Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At first, Momo is sure Grandma’s pulling a stupid prank.

She tells some bullshit story about UFOs and a punching mantis shrimp and a shrinking space kaiju. Gets some girl to put on little antennas and speak gibberish. And that’s supposed to convince Momo that aliens are real. As if.

But the longer Grandma goes on, the more serious she seems. It’s a weirdly detailed story. And weirdly pervy, even for Grandma, what with the dick-obsessed Serp-somethings and the boy’s missing nuts. And why the hell is Jiji from first grade in on this crap? When was the last time Grandma had even seen him?

And more importantly … why can Momo not remember how she’d gotten to this place? She rakes her memory, but there’s nothing. No plane trip with Grandma snoring in the seat next to her. No taxi ride with the driver begging her not to smoke in the car. She doesn’t even have a suitcase. She’d woken up in a random hotel room next to a stranger in a city she’d never been before, with a single set of clothes laid out on the floor beside her.

It’s ... weird. And it’s really starting to piss her off.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Momo snaps. “You guys really don’t know when to quit. This stopped being funny, like, an hour ago. Actually, scratch that—it was never funny. Can you please drop the act now? I just wanna go home.”

Jiji and Grandma share a long glance. Momo groans.

“Ugh. Why are you two actin’ like you’re in cahoots or somethin’?”

“Momo.” Jiji’s expression is bleedingly earnest. “It’s all true. I swear. You’ve lost your memory. You gotta trust me.”

Momo springs to her feet. “Trust you? I don’t see you for ten freakin’ years, and then you come outta nowhere spoutin’ the bullest bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life, and you want me to trust you? No way. I’m out.” She spins on her heel and marches toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Jiji calls after her.

“Airport. I’ll wait for your lyin’ asses there.”

“But we can’t leave today! Miss Seiko is still recovering!”

“Momo. Hold up,” Grandma says.

She freezes in the doorway.

“Come back in here and sit down, will ya? We can go. Just gimme a minute.”

Reluctantly, Momo plops back into her chair.

“Are you sure, Grandma?” the girl with antennas asks. “You’re hurt.”

Momo scoffs. “Who’re you callin’ Grandma? That’s my grandma, Space Girl.”

“Shh. Momo. It’s fine.” Grandma pulls out her cell phone. “Manjiro. We’re headin’ back today.”

Momo droops in her chair, refusing to make eye contact with Jiji or Space Girl. But she can feel their eyes on her. It makes her feel … itchy.

“Sorry ’bout the delay,” Grandma is saying. “They got me pretty good. But I’ll be fine.” She pauses. “Yeah, she’s back to normal. Size-wise, at least. Thank goodness. But there’s been a … side effect.”

Grandma’s looking at her too now. Even with her eyes on the floor, Momo can feel it. Prickles running down her neck. Up her arms. She scratches at them, as if they were a pesky bug bite.

Grandma lowers her voice (pointlessly, since she’s only sitting a couple meters away). “She can’t remember a thing. Till at least before she got her powers. Maybe even further back.” Another pause. “You better warn the kid. He’ll probably take it the hardest.”

Against her will, Momo glances up. What kid? Another fake alien? Another one of her long-lost childhood friends? Good grief.

“Yeah. See ya soon.” Grandma hangs up the phone, stretching with a groan. “Alright. You ready?”

“What about Zuma and the others?” Space Girl asks.

“Oh. Forgot about them. Hang on … pretty sure I grabbed his number.”

Momo watches warily as Grandma makes another call to another stranger about more things that feel confusing and impossible. The Zuma guy used to be blind, apparently? And there’s also some old man who became a kid? It’s starting to make Momo’s head hurt. She’s relieved when Grandma finally ushers them all out the door to the taxi waiting outside.

Jiji catches her shoulder. “You okay?” he asks anxiously. “I know this is all a lot. But it’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure out how to fix it.”

Momo jerks away from his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Right, right. My bad.” He opens the car door with a flourish. “Ladies first! Or should I say … cuuuuties!”

