, carved marble.

“That was a certain occult nerd, wasn't it, Momo?!” Said the phone. Momo turned her back on Okarun and pressed the phone to her ear, as though that would dampen the conversation that bounced around them.

“Haha, yep, you got me!” She smiled, but the warmth barely reached her eyes. Okarun found himself caught there, in the dark heat of her gaze. Momo made even anxiety look beautiful.

“No way! When did you guys start talking again?”

“Oh, I dunno. Couple of weeks ago?” Momo said. She knew it had been longer, but the word whirlwind came to mind, and with it, the sense she was in the eye of a storm, unable to escape, followed.

Okarun was more confused than hurt. Had Momo not told anyone? His throat felt tight. For a moment, he was a teenager waiting for her to realise she didn't want to be friends with him, and then, Momo shoved the phone into his face and pressed the speaker button.

Over the phone, their voices were indistinguishable from one another. It was all a shrill, excited squawk like some exotic, colourfully plumed bird.

“Occult nerd!”

“Y-yes?”

“How is our Momo. You looking after her?”

What could they possibly mean by that? He floundered, mouth a tiny, shocked o. Momo wiggled her eyebrows.

Just say yes, they said.

“Y-yes!”

“Good. If we hear you've broken her heart again, we'll get you good!”

Muko piped up here. “I'll curse you! I'll take your dick!” She warned. Okarun imagined fingers that wiggled and an upturned torch that exaggerated the eyebrows.

Okarun had frozen. He'd broken his friend's heart? Asking when or how was an exercise in rhetorical questions. He knew the answer to both. It was, after all, around the time he had torn into his own heart. And, maybe, maybe, just a little of that was Momo, too, but he would never have blamed her for it. He was conditioned to self-reproach. They hadn't talked about it, but he'd assumed it was all okay. His head buzzed. His heart grew with embers, hot and cold. If he could, he would have gripped it in his hand and blown on it, kindled hope into a fire.

Momo tensed. The smile that had been on her face had splintered, and her eyes creased with panic as the happiness dripped from her expression. No, no, she thought. I am not processing these feelings here, in the middle of the street. I am not processing them in bed, either. I am burying them. Here Lies Hope, Unrequited. She knew it. She was too pushy, too bolshy, too much her. In her mind, Okarun didn't need or want such a tempestuous woman as anything more than a friend, and to hope otherwise was unbecoming and desperate, to say nothing of sad.

“Anyway, anyway, girls. I'm calling you for a reason!” She said, loudly.

Momo had, again, turned away. She didn't want him to see the panic etched into her features. Whatever went through her head, went quiet. Okarun watched the back of her head as though it might give him any clue.

“A friend of ours got something stolen. We don't want to bug the police.” She said, as much to the air as anything. “Thought maybe you two might have some input.”

“I – We most certainly do! Detective Miko on the case! Tell us everything! And don't think you're off the hook about that nerd. In exchange for my services, you have to tell us everything about him too!” Momo sighed. What choice did she have, really?

“Fine, fine. So, someone nicked some ...” she paused, turned to Okarun, and signaled for help with her eyebrows in Momo code. He mouthed something back –

“Family heirlooms!”

“Okay, what kind? Did they leave anything?”

“Nothing we've found yet.”

“Hmm, mysterious, mysterious. So, how long ago did you start talking to occult nerd again?”

Ken piped up. “My name is Ken!” As soon as he said it, Momo turned and gave him a wide-eyed, startled glance that was part glare, part entreaty to silence.

“Oh, right, Takakura, right?”

Momo squealed. “Hey, I'll tell you all about it after!” Okarun wasn't sure how he felt about being referred to as an it, much less so as an afterthought. His heart flickered.

“No way. Question for a question. Those are my – our – terms!”

Momo kept the worst of her reaction on the inside, where it beat against the inside of her chest and begged to be heard, seen, acknowledged, if not by her then by Okarun at the very least. He had gone quiet again.

“We started talking a couple of weeks ago, like I said!”

“Hmm, good, good. Okay, what's your next question?”

“What would they do with something old?”

“Hmm. Sell it to a junk store or something, right? That's pretty obvious. Honestly, girl it's like you want to tell us all about Mr Ken Takakura. Like, is he single?”

Momo went glassy-eyed for a moment. She looked at Okarun. Was he? In all of her compartmentalisation and idle fancy, she had forgotten to ask. Ken seized upon the opportunity.

“I am single, yes!”

“Aww, sucks for you, but that's good news for our girl here ain't it?” He could almost hear the smug grin, but then, the phone shifted into a different conversational thread with such ease that he found it difficult to keep up, let alone process.

“Okay, so, antiques store or a junk store or something. If we were to go, would we be able to get our stuff back?”

“Maybe if you had the ticket. So, how many dates have you been on?!”

“None!” She said, a little more quickly than she should, perhaps, have. Her heart sank as she said it, and Okarun's sank in receipt of the utterance. What had been the smallest of embers was snuffed out.

“We're just friends!” Momo insisted.

The douse in Okarun's chest became a downpour that swept all that remained of that flame further downstream, sodden, drenched, and thoroughly destroyed.

“You keep telling yourself that, girlfriend. So. Its your turn now, shoot.”

“Hm, okay. So this guy went for heirlooms in an...” she stopped as she strung the story together in her head. “A lock-up. He targeted a place he knew there was nobody. Took them and ran.” There was a hum from the other end of the phone. It hung electric with possibility in the air.

Momo stood, phone in the palm of her hand, breath bated. Okarun watched her and came to the silent realisation that he would never be the Ken she wanted. Miko's voice batted that thought away with its light, airy excitement.

“What if it's a coin locker baby who now targets the very places they were abandoned in search of valuables they can pawn to get revenge on a society that abandoned them?!" Miko had really taken it and run with it. She sounded pleased with herself.

Muko hummed. “You're so clever, babe.”

“Thank you, I am!”

Momo stood, eyebrows a ledge upon which frustration walked, her eyes angry, dead weight in her head. She exhaled slowly.

“That's certainly something to consider,” she said, a lot more pragmatically than she felt. “Well, I've gotta –,”

“Oh no. No! Hey, occult nerd!”

“Huh?” He had been a million miles away, lost in the void of his own thoughts.

“Momo's single! Shoot your sh –.”

She hung up. “Huh, weird. The connection cut!” She said, with her thumb over the end call button and a brightness that didn't suit her thunderous expression. Was she cross at him? Okarun tasted panic in the back of his throat, felt it claw its way up from his stomach.

“So –,” he began.

Momo raised a hand. “No. Sorry you had to hear that. They do like to joke around, huh?”

He swallowed back the rest of his apology and nodded. “It's okay,” he said.

Oh, god. She wanted him to react. She wanted him to tell her he felt the same. She wanted him to do something, anything, other than look at her dumbstruck with his warm eyes and soft features. She wanted him to grab her, not to flinch or care about boundaries, but just to take what was so freely given if only he would reach out.

Instead, she spoke.

"That was a bust, huh? Do we know anybody normal?"

"You're asking me?!"

“Man, if you'd just Turbo'd we'd not have to do all this extra leg-work,” she griped aloud as she kicked a stone and watched it tumble-scatter-clatter down the road and away from the beam of her torch.
Okarun withered, he waned, he wilted, and then, he spoke.