Momo pushes past him to open the door on the other side of the car.

“Uh … okay. Vamo-chan?”

On the whole ride to the airport, Momo stares out the window, doing her best to ignore Jiji’s pitiful attempts to lighten the mood and the way Space Girl’s arm keeps brushing hers. She wants to run. She wants to sleep. She wants to scream. But she’s trapped with these liars and strangers for at least the next few hours.

The girl is giggling at Jiji’s off-key rendition of the Pokémon theme. Momo eyes her little pink antennas and her kaiju-themed backpack. What’s her deal, anyway? Some cutesy space otaku?

Space Girl catches her staring and offers a smile. “It will be alright, Momo,” she says. “We will fix it.”

Even with her strange, slightly stilted speech, she sounds just like Jiji. Concerned and reassuring and earnest.

Everyone’s so damn earnest it makes her sick.

Momo slumps against the window. She’d give anything to call Miko and Muko right now so could laugh with them about how lame this prank is and how weird everyone’s being. So she could finally feel normal again. But according to Grandma, she doesn’t have a phone anymore. And Momo doesn’t feel like laughing right now anyway.

She closes her eyes, pressing the cool glass to her forehead. At least if she had a phone, she could check her old texts to see if there was anything in them that even remotely supported their crazy story. Texts from Jiji, maybe. Or the kid with no balls. What was his name again? 

Another itch spreads over her—through her, like ants are crawling along her veins. There’s a nagging feeling she can’t put her finger on. Like when Grandma comes into her room and doesn’t quite shut the door on the way out. Or when when a half-forgotten line from a Ken Takakura movie is on the tip of her tongue.

She watches Shimane pass by the window and rakes her nails across her skin, over and over.

At the airport, the guy named Zuma is already waiting for them, along with another guy his age and some little kid. He’s good looking, she has to admit, with a stoic kind of vibe she’d normally be all over, but she’s too restless and tired and pissed to think much about it. Besides, she’s already learned her lesson going for a Ken-san lookalike. They may look the part, but that doesn’t mean they’re anything like him.

Absently, she wonders what happened to that squid of an ex. She remembers the day they broke up, but it feels like a million years ago. She can’t remember anything after it happened. Just the pain in her stomach. The strain in her chest. Looking through the window of another class and seeing … something … 

“Momo?” Behind her, Jiji’s voice cuts through the din. “It’s time to board. Miss Seiko’s got your ticket.”

She catches up with the rest of the group, dreading the agonizing hour and a half it will take to finally get home. She hopes she’ll be next to Grandma, at least. Or maybe Zuma. He doesn’t seem like much of a talker. Maybe he’d even let her try to take a nap.

Instead, she ends up on the aisle seat next to Jiji, with Space Girl at the window.

Jiji smiles. “Looks like we’re seat buddies.”

“Hooray,” she deadpans.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “I know you must be overwhelmed.” 

His voice is soft. Gentle. She should be relieved that he’s given up his class clown act from the car, but somehow this is worse. He watches her carefully, like she’s an animal he might scare with sudden movements. Like she’s spun from glass, and it’s only matter of time before she breaks.

Momo huffs. “Stop that.”

He blinks. “Stop what?”

“Talkin’ to me like I’m some kind of brain case!” She sighs. “Just … be normal, okay? But don’t mention aliens. Or I might punch ya.”

Jiji chuckles. “Man, Okarun’s gonna end up with a black eye, then.”

Her scalp prickles. She resists the urge to scratch it. “Who?”

“A friend. You’ll like him.”

They settle in their seats, and the flight attendant runs through the safety spiel. Momo chews on her lip, stomach suddenly churning.

“You okay?” Jiji murmurs. “I’m bein’ normal, promise! You just seem kinda nervous.”

“Yeah. I’ve just never flown before.”

He gives her an easy smile. “Flying out here was my first time. It’s sorta scary, but really cool. It feels like your stomach is floating!”

“Really?”

“Really. You’ll see. Just take some deep breaths and relax.”