"You really seem to want me to go Turbo. What if once I do, it's a disappointment?"

"O–."

"No, no, let me finish. If we're going to be friends, I want it to be because you like me for me, not for my powers."

She looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite place. Had he been too abrupt? Fuck. He shouldn't have snapped.

"Okarun."

He wanted to look away. He didn't think he could bear it if she looked at him with disappointment, especially not after that disaster of a phone call. He tensed, as if in anticipation of a blow. Instead, she reached and touched his cheek, tilted him, and his gaze towards her. He blinked quickly to hide the emotional evidence. She held his gaze, and she smiled. Soft, gentle, all the things he associated with Momo, and yet couldn't quite get used to being for him.

"I want to be your friend," she said. "You, all of you. I just thought Turbo could be useful in a race. But if you don't want to, that's okay."

He swallowed. Nodded, looked away, and down. She moved her hand back after a small hesitation, her attention pulled elsewhere.

She crouched and picked something up. Thick, soft paper stamped with a date, a signature in blue biro scored across that.

"Kamishihiro Antiques," Momo read aloud. Huh. Maybe Miko had been on to something... Okarun came up behind her to glance at it from over her shoulder. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

"I guess if he's stealing he's pawning things off?" He said.

"That's not really something we can deal with, is it?" Momo asked, almost entirely rhetorically. Their deal was paranormal and extraterrestrial mysteries, not breaking and entering smash and grabs. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to just pop by and say we found the slip?" Momo said after a moment. "It's important to Seto..."

Okarun couldn't deny that. And once again, he found himself coiling with warm admiration for Momo's considerate approach to things, even if he was, in his mind, not one of them.

Momo raised an eyebrow. "You gonna say anything or are you just gonna keep staring at me?"

"Was I staring?"

"You kind of were." Momo kicked herself internally. If he was staring, let him. She could get lost in those eyes and pretend he looked at her with every unsaid thing she wouldn't recognise, vocalise or rationalise.

He adjusted his glasses and turned his gaze to the slip in her hand, but his phone went off before he could finish whatever thought had manifested.

He fumbled with it in his hurry to unlock it, and Momo's heart sank. He was definitely texting someone important. She watched a thin frown crease his temples as he typed out a reply.

"Who you texting?" She asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

"Oh. Just Jiji."

"Wait, Jiji Jiji?"

"Who else?"

Momo was bad at staying in touch with even the people she considered her best friends. Hell, the man she had considered best of the best and she, had only just gotten back to talking and whilst it wasn't anywhere close to six years since she'd last spoken to Miku, Moko, Jiji, Vamola, Unji, Kinta, Rin or Aira she would have been lying if she'd said she kept in any sort of regular contact with any of them. It wasn't intentional or malicious. It was just life - busy, hectic, chaotic. She didn't always have time to talk, what with ceremonies and rituals and offerings to make. Hell, even as head of the Kamishihiro City Alien Support Network, she managed to arrange meetings... Every few months, which was a lot less often than she would have liked.

Things had gotten even messier when Granny posted Granny: Neko to her. Suddenly, even her space wasn't her space. And whilst any excuse to hang out with Okarun was appreciated, it was as much about getting some space away from a foul-mouthed centuries-old grandma as it was anything else. It most certainly had little to do with her affections for him.

So, did she text? Yes. Did she text Okarun more than she texted almost everyone else? Also, yes. It wasn't her fault he was so easy to talk to. And so, she made time for him. She wrung every second she could out of him.

"How is he?" Momo asked. Okarun gave her a look, a quizzical, puzzled one. "Oh I just haven't texted for a while," she explained.

“Ah, well he's okay. He might be in the area tomorrow.” Okarun read off a screen that Momo couldn't see, so she peered over his shoulder. Okarun had closed the messaging app before she could get a good view of anything, but there were more important matters to discuss.

"What's with your background?" She asked. It was factory default vague.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's so impersonal!"

"And?"

Before he could process quite what was happening, she had fished the phone from his hand and opened the photo app.

She threw an arm around Okarun and yelled, "cheese!"

Her arm was slightly blurred as she pulled Okarun close, cheek to cheek. There was a grin on her face and a slightly more shocked, but still pleased, grin on his.

Momo clicked a few more times and then passed his phone back, alongside the photo of them together.

He ... He–

He cleared his throat.

She was quiet now. Was she – she was! Blushing. Okarun looked at her until her gaze snapped to his.

"Something on my face?" She asked

No, no. Just that you're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen? Just something small like that. No big deal. You are everything but I don't have to be.

"Nothing on your face," he managed.

What could he even text? Hey Jiji, please be cool about the conversation we had the other day? Hey Jiji, don't tell Momo what we discussed? And then Ken spent a lot of time staring at the screen. At the three dots. At his keyboard. At his thumbnail. Half a dozen different text messages went through his mind.

K-Tak: So, me and Momo bumped into each other a couple weeks back. We've been looking into local paranormal cases.
K-Tak: I've been looking into local paranormal stuff for work and bumped back into Momo Ayase of all people.
K-Tak: Me and Momo are friends again.

Instead, Momo yelped and the increasingly deprecating texts went unsent. "Wait! That's perfect!"

Okarun tilted his head.

"He runs track, right?"

Okarun nodded.

"What if he comes with us to the pawn shop to get this guy?" She asked, brandishing the slip to punctuate each syllable.

"Wait wait wait, I thought we were just going to drop the slip off?"

"Well yeah but we can't report this to the police! How are we gonna get those pots back?"

He had no answer, or at least, not one she would appreciate.

"And what does him running track have to do with it?!"

"He's fast! That guy outruns you, and if you won't Turbo out we have to have a reliable alternative."

He bit back the desire to justify himself once more and chose to nod, instead. It did sound solid. And, Jiji was definitely in better shape than Okarun, who had fallen into the quiet habit of not running around Turbo as quickly as he had fallen into it. Regardless, he had the sharp-intentioned need to show Momo that he could be relied upon.

“He had a head start on me!”

“Sure, but we should take every advantage we can! Jiji is the fastest human I know!”

“I'm still quick!”

“I didn't say you weren't!”

“Why are you so big on Jiji all of a sudden?”

“He's my friend too! And he'll be so happy we're talking again!” Okarun hesitated. That was true, as was the realisation that he hadn't said anything to any of his friends about Momo, either. He refused to let that rekindle the hope he held.

"Okay, maybe this is a good idea," he acquiesced.

"Plus he's like, way ripped."

"What am I?!"

Momo looked him over, walked around him in a circle with her hand on her chin, eager to take the opportunity to look at him – to, well, oogle him –, without restraint. He was fit but taut and wiry more than muscular. Momo looked at the curve of his neck into his shoulder, the hard line of his jaw, the inch of collarbone she could see, the tendons in his arms and his thin ankles.

"Still not as ripped as Jiji!" She said.

"Stop comparing me to him!"

"It's not a bad thing!" Momo said.

"How is it not?"

"I like you the way you are!"

"Oh –, Oh." He flushed and tried to cover it by smoothing down his hair. Momo grinned. Confused warmth bloomed in the two of them.

“Okay, so what am I asking Jiji?” He asked.

“Ask him to come meet us and help out with some stuff! Tell him there's running!”