She puffs out a breath. “Thanks.”

“It will be fun, Momo!” Space Girl chimes in as the plane begins to roll. “Get ready!”

Momo grips her seat, squeezing her eyes shut. Even with her feet pressed to the floor, she feels the ground drop out beneath her, and her stomach feels uncomfortably weightless.

“Momo, look!”

She peeks one eye open. Jiji is pointing to the window, where Shimane is shrinking beneath them, rich and green against the blue of the ocean. 

“Whoa,” she breathes.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jiji grins.

“I hope this time there will not be a tornado of frozen sharks,” Space Girl adds grimly.

Momo’s eyes jerk away from the window. “What?”

“Let’s, uh … let’s not talk about that right now, Vamo-chan. Um …” Jiji reaches beneath his seat and unzips his backpack. “Want some candy?”

Momo peers into his bag. “Holy cow. You got a whole konbini in there.”

“I never travel without snacks,” Jiji says brightly. “Help yourselves! There’s plenty.”

Space Girl fishes out a matcha Kit-Kat bar. “Thank you, Jiji!” She turns to the row behind them. “Zuma, Jiji has candy. Do you want some?”

Jiji snatches the bag back. “Actually, there’s not enough for everyone. Just us.”

Momo raises a brow. “Why ya bein’ so stingy? There’s tons.”

“Just—doesn’t matter.” He holds up a bag of sour plum candies. “Up for a contest? Like when we were kids, remember?”

For once, she does remember. Momo grins. “You’re on.”

A dozen candies later, Jiji admits defeat, placing a pretend crown on her head as he declares her the Queen of Sour. Momo’s mouth is sore and coated in sugar, but she feels more normal than she has all day. She’d thought Jiji’s antics would be annoying, but they’re a welcome distraction from both the flying and … everything else. He’s careful to keep the conversation focused on their childhood, and Momo’s grateful. It’s a relief to talk about something that actually makes sense. He hasn’t changed a bit since elementary school, still so goofy and wild, and she’s surprised that laughter comes to her easily. 

Despite it all, the itch persists, prickling underneath her skin. She finds herself glancing around the cabin every few minutes, searching for something unknown. She can’t shake the feeling that someone is missing, but everyone around her is a stranger. Even Jiji. Even Grandma, somehow, as bruised and tired as she is. For the first time, she looks … old.

Momo’s chest aches. Her eyes rove across the rows and catch on a pair of round glasses. Her heart stutters, rising inexplicably, only to crash back down when the woman turns.

“Hey-o, Mooomo!” Jiji says in a sing-song voice. “Bet you can’t guess what Smash character I’m thinking of!”

Momo forces a smile, itching and aching.

By the time they get back home, the sun is sinking behind the trees. They all pile out of the van and trudge up the path under the torii gate, where a man and a boy are waiting in front of the house. 

“Manjiro. Four eyes,” Grandma greets them. “Good to see you.”

The boy’s eyes are hidden by the shine on his glasses—round glasses, like the woman’s on the plane. But Momo’s pretty sure he’s staring at her. Her fingertips tingle as she adjusts her backpack; the itch prickles over her scalp and under her collar.

The boy’s lips part. He does not look away.

“Master.” The man bows to Grandma. He wears a robe and hakata and has the most impressive unibrow Momo’s ever seen. “I’m so glad you’re safe. But you shouldn’t have traveled in this condition.”

Grandma waves him off with the cigarette she’s already lit. “I’ll be fine. Just need some rest.” She turns to Momo. “This is Manjiro. He’s my pupil. He’s a shrine priest over in Byakuja Village, but he’s staying here to help me out for a bit.”

“Um … nice to meet you, Mr. Manjiro.” Momo offers a slight bow.

Grandma nods toward the boy. “And this is Okarun. We told you about him before.”

He steps forward, and the glare on his glasses shifts away. His eyes are warm and brown and wide, fixed on her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world.

For a moment, relief floods through her, soothing the itch, washing away all her fatigue. But it’s all back in an instant, tinged now with confusion and frustration.