Takakura Ken: Hey, Jiji.
Enjyoji Jin: finally! Leave a guy hanging why dontcha?
Takakura Ken: Sorry, was busy.
Takakura Ken: Why don't you come stay at mine for the weekend?
Enjyoji Jin: Sounds like a goooood plan, dude. We'll sort those girl problems out ;)
Takakura Ken: Fancy helping out with a different problem? Need someone who can run.
Enjyoji Jin: Depends what it is. Spill.
Takakura Ken: I'll tell you tomorrow.
Enjyoji Jin: I'll see you tomorrow!

Okarun showed Momo the last three messages. She bit back the urge to ask him what he was spilling, and instead, smiled, brightness and warmth to bat away the tension of the previous conversation and all of its implications.

“Okay, so, meet you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Want me to walk you home?”

“Nah, I should probably call Miko and apologise for hanging up on her.”

He nodded. “Okay. See you, Miss Ayase.” He went to turn, but then –

“Hey, wait!”

“What?”

“When will you see me?”

“T-Tomorrow, Miss Ayase.”

She smiled, satisfied, and waved him off as she turned around.

The next morning Turbo Granny chewed on her rice with a glare directed towards Momo that only deepened the longer it went unacknowledged. Eventually, finally, she put her chopsticks down with as much of a clatter as she could manage. That seemed to shake Momo out of her solipsism.

"What's eating you, kiddo?" Turbo Granny asked.

Momo pushed a pile of rice from one side of the plate to the other. Turbo Granny repeated the question.

"Oh, just thinking."

"You're thinking about the twerp, aren't you?"

It wasn't exactly a leap in logic. Momo paused. She considered. She nodded.

"You two are idiots," the cat barbed.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I'm going to make you sleep outside." Momo frowned.

Turbo Granny lifted a paw to her face and widened her already glassy eyes. Oh great, The Look has returned.

"Could you put this face outside?" She asked.

Momo chuckled, and then seemed to remember herself and clammed up again.

Her phone buzzed.

"Is that him?" The small figure asked.

Momo reached out and slid the phone across the table.

"Mmm, no it's Jiji."

"What's that idiot want?"

"He's in town for the day. Gonna help us with something."

"What?" Turbo Granny asked with all the suspicion she could muster, as though the fact Momo had been out a lot had only just occurred to her. "Are you guys fiddling with the occult again?" She asked.

Momo hesitated. "Not fiddling. There was a poltergeist, and someone at ghost group got cursed."

"Ghost group?"

"Yeah, Okarun runs it. People go to discuss the paranormal and stuff."

"That's stupid. You should know better than most how dangerous that could be. You might end up stuck as custodian over a couple of idiots."

"No, no. Okarun takes them to fake locations."

"That's actually pretty clever. What does Jiji have to do with this?"

"Well, someone robbed... A new acquaintance. Okarun doesn't want to Turbo out. So, Jiji agreed to help us."

"Why doesn't he want to Turbo out?"

Momo thought back to his confession. She wanted to keep it for herself.

"Says it ruins his clothes. Expensive."

"Idiot stole my powers, he could at least use them."

Momo shrugged. Noncommittal, unbothered, flourishing, moisturised, and neutral.

Turbo Granny hopped off the chair and tappa-tappa-tapped into her favourite seat in front of the TV.

As she left the room, words trailed in her wake.

"Well, break a leg out there."

"Huh? Aren't you going to come?"

"No. I'll miss my soaps."

"You used to hide in my bag all the time!"

"Sure. But you're not some idiot kid anymore. I don't need to protect you, you can handle yourself."

Momo had been on the verge of thanking her.

"You're a dumb shit adult now and I don't have the patience for it."

Momo took it in the most flattering way she could.

From the other room, the TV blared into being.

Kamishihiro Station was, in truth, mostly a place people got on at in order to go elsewhere. It was a terminus for other prefectures, a stopover point from A-B, rather than a destination in itself. Of course, people lived here, and occasionally, they even used the trains, but, at best, the station was a formality in concrete and rolling tannoy with the names of larger cities humming across them.

Ken stood on Platform 6-Diamond and stared across the tracks. He wore a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair pinned back a little to allow his undercut to breathe. In the shade of the station, with the wind that stretched along the train tracks with each train that passed, the station was almost cool, and was, at the very least, cooler. Nevertheless, he could see heat-haze shimmering further down the line, in patches tall and wavering, like a Kunekune.

He didn't know how long he had been staring when a tap on his shoulder roused him. He was halfway turned when he was pulled and pressed into a hug against a shoulder that smelled like talc. He struggled back a little, but the taller figure pulled him back in with a pat on the head.

“I swear you get smaller every time I see you,” the voice of Jiji rumbled from somewhere above as he let Ken go.

Jiji stood a full head taller than Ken, tall enough that he stood out everywhere he went, and, Ken noted, a good deal wider than he was. He wore a vest-top with his name emblazoned in pink and purple, and some shorts, knee-high football socks, and hi-tops that were half-strung and fashionably loose. His hair was much the same, messy and pink, although he had several more small, golden rings in each ear.

“You just keep getting taller! And bigger!” Ken grumbled back, suddenly self conscious about his height and relative lack of muscle density or even distribution. Jiji grinned widely, his fingers arranged into a peace sign.

“How you doin', dude?”

“I'm good. You?”

“Yeah. Man, I always forget how far out in the sticks this place is...” the taller man said with a glance to either side, and a flap-fan of his hand. “And they weren't kidding about the heatwave!”

Okarun hummed agreement.

Jiji stretched the tiredness of a long journey out of his muscles. Ken watched him, watched the ripple of muscle across his shoulders and neck with a new found self-consciousness. Momo was right, he was ripped.

Speaking of.

“Oh, hey. There's a surprise for you outside!” Jiji said, “come on dude! Race you!”

He did not wait for a reply but ran for the double doors. Ken did not chase or even bother to catch up. From outside, there was a squeal and a thump, followed by the sound of Jiji's laughter and another, softer laugh.

Okarun's heart skipped in his chest, a reaction that, at this point, was almost instinctive when it came to Momo. He jogged the rest of the way and out the double doors to the sight of Jiji hugging Momo. Eventually, he released her ,and she pulled back with a frown and a playful thump to the shoulder. Jiji turned to Ken and grinned, holding his arms out as if to say look what I found! with a wide grin.

The lack of response from either Okarun or Momo took a little of the wind out of his sail. He looked between the two of them with expectation and a smattering of disappointment.

“Am I missing something?” He said.

Okarun rubbed the back of his neck.

“We've been talking a while now,” he explained.

Jiji's face fell as his surprise came to naught. Arms still outstretched, he asked a question.

"You mean I missed the grand reunion?!"

Okarun winced, and Momo, grinning, pushed gently on Okarun with a familiar kind of rough affection.

“Sure did!”

"You two are talking!" Jiji repeated, more than a little incredulously.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Momo asked, with the air of someone daring him to point out the obvious.

"Oh I dunno, that argument?"

"That? That was six years ago!" She was almost irritated by how much meaning people wanted to ascribe to the situation. It didn't mean anything. It didn't have to mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. It was just two adults reconnecting.

"Seemed like both of you were content to stay out of contact," he said with a glance at Okarun, and then, to Momo. Unlike her, his face was a picture that could be picked apart; his expression wasn't hurt, not fully, it was confusion at being kept out of the loop by the both of them.

"It was mostly chance we bumped into each other." Momo said. "Come on, I'll tell you on the way."

"Where are we going?"

"No idea. We have this stub from an antiques store. Okarun had the map on Woogle."

The three of them set off, with Okarun taking the slight lead. He was glad to be free of Jiji's scrutinising gaze.

Momo had explained the most pertinent details – what they were doing and why they needed Jiji, who was a lot more interested in the events that had led up to her and Ken talking again, much to her chagrin.

"So it was this guy Mike that kind of got you two together again?" Jiji asked.

Momo made a noise that she hoped was noncommittal.

"We're not together, we're friends," she said, her ears burning.

"Sure, sure. You know what I meant." Jiji said.

Ahead, Okarun was doing his best not to listen, eyes glued to his phone and the map they had been following. Momo insisted they weren't a thing. Who was he to argue? They were just friends, that was where the thing began and ended.

"It's not like it's a big deal!"

"Sure it is! My two favourite lovebirds back together, cyuuuute!"

“We're no-,” Momo began. Jiji increased the volume of the -uuuuuuuute to drown her out.

She waited a moment, then all but shouted. “Are you quite done?”

“Sure am!” Jiji grinned.

"Love is an intangible force,” Okarun said from somewhere up ahead, with that tone of well actually, that he had so come to embody.

"Sure, it is, but I can still see it between the two of you! Just like old times.” Jiji said, with accompanying finger guns.

"Old times?"

"Sure, Okarun had it down bad for you. " Momo's breath hitched in her throat. He'd been down bad? For her? She had questions, and there were probably answers, but asking would be too forward, too pushy, too desperate, too much. She went quiet.

"Jiji–.” He scrambled to interrupt.

"Oh, have I said too much?" Somehow, he didn't look that concerned. "Anyway, Ken. You mentioned that girl you wanted help with?" Jiji called ahead.

Momo stopped. The others kept walking, but she stayed put, a feeling of nausea rose in her chest until it filled her torso.

"We can talk about it later." He said, peering over his shoulder and speaking a little quicker than he would have liked to admit. From where Ken stood, there was no way to come out of this unscathed. It was not a matter of pride so much as a matter of tact. Was anyone so hopeless as him? If Momo knew, what would she say? Probably, nothing. She would leave again. The only thing more terrifying than Momo finding out about his crush was the idea that it would push her away again. It would be his fault. Again. His world would become smaller, again.

Jiji seemed to be watching the both of them, calculating his next move.

"If you're friends with Momo it shouldn't matter who you're seeing," he said.

“I'm not– ,” Okarun began.

Momo unfroze. She walked past Jiji and Okarun with all the confidence she could muster.

“It's okay Okarun, you have some guy time with Jiji. Wouldn't want to get in the way.” As she passed Okarun, she took his phone and the map. Cold shoulder wasn't the half of it. And neither was emotional rollercoaster. However, she had little time to process because the phone in her hand began to vibrate.

“Oh, we're here, looks like.” She nodded to the street, and jogged on ahead.

Momo pushed on the door and stepped into a pawn shop that was crammed into a small room, lined with shelves that formed corridors of a sort, barely wide enough to walk through. The room smelled dusty, and everything was brown. Every shelf reached from floor to ceiling, each ornamented with a variety of thing: teapots, teddy bears, board games, old books, ochoko cups, action figures, speakers, handheld consoles and old phones that were more brick than technology; all as far as the eye could see, which, in the perpetual dusk of the antiques shop, was not very far. There were as many shelves as there were questions about their contents, but she had little time to ponder as Okarun and Jiji entered, the hushed remnants of whatever it – who – they had been talking about fading as they stepped inside.

Momo headed for the front of the store, where a tiny, shriveled wrinkle of a man, who's face had sunken into old age comfortably, like a worn armchair, stood behind the counter reading an old book as battered as his surroundings.

“Hey, uh, excuse me?” She asked.

He looked up.

“A visitor to my shrine left this with his offering. I'm looking to give it back to him.” Momo held out the ticket. The man took it, his fingers like soft, worn leather against Momo's palm. His other hand brought a scanner out from under the counter, and he ran a red laser over the ticket almost reflexively. He glanced from the ticket to the scanner in his hand.

“Ah, yeah that's Watanuki's.” The door opened again, with a soft chime.

“Watanuki?”

“Sure. He comes in here a couple times a week, brings all kinds of crap and never really comes back for it...”

“Don't suppose you have an address?”

“Sure do. But as luck would have it –,” he nodded behind Momo. She was halfway through turning when the door slammed open, and whoever it was, ran back out.

“OkaythankyousomuchsorryIhavetogobyeeee~,” she said as she tapped Okarun and Jiji on the way past. “Guys! Jiji!”

She bowed once as she left. Okarun mirrored the action, along with an equally hasty apology.

Jiji pushed past her and launched himself out of the door. “On it!”

By the time Momo and Okarun had gotten out, Jiji was well into giving chase to a figure who, again, they could only see as an impression of limbs, awkward and fast, that flailed. Jiji followed after him in a sprint, leaving both Okarun and Momo behind him.

“He really is fast, huh?” Momo said.

“Yeah...”

“Come on, we gotta catch up.” Momo began to jog after the rapidly diminishing figures, Okarun not far behind.

If Jiji reached out, he could have, almost, grabbed the fabric of the man's deep red jacket. He kept the pace as he ran, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Momo and Ken brought up the rear, a whole half a block behind.

Momo brought her hands out in front of her and arched her fingers, tight and tense, around a ball of thought, feeling, sensation, and humanity that made up an aura that only she could see. There was something weird about it, she realised, as she grabbed a hold of it. For a moment, at least. And then, like oil, it slipped between her fingers like they were water, incapable of emulsifying or gripping the strange, dark orange presence in the man's core.

“Shit!” She shouted. Jiji peered over his shoulder, but maintained a pace that put the other man to shame.

“What is it?”

“Can't get hold of him. Jiji, this is on you!”

“Gotcha,” he said, as he tipped two fingers in a salute and once again turned his attention to the figure. With a slow exhale, he picked up the pace and braced for impact as he launched himself at the figure who was, himself, beginning to slow. Jiji met his back, grabbed him, and for a moment the two men were poised, posed, half-upright and in the midst of falling, and then came the impact. The figure pinned fell, with a loud yelp. Jiji crouched over him, knee pinning his back.

The figure underneath rumbled, "be gentle with my sack!"

That was enough to give Jiji pause. He untensed a moment and leaned back, and the figure took it as a chance. With a free arm, he pulled on his chin. It stretched, rubbery, his features undergoing a transformation that was equal parts squishy and malleable, like clay shaped under invisible hands. He grew ears, his nose elongated, and his face squashed together. And then, with a gritty crunch, Jiji's knee hit the pavement where the man's back had been.

“Ouch –.”

Before the tanuki that seemed to have replaced the man could act, Jiji had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. The creature sighed and dangled, limp and vestigial. The track-runner glared at him.

The slap of slowing footfalls heralded the fact that Momo and Okarun had caught up with the other two.

"We asked you to catch the thief, not a raccoon dog!" Momo chastised.