What the hell was that?

“Miss Ayase,” he says breathlessly. “I … I’ve been waiting. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Miss Ayase? So they must not have been that good of friends. His speech is distant and polite. Nothing to show that they were close.

Still, there’s something strangely familiar about it all. The glasses. The spidery hair. Even the way he talks—using a first-person pronoun she rarely hears outside of a Ken Takakura film. There’s a pull in her chest, like a magnet, and heat rises to her cheeks. She can feel her pulse in her fingertips.

“The hell kinda name is Okarun?” she blurts.

The boy blinks. “It’s ... it’s just what you call me.”

“And why would I call you that?”

“Because … I like the occult.”

Momo folds her arms. “So you believe in aliens.”

“Well ... they’re … real?”

Momo snorts. “Sure.”

Occult-kun glances at Grandma. Annoyance spikes through her.

“You’re the one who’s missing your balls, right?” she says. “Prove it. Let me see your junk.”

A blush erupts over his face, and his hands instinctively cover his crotch. “Wha—I’m not showing you! Besides, I have them back now.”

Momo rolls her eyes. “That’s real convenient, huh.” She turns to Grandma. “If you’re gonna lie your ass off, could you at least try to be convincing?”

“Miss Seiko is not a liar!” Occult-kun says, voice rising. “She’s telling the truth. Aliens are real, and I did lose my balls, and you ... you helped me get them back, Miss Ayase. You helped me every step of the way.”

He’s earnest too. Even more than the others. The most earnest freakin’ liar she’s ever heard.

“Why?” she asks flatly.

“W-why?”

“Why would I give a crap about some random otaku I don’t even know?”

His mouth falls open, brows drawn. “Because … because you’re a good person, Miss Ayase,” he says at last.

He sounds like he’s about to cry. She can’t stand looking at him anymore. “Now I know you’re fibbin’,” she says to the ground. “I ain’t some sorta do-gooder.”

“You are!” Despite the waver in his voice, he speaks firmly. “You stood up for me when no one else would. You took care of me when I was cursed. You’ve saved my life more times than I could count. You fought beside me and let me into your home and … you’re the first friend I ever had.” He lets out a slow breath. “I owe you a lot, Miss Ayase. I owe you everything.”

Momo’s quiet for a moment. Then she forces herself to glance up again. “What’s your name? Your real name, I mean.”

All his fire drains away immediately. His shoulders hunch, hand coming up to clutch at the rim of his glasses. “Um ... I’m not sure I should say.”

Momo’s head snaps up. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t like it when I say my name!”

“Why the hell not!”

Grandma takes a long drag from her cigarette. “’Cause his name’s Ken Takakura.”

Momo’s heart jumps in her chest, cheeks exploding with heat. She rounds on Grandma. “Shut up, you old bag! That’s not funny!”

“I’m not kiddin’,” Grandma says calmly. “That’s his name. Ask him.”

Momo raises her brows at him. “Occult-kun?”

He swallows. "Yeah. That’s my name."

She throws up her hands. “Screw you, asshole! Screw all of you! This is officially the stupidest prank of all time. I’m going to bed, and when I wake up, you better all be gone. And I better never see you again.”

She pushes past Occult-kun and strides to the door, wrenching it open. When she turns around to slide it shut, his eyes are there to meet her—wide, full, shining. Then he moves his head, just slightly, and his glasses catch a glare, hiding his eyes from her again. They’re like a mirror, or a set of windows in a skyscraper downtown, reflecting the light of the fading sun. Two blazing orange rings branding into her sight.

She closes the door with a snap and leans her forehead against it. Her heart’s pounding in her chest, and she can still see those orange circles floating in front of her eyes. Beyond the door, there’s only silence. Then Jiji’s voice comes through, muffled.

“Okarun, you have the same name as the guy from Mr. Baseball?”

In the dark of her room, Momo stares at the wall. Itching. 