"This was the thief, like, a minute ago."

And then, the raccoon dog spoke. "Put me down!"

It was a surprisingly deep voice for the small creature.

"No way!" Jiji said, keeping his grip upon the creature.

“Don't hurt me, I look cute!” The tanuki widened his gaze and lifted a paw to his nose.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Momo griped, exasperated.

“I'll pay up soon, please don't hurt me!” The tanuki said.

“Wha –,” Momo began.

“We don't want money, give us back the pots you stole!” Okarun interrupted.

“Pots?”

“You were at the Inouye house the other day! You stole a bunch of priceless art!”

“Oh, that junk? I hate to break it to ya, but it was very much priced, at, not worth my time in the slightest.”

“Then give them back!”

“I don't have them! I took them back after the fence wouldn't buy them from me.”

“You... took them back?”

“Yes! I swear!”

“We didn't see you!”

“No, but I watched the two of you for a while. How did you think I recognised you?”

“It has emotional value!” Momo interjected, a little redundantly.

“That won't pay off my debts!” The tanuki replied.

“Your...debts?”

“My gambling debts!” Jiji looked from the creature to Momo, and back again, grip still firm on the scruff of its neck.

“Okay, li'l guy, I'm gonna put you down. No running.”

The creature sighed. “There's no point in running. If it isn't you, it'll be someone else.” Jiji gently put him dow,n and the creature stood, stumpy and stocky and thoroughly embarrassed.

“Just, not the face,” he said.

“Huh?” Momo said.

“Not the face! Are you deaf?”

“Huh?!” She repeated.

“Aren't you here to beat me up?

“That could be arranged,” she snarked.

“No! No! I'm fine, thank you. That's why I ran. I thought you were debt collectors.”

“We just wanted those pots back...” she said, more than a little sheepishly. There was a pause, and then she continued. “What does a mamedanuki have to gamble on?!”

“Gacha machines.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she didn't know what to do. She spluttered.

“I really like those cute girl anime, and I spent all my money on gacha.”

Jiji chimed in at this point. “Are you kidding me? That is really irresponsible.”

“Not as irresponsible as taking out a loan from a local family.”

“Don't sound so proud of that.” Said the pink-haired man.

“Wait, wait, wait. So you stole pots to pay off your gambling debts?!”

“Well, someone told me an artist used to live there. I figured, easy pickings. Wasn't expecting to get assaulted by a seto taishō.”

“You tried to steal his pots!”

“I didn't know he lived there!”

“Why are you stealing anyway?” Momo demanded, losing patience by the second.

“Keeping down a job in summer is difficult. I get heat exhaustion.”

“Well, you're on your own with that. No way I'm getting involved.”

“I'm sorry I won't bother you again.” The tiny, fluffy thief bowed apologetically.

“But you'll still be stealing!” Okarun said, more than a little affronted.

“What else can I do? I can only work in winter!”

“How about you only steal from certain places?” Momo offered.

“Like?”

“Companies, not people. And stop turning human! You're a bake-danuki, you don't need to be so conspicuous.”

The creature blinked slowly as though that fact had only just occured to him.

“Who should I steal from?!”

“Bigger places, not people. Steal money, not things. Cut out the pawnshop... cut.”

“That could work... but who do I hit first?”

“Banzai Agency!”

Okarun gave Momo a look. “Wait, isn't that where Aira works?”

“Is it? I don't recall.”

“Miss Ayase!” He looked a little taken aback, a little shocked, and just a little impressed.

Momo turned back to the thief. “So, just to check. You did put the pottery back?”

“Of course! I'm not a monster!”

Jiji had been quiet for most of this exchange.

“Can I go?” The raccoon dog asked, pointing his tiny thumb behind him.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Thank you for not beating me up,” he said, with another bow that was so low his nose almost reached the floor.

“I think I need to wash my hands,” Jiji said, with a wince.

The three of them all walked back to the middle of town together.

“So, how's Evil Eye finding track?” Momo asked.

“Oh, he loves it,” Jiji beamed. “Thinks it's all a game that we keep winning.”

“Does he still insist on a Tuesday match with Okarun?”

“No, no.” Okarun explained. “He sees the running as a viable replacement. Gotta admit, I miss him...”

“Aw! He misses you! Maybe we could have a race for old times' sake?” Jiji asked.

“Could do.”

Jiji's skin rippled like wind across water, his shoulders darkening and his ears elongating. He'd grown enough that his clothes didn't rip when Evil Eye emerged. For a moment, Momo wondered if that was most of the reason why he so zealously trained, even if he had always been sporty.

“Hey – wait –, not right this –,” Okarun managed to splutter.

“No talk, just run!” Came the hot hiss of air from between Evil Eye's lips, like magma seeping from a crack. He started to run. Okarun stared incredulously, his gaze flipping between Momo and Evil Eye with wide-eyed shock.

Momo laughed. “Go on then! Don't disappoint the kid!”

He took off in a jog.

A voice from somewhere up ahead shouted. “You can do better than that!”

“You didn't count down!” Okarun shouted back.

“That's loser talk!”

He picked up the pace while Momo trailed behind. The sound of laughter filled the warm, summer air.

Chapter Text

The sun lay hot and low against the horizon of Kamishihiro, the sky a smeared striation of orange, yellow, pink, red, and just the faintest hint of purple. The park opposite Ken’s flat was cool, under the shade of the trees, and empty in spite of it, except for two figures who stood opposite one another.

The figure on the right played a game of keepie-uppie, bouncing a ball from his knee to his ankle, then to his chest and head, but never much further than that. Behind him, a bag and a water bottle formed a makeshift goal. The man opposite him stood, watching, his own goal a jacket and wallet. The man let the ball drop to the floor and turned, foot on the ball, hands on his hips, to appraise his opponent in the field.

Ken, honestly, was impressed by the energy Jiji had. The heat made him want to keel over, but Jiji, Jiji, just kept going. In fact, he never stopped. Momo was right, he was ripped. And abrupt. He took what he wanted – hugs, words, shots –, without so much as a concept of a second thought.

He thought back to Momo as she walked a semi-circle around him, looked him over, and knew he came back wanting in the face of Jiji’s honed physicality. Ken knew the name of the feeling that curled, hot and warm and tight, in his chest. And he hated it.

It was one thing to feel jealous. It was another to feel jealous because of your first male friend, who posed no threat to him or his chances of confessing anything to Momo; he did a good enough job of self-sabotage. And Jiji was such a good friend. He was a good sportsman, a good confidant, a good wingman, a good person. And nothing made Ken feel as dirty, as ashamed, as the hot spike that drilled into him at that moment.

Jiji had decided Ken had been quiet for long enough.

“Hey!” He called.

Ken looked up, gripped the frame of his glasses, and stared ahead, almost blankly. It wasn't much of a leap in logic to work out what went through his head. Jiji took a step back.

“So, who was it you wanted advice with?” He asked as he kicked the ball towards Ken.

Ken was all wide-eyed ignorance. He intercepted and kicked it back, but remained quiet.

Jiji hummed. He made his move.

“Well, if it isn't her, you won't mind if I ask for her number?” Jiji asked him, his look all too knowing. He kicked the ball.

Score!

Ken opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He floundered as he turned, picked up the ball, and dropped it in front of him. Jiji watched him wind up a kick.

Ken kicked the ball. Jiji stopped it with a small jump, bouncing it off his chest.

“I knew there was a reason you didn't tell me you guys were talking again!”

He, once more, sent the ball in Ken’s direction.

Ken sighed.

“Look, just. Don't.” he intercepted and kicked it back.

“Don't what?” Jiji stopped a moment to look over his friend. Ken was flushed, even for the heat. So he had struck a nerve. Good. Ken needed a little pep in him.

“Don't make a big deal of this!”

The two of them kicked the ball back and forth in a gentle rhythm in silence for a minute. Then Jiji launched the ball at Ken, hard.

“You're reacting a lot for something that doesn't need a big deal made of it.”

It sailed past him with little interference. Ken twisted, turned, and stooped to pick the ball up.

“We've only just started talking again. I don't want to lose her, my first, my best friend.” He punctuated the word friend, dropping the ball in front of him.

“Is that what you're calling her?”

Ken hesitated. Jealousy had given way to frustration. It was as easy for Jiji to take what he wanted as it was for Ken to falter.

“It's not a lie.”

“But it isn't the whole truth either.”

“... No. But she doesn't need to know.”

“Why not?”

“She just doesn't.”

Ken kicked the ball. Jiji missed it by a fraction of an inch, and he felt pride soar within him.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Where would I even? Come on, let's just go in, I’m tired.”

It was 2-1 to Jiji. He could see that Ken no longer cared about that. He took a moment, watched as he picked up his things, and turned aside.

If there was one thing he loved more than his friends, it was seeing his friends happy. He'd stayed friends with them both during and after the argument, and, well, over the years, he had floated the idea to both of them to just text, email, hell, even to talk through Jiji like they were in school again.

He'd heard many excuses.

She doesn't need me.

He didn't want to make the effort.

She left.

He has you, he doesn't need me.

The years went by. Ken went to university. Momo continued the family business in Kamihishiro. Jiji and others brought it back up whenever they could. The excuses changed.

Its been too long.

What if she doesn't remember me?

He could have texted.

She doesn’t need to talk to a guy she knew six years ago.

And no matter what he had said, neither side had done what everyone knew they wanted to. To this day, he didn't know if it was pride, jealousy, grief, or some nebulous other thing, some messy human emotional response that couldn't be charted, let alone stopped.

And now they were talking again, they were, both of them, infuriatingly clueless.

He supposed it was just as it had always been. The good and the bad.

When he looked at Ken, he saw a samurai, a toothpick between his teeth, pretending. And then, oh boy, then there was the other matter. The bigger mistake. Momo had left but Ken –
He’d –

Jiji sighed.

This could only get messier. They needed to talk to each other, about everything: every messy feeling and conflicting emotion. There needed to be space for anger and grief before love could sprout, let alone blossom. Okay, maybe it wasn't love yet but it had been, and it would be again. If only they'd stop being so damn…themselves.

They were his friends and he loved them, but damn if they weren't idiots. He picked up his bag and followed after Ken.

It had started as a pitter-patter in the night.

Tiny feet across the floor. Mice, or rats. Maybe a large spider. On Friday Morning, Momo had gone down and asked Turbo Granny if she was running around the hallways in the middle of the night.

Turbo Granny had taken offence.

"My footsteps are way louder! Those little twerps are giving me a bad name."

"What little twerps?"

"You mean you haven't noticed them? Dumbass."

"Haven't noticed what?!"

"A few more days won't hurt."

Momo had been unable to get anything more on the topic out of her.

If she concentrated, she got small flurries of motion and tiny orange auras, smeared after-images that trailed all over the house but were too small, too fast, or perhaps a little of both, for her to catch.

And so it went for a couple of nights. Footsteps and orange.

That morning, Tuesday, she had woken up to the sensation of her bed... Vibrating, like the world's smallest earthquake. Her first thought was she'd rolled over onto her phone, but the sensation was a little too intense for her phone. She sat, under her sheets, perched, as though anticipating the next wave.

There!

Alongside the strange rumble, a noise.

What was that?

As though aware it had been noticed, whatever it was stopped and the bed creaked quiet.

Momo carefully lifted a slipper in spiritual hands that passed it to flesh and blood, and gripped it in her hands.

She sat poised for a while. Taut. Coiled.

When the next rumble came, she jumped, swept the slipper across the space under her bed. It connected with something small. It thrust something out from under the bed, and she swung an arm and caught it in the crook of her elbow, bent tight against her forearm. In between, a tiny pair of legs wiggled.

"Nice catch," she announced to nobody in particular.

Something muffled against her elbow. Words that were shapes- angular and round, smooth and pitted all at once.

"Let me go!"

She had no idea what was being said. The legs were kicking now, into the soft flesh of her upper arm. It didn't hurt. It was a strange sensation of pressure, like tiny fingers pushed into her skin.

She prised it -- him -- from her elbow and held him in her fist.

In every way, he was a miniature human, save for his skin, which was a deep, vibrant orange. He had a single eye in the middle of his face, and it blinked with shock. He was small and bald, or rather, shaven on his head – it was difficult to see the features on such a small face. He wore a fundoshi and a small pair of geta.

She looked him over, puzzling over the nature of whoever it was in her fist when she saw, peeking out from behind her bedpost, at least three more. They were watching her, eyes the size of marbles with terror.

She raised her free hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

It was difficult for something so small to fill the room. That didn't stop them from trying, from shouting.

"Let him go!"

She almost felt bad for the suckers. But it was her beauty sleep they'd disturbed.

Carefully, she placed the tiny man on the floor.

Three became six, all checking on the seventh with gestures and words that Momo absolutely couldn't figure out.

"Humans these days!"

And then, as quickly as she had gotten to grips with the fact that tiny men were living in her bedroom, apparently, they had disappeared behind the bedpost again.

She glanced at her clock. 7:11. She could get a couple more hours in. They seemed harmless.

Later on, it took a little while for Momo to collect her thoughts. There was certainly an element of privacy invasion she had gotten used to, sharing a house-shrine with Turbo Granny. It wasn't the first time she'd been woken up by a strange Yokai in her bed and/or room, and it wouldn't be the last.

She mulled the issue over -- mouse traps felt cruel to mice, let alone tiny, very much sentient, cognisant, and probably several other -ents men -- as she put on her morning cup of coffee.

Turbo Granny made her appearance. True to cat form, and in truth this part predated the cat, she acted as though she was the most important thing in the world as she scrambled up onto the kitchen table and pointed a rounded paw, the implication of a finger, at Momo.

"Finally met the new tenants, eh?" She asked.

"If you knew why didn't you tell me! Hag!"

"Not my fault you're dumb as a brat."

"Brick. Dumb as a brick."

"Brick, brat. It's all the same."

There was a moment of glaring between them.

"Besides, I brought their existence to your attention. Do I need to spoon-feed you everything?"

Momo sighed, and cracked two eggs into a pan.

“Make sure the yolk is runny!” The cat demanded.

Momo ate her breakfast slowly. There was something unfair about having to share her shrine – against her wishes – with multiple yokai.

“What are you stropping about?” Turbo Granny asked, through a mouthful of rice.

“I don’t have any privacy!” Momo sighed, sinking her head into her hands.