The clock blazing on her nightstand shows that it’s nearly midnight. Her stomach rumbles. She hasn’t had anything to eat since those sour plum candies. The rest of them had eaten hours ago, clicking chopsticks and murmuring in the front room. She was starving then too, but there was no way she was going to have dinner with a bunch of liars. Maybe she’ll sneak out and grab some leftovers.

She rolls over. Someone had taken down her Ken-san poster and put up one of a UFO instead. The level of commitment would have been impressive if she weren’t so spitting mad about it all. In the morning she’d make Grandma give back her poster. 

She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. Her brain won’t shut off. She misses her phone. She wants to claw out of her skin.

There was a place her mind used to go to rest, she knew. A soft place for her thoughts to land when everything else seemed awful. It was automatic. Instinctual. A place she was pulled to, inevitably, like gravity. No matter where she moved, she always swung back. It had been there, always, in the quiet beneath the noise, in the stillness above the clouds, in the space between her heartbeats.

But there’s nothing there now. She feels like a bird that can’t find a perch. She’s so tired. So … empty. The itch morphs into an ache. She’s reaching through nothing. Groping in the dark. For what, she doesn’t know. Something. (Someone.)

In the last moment before she falls asleep, her thoughts finally find a place to land:

The boy’s face, heartbreak etched into every feature, before the sun hides his eyes from her again. 

Momo buries her face in her pillow (itching; aching) and swallows a sob.

Chapter Text

Twin circles, gleaming in the light of a tangerine sun.

A tingling itch at the back of her skull. A gasping ache inside her chest.

Tell me.

She can’t see his eyes. She tries to speak, but her lips are sealed shut.

Desperation mounts in her gut like a rising tide. Her heart throws itself against her ribcage.

Say it! Please, just say it!

But he’s fading now, pale as milk, thin as mist, till there’s nothing left except the imprint of his glasses, burned into her eyes.

Momo’s eyes snap open. Her blankets are twisted around her torso, held tight inside her fists. On her right, her pink curtains glow with sunlight.

Slowly, she sits up. The clock reads 10:38. Grandma must’ve let her sleep in. On Saturdays, she usually made Momo clean the shrine early, but maybe she decided to give her a break this time.

Momo stretches and rubs her eyes. What was with that dream? It’s one she’s had before, she’s sure, waking and sleeping and somewhere in between. But the more she tries to remember, the less she can hold on. It slips through her fingers like sand.

She sighs and pushes her blankets aside, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet land on something cushy. 

She blinks. There’s a futon, neatly made up in the middle of her floor. What the—?

No.

It all comes crashing down on her at once—the hotel, the hospital, the airplane. The incessant itch. The boy and his glasses and his stupid, forbidden name.

Her head swivels to the poster above her bed. Damn it.

“Grandma!” she shouts, lurching toward the door. She thunders down the steps, two at a time, and skids to a stop by the TV. “What the hell did you do with … my … ”

The living room is empty. There’s no Bakatono blaring from the TV. Even the ash tray on the table is bare.

The quiet feels eerie. Momo’s stomach fills with lead. “Grandma?”

A muffled cough sounds from behind the bedroom door. “In here.”

Momo pushes the door open. Grandma’s lying in bed, looking pale, with her long hair loose around her shoulders.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” She sits up, clutching her ribs with a wince, and even that small movement has her panting. “Got your beauty sleep, huh?”

Momo’s skin prickles with guilt. She hadn’t realized yesterday what bad shape Grandma was in. She’d been tired and banged up, sure, but had she looked this exhausted?

Grandma produces a cigarette out of thin air, trying to light it with shaking hands. Momo lunges forward and snatches it away.

“You shouldn’t be smokin’ at a time like this! You can barely breathe as it is.”

“Ugh. You sound like Manjiro. He’s been fussin’ over me all mornin.’ What happened to respectin’ your elders?” Grandma gathers her hair up and nods at the table. “Hand me that elastic, will ya?”

Seeing Grandma’s hair up again makes Momo feel a little better. She looks more like herself this way, despite the bandages and bruises.