“Yanari are harmless.”

“It isn’t just them.” Momo said.

“Quit your griping. It's a good thing your grandmother sent me here.”

“Why?!”

“You have better snacks.”

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up.

Okarun: You alright? Haven’t heard from you, so I wanted to check.
M. Ayase: yh, u?
Okarun: I’m good. Slow day at work.

Momo stared down at her phone.

Fuck it.

M. Ayase: I got smth 2 tell u.
Okarun: Shoot.
M. Ayase: come ova l8r?

Her heart pounded in her ears. Would Okarun be mad at her for keeping such a secret from him?

She wolfed down the rest of her breakfast and went upstairs to get dressed and on with the rest of her day. She would only know by doing. If she thought about it too much, she was liable to cancel.

There was a knock at the door. Momo sprang up from the sofa as though she had been coiled like a tiny, potent spring, then paused. Did she want to seem like she was opening the door too quickly? She counted to ten in her head and crossed the room, and then just for good measure, she counted and opened the door on ten.

Okarun stood in her doorway, face turned away as he looked across the yard at the kaguraden, hands in his pockets. He was, again, dressed for work – fashionably straight-cut dark trousers and a ruffled, white shirt bunched at his elbows. In profile, Momo could see his sharp collarbones and the taut curve of his neck. As she opened the door, he turned to her. He had been about to smile. But his eyes widened into a deep brown, shocked expression.

“What is she doing here?” He pointed behind Momo. She turned. Turbo Granny peeked out from the living room doorway.

Shit.

“Surprise!” She said, with a flourish.

Whatever the next words out of Okarun’s mouth would have been, the tiny, white lucky cat interfered with.

“Was wondering when you’d show up.” Turbo Granny said, with a sidestep out into the corridor, her arms folded across her chest. For such a small figure, she managed to look imperious.

Okarun resisted the urge to cross his legs. Instead, he turned to Momo.

“This was what you wanted to tell me?” He asked her. Disappointment curled inside him.

“Yup!” She paused. “Cat’s out of the bag now. Sorry I didn’t have you over sooner. I didn’t know how you’d –.” She paused, and smiled apologetically.

Okarun’s heart thudded, painfully, against his chest. He swallowed. Had he seriously thought –.
If he was lying to himself, he would have said no. He stood in the porch, more than a little awkwardly. He got it, he did. Turbo Granny was a handful, and given his history with her, it made sense that Momo hadn’t told him or invited him over. The tiny disappointment inside him slithered out and sneered or trusted you. He swallowed it back bitterly.

“Can I- Can I come in?” He asked.

Momo took a step back and swept her arms with a bow.

“Enter, my liege.”

He took a step over the threshold. As his feet hit laminate wood, there came a crash from upstairs.

“What was that?”

Momo sighed. “I have yanari.”

“Woah, really?”

“Yeah, wanna see?” Momo seized upon the opportunity without delay. If there was any way to make up to Okarun the not-so-giant elephant in the room that Turbo Granny was, it was by introducing him to her new yokai residents. And then, probably, an actual apology, she thought to herself.

“Sure!” Okarun’s eyes were all wide-eyed excitement again. He looked cute, enthusiastic, eager, and endearing, and many other positive words that began with e.

Momo turned and began heading up the stairs to the right of the entranceway. She turned halfway.

“Come on then!” She said, with a beckoning wave.

Okarun kicked off his shoes and stepped up, but stopped at the bottom step and looked up to Momo.

At the top of the stairs, Momo turned. “What?”

“Its upstairs?”

“Yeah, they're in my room.”

“O-okay.” He adjusted his glasses. He followed her up.

Momo stood at the threshold to her bedroom, propping it open with a shoulder, her arms crossed and her eyes trained upon Okarun. She nodded her head, and he brushed past her.

Her room was neat in its chaos, papered with soft green paper, the pink curtains closed to keep the stifling heat out, a fan circulating hot, sticky air throughout the room more in the style of a hairdryer than a fan. Older buildings like this shrine didn’t necessarily have the infrastructure for air conditioning, so Momo relied a lot upon fans. A bookshelf next to the door stored several books on spirituality, Japanese folklore, and urban legends; a small stack of DVDs sat upon that same shelf, and upon the walls were the expected many posters of Ken Takakura and …

[Editor’s note: for best effect, play the provided song at this point].

Okarun’s gaze met at eye-level with a poster that depicted David Duchovny?!

“I-is that David Duchovny?”

Correction: David Duchovny as Fox Mulder.

“Yes”.

“When did you start watching The X Files?” Momo paused, knocking her fist against her jaw, and made a thoughtful hum.

“I guess about five, six years ago?”

After Okarun and she had their… she diplomatically, and internally, labelled it a disagreement, she had found herself at a loss for the kinds of occult stories she had come to expect from him. She’d started reading, watching a crazy-haired guy on the Discovery Channel (he wasn’t the same), and watching The X Files – a veritable treasure trove of aliens, cryptids, conspiracy theories, and monsters. And then there was, of course, the other thing: the man, Mulder, and/or David Duchovny. He liked to investigate the paranormal, but he also liked baseball and fought for what he loved. He was a very masculine sort of occult nerd.

Fox Mulder had, like many things, caught her off guard. Of course, she liked him. And of course, the thought had not occurred to her until Okarun was here in her room, standing in front of a poster of David Duchovny, just why she might have had such an intense crush upon him. Her gaze flicked between the two. Okarun Mulder, Mulder Okarun.

Was Okarun hotter than David Duchovny?

She narrowed her eyes.

Shit.

On about the third pass, she caught Okarun's eye and grinned in a manner that she hoped was not too obvious.

Oh god he totally knows I'm comparing him to Mulder, she flushed. Maybe I can style this out. Oh god.

"Were you comparing me to Mulder –?"

Shit.

"– Don't compare me to him!"

Shit.

"You're way better than him!"

Shit...?

Okarun could not suppress a smile. He raised a hand to his glasses and adjusted them. She was staring. He didn't know how to deal with that. His heart was pounding in his ears. His thoughts were a mess. Friends. They were friends. Friends stared at one another, right? Friends saw other friends' bedrooms. Friends thought of –.

He gulped. If she had been staring then, he was definitely staring back. Was that worse?

The idea that they could talk about things occurred to neither of them.

Momo tried to think of something, anything, to talk about. When had she gotten so bashful? Or was it just that Okarun brought it out of her?

And then, the bed began to shudder. A jumble of words filled the room.

"Idiot kids sort your shit out!"

Momo had never been so happy to have a group of tiny yokai living in her shrine. The bed shuddered again, as though impatient. She turned.

"Alright, alright, stop making a racket." She shouted at the empty air above her bed. Okarun moved away from the posters, mercifully, and came to stand next to Momo. He adjusted his glasses.

"Wow, they're really noisy, huh?"

"Yeah, try sleeping in here when they go off on one. Worse than cicadas."

"So what do they look like?"

"You don't know?"

"I mean, yokai aren't my strong suit.”

The bed shook again. Momo kicked the bedpost, and the bed shuddered back, somehow, impetuously.

“I thought I told you guys to stop doing that!” she shouted to thin air.

Okarun, more than a little confused, lifted up the quilt.

Momo turned her attention to him.

“Oi, what are you doing?!”

“You said there were yanari–.”

“They're under the bed, not in it!”

“I wasn't looking in the bed!”

“Sure you weren't! Perv! Help me move this.” She motioned to the bed. Okarun dropped the quilt and stepped over to the side opposite Momo, bent and reaching out to help her shift the bed. Momo looked at Okarun’s hands, the taut line of tendon in his forearm, the ripple of tight muscle she could see in his shoulder. She wanted to –.
No. She blanked her thoughts, and instead looked across at him.

“You ready?” He asked, snapping her out of her appraisal. She nodded and began to push towards Okarun, who pulled.

Light hit the space that the bed had occupied, and in it, six small men, each dressed in loincloths, stood as though they had been having a meeting of some kind. There was a panicked, squeaky scatter, but Momo pounced and grabbed the one nearest to her.

A tiny one-eyed, bald, deeply orange figure. She lifted him to her eye level.

"Put me down, you terrible woman."

“I told you if you're gonna live here, put some proper clothes on!”

The yanari huffed. Momo dropped him onto the bed, where he hit the sheets with a soft pwf and lay on his back a moment, limbs flailing. Momo addressed him.

“And out of my bedroom! I told you there's plenty of old furniture to rumble in storage!”

"Your energy drew us here."

From somewhere under the floorboards, a loud indignation of yanari all shouted and knocked the bottom of the floor as they backed away, towards a dark space in the wardrobe that didn’t close right. Okarun took a step forward and peered in closely at the group.

Momo watched him. “Well?”

“They’re so small. Kind of cute. Couldn't you just exorcise them?”

“I could, but they're not doing any harm. Guess I need earplugs.”

The tiny figure on the bed had crawled to the edge of the bed and was peering down. He tumbled. Momo caught him and gently placed him upon the floor.

"Stop! Desist! Cease!"

The two of them watched as he ran, scattered pitter-pattering, to join his comrades.

“What attracted them?” Okarun wondered aloud.

Momo flexed. “My spiritual power!”

The two of them smiled at one another. She brushed past him and began walking down the stairs again, hand trailing on the wall. He took one final look at her bedroom then followed her.

“You're staying for dinner, right?” She said, over her shoulder.

“Oh. Sure.”

“Good, I'll make somen! Do you want a drink?”

“Just water is fine”.

“Coming up! Get comfy.” She went left, into the kitchen, and he went across.

Okarun sank down into the sofa, any thoughts he may have had interrupted by the scratchy scramble of Turbo Granny clawing her way up.

“Sticking around, I see?” She asked.

“Why wouldn't I?” Okarun asked.

“You seemed fairly happy to cut and run before.”

“I was a teenager! I'm much more mature now.”

“Still having those thoughts, I bet.”

“What thoughts?” Okarun asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "My consciousness was in your body for a time. I saw things.” She glared at him.

He gulped and stared back until he thought of what to say next. “What are you even doing here?"

"Seiko kicked me out"

"And you got here how?"

"She posted me. The indignity –.” Okarun snorted at that, which did not stop the cat from her uncomfortably long stare. “Anyway, you should be glad I'm here. I can steal your dick again if you're not going to use it.”

“I'd be glad about that, why?”

She grinned. “It brought you guys closer together before, didn’t it? For all the good it did then.”

“Wha–?”

“You guys argued for so long. Didn't think I'd see you in Momo's shrine ever again.” She, somehow, punctuated that statement with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Do you have to phrase it so – do you have to phrase it like that?”

Momo stuck her head around the door. The two of them went quiet.

“You guys getting on alright?”

“Just fine. What's for dinner?” Turbo Granny asked.

“Noodles.” Momo said, before her head disappeared back behind the doorframe.

Turbo Granny resumed her interrogation, half-leaning half-hanging over the edge of the sofa and partly across Okarun’s shoulder.

"Don't you wanna reminisce on the good ol' times?

"When you stole my penis and lost my balls?"

“That and your mad lust for Little Miss Shithead.”

"H-how do you know about that?!"

“I already told you I saw things!”

Okarun sighed.

“You sure took your sweet time getting back here.” Turbo Granny pointed out.

“I'm here now!”

He turned and glared at the doll perched on his shoulder with as much ill will as he could muster. Turbo Granny laughed.

“You trying to intimidate me, boy?”

Okarun was quiet.

“I have to look out for Momo’s well-being. She thought you hated her.”

“Oh yeah, how do you know that?” Okarun asked with the quiet kind of defiance that didn’t quite roar into being.

“Seiko loves to gossip.”

"Of course she does."

Momo’s voice cut through the pair of them.

“Do I even want to know what you guys are talking about?”

Okarun put a hand to Turbo Granny’s mouth, muffling her.

“Just talking about old times.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Momo paused. “What, when she stole your dick?”

Turbo Granny laughed behind Okarun’s hand, for the little good it did. Momo found herself smiling.

“It’s- It’s not that funn –, ”Okarun began to splutter, but he found his words drowned out by their laughter, and, despite it all, found himself joining in. The room filled with laughter, loud and unrestrained a moment.
Once they had all quietened down, Momo pointed behind her.

“Food’s done, anyway.” She said. “Come on through.”

The kitchen table had several things upon it. Momo had pulled it out so that it could sit both her and Okarun, and of course, Turbo Granny. Cold noodles sat coiled and curled in a vast, blue-and-white ceramic dish, studded with ice; dark tsuyu and a ladle sat in a jug next to a stack of tiny bowls and chopsticks; there was barley tea in several tall, clear glasses and a dish, filled with condiments and toppings: cucumber, rolled omelette, tofu, furikake, sesame and tiny, pink piles of pickled ginger.

Okarun looked the spread over with a hungry appreciation. Turbo Granny clacked into the room and scrambled up onto a chair.

Momo was already seated. Okarun took the seat opposite her.

“You made this?” He asked, his tone a little more impressed than he would have liked to admit.

“Mmhmm,” she said, her mouth full of chewy, springy, salty noodles already, a small bowl of thin dipping sauce held underneath her chin. She slurped them up.

“My first winter here, I was useless. Would caw ab Granny Seiko aw thuh time.” She explained, as she sucked up another helping of noodles. Okarun took a bowl and ladled a portion of tsuyu into it, followed by some tofu, omelette, and cucumber. Turbo Granny sat on her chair, quietly eating, her eyes trained upon him.

Okarun took a mouthful. It was good.

“Ish ish gud,” he said. Momo grinned across.

Turbo Granny continued to eat and to stare across at Okarun. After a while, it got to be too much. He set his bowl down and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Don't steal my balls!” He all but announced it to the room.

Without missing a beat, Momo replied, “I wasn't planning on it”.

Okarun spluttered. “Not you, her!” He pointed with his chopsticks. Turbo Granny leered over the lip of her bowl, with a loud slurp.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Momo calmly reached under the table and brought out a fan, and then hit the cat with it, with a dull thud.

The possessed doll screeched with the indignity of it all. “Where did you get that?!”

“Grandma left me a different package, too. Thought you might miss your old friend.”

Okarun looked between the two of them. He could almost imagine Momo forty years from then, hair piled high upon her head. He laughed at the image, loud and genuine and comfortable. Both turned and looked at him.

“What?” They demanded.

“I hope you never change,” he said to Momo.