“And gimme my cig back,” Grandma orders. “Nicotine’s a painkiller. It’s basically medicine.”

Warily, Momo hands it back. Grandma’s hand is steady this time as she lights the cigarette.

“Where did Mr. Manjiro go?” Momo asks.

Grandma takes a slow drag. “I sent him away. Thought you’d wanna be alone today.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Momo tugs at her sleeves. “Whose futon is on my floor?”

“Vamola.”

Momo groans. “I gotta share a room with the space girl?”

“Yep. Sorry.”

“Where is she, anyway?”

“School.”

Momo frowns. “But it’s Saturday.”

“Nope. Only Thursday.”

Momo sinks onto the edge of Grandma’s bed. “You didn’t make me go?”

“You had a long day. You needed the rest.” Grandma points sternly with her cigarette. “But tomorrow, no more excuses. You missed a ton of school when you were tiny.”

Momo scoffs. “Right. When I was tiny.”

Grandma shrugs. “Believe me or don’t. But it’s the truth.”

Momo opens her mouth to retort, but she’s not sure she has the energy to argue about this again. Instead, she hops off the bed, heading toward the door. “Geeeeez, I’m starving. What’s there to eat around here?”

“Manjiro made breakfast. There might be leftovers in the fridge. And there should be oyakodon left over from last night. There was tons.”

Momo peers inside the fridge, stomach rumbling. Her eye catches on a bright pink paper attached to a bento box. Her name is written on it, in clumsy katakana, like a child wrote it. Momo pulls the box from the shelf and opens it.

The bento is stuffed full of little snacks, artfully arranged, like something a doting mother would make. There are two onigiri with little smiles and blushing cheeks, one with bean-sprout antennas and one with nori shaped like Momo’s bangs. A rolled omelet sliced in half and placed together like a heart. Fruits and vegetables cut into flowers. Momo unfolds the note and reads:

Momo,

I hope you feel better today. Please enjoy! 

Love,

Vamola

P.S. The rice balls have crab! Your favorite ^^

Momo stares down at the box, chest tight. A lump rises in her throat. Without thinking, she grabs the Momo-shaped onigiri and stuffs the whole thing in her mouth. Crab. Delicious crab. She feels like she might cry.

“Momo!” Grandma yells. “We got barley tea?”

“Nnn!” With difficulty, she swallows, coughing slightly. “Yeah, I’ll bring some!”

When she reenters Grandma’s room a minute later, Grandma’s sitting cross-legged on the bed with her sleeping mask covering her eyes. Her hands rest on her knees, palms up. The cigarette still smokes between her fingers.

“Whatcha got there?” she asks, like she somehow knows about the box tucked beneath Momo’s arm.

“Oh. Uh …” Momo places the glasses of tea on the table. “Vamola made me a bento.”

Grandma nods. “Nice of her.”

Momo sits back on the edge of the bed, opening the box to stare at the smiley rice ball with the bean-sprout antennas. “Yeah.”

For a while, neither of them speak. Grandma meditates, and Momo eats. When she finally places the empty bento on the table, Grandma pushes her mask up.

“There. That oughta keep Manjiro off my back for a bit. My chi’s all honed and shiny. Perfectly prepped for healin’.” She grabs a pill bottle from the table and downs a pill with gulp of tea.

“How ya feelin’?” Momo asks hesitantly.

“Been worse.” Grandma frowns. “Been better, too.”

Momo shifts to face her on the bed. “What happened to you? What could’ve gotten you this badly?”

Grandma sighs, massaging her bandaged ribs. “Damn enenra. It tricked us, right when we were about to getcha all fixed up. Posin’ as a damn priest. I shoulda known. Stupid.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Pain meds made my head all foggy. I almost forgot you. My own grandkid. My own ...”

She trails off, slipping a hand under her glasses to cover her eyes.

“Grandma?” Momo asks cautiously. “You okay? Does it hurt that bad?”

“It’s my fault. What happened to you,” Grandma whispers, and her voice sounds so small and broken that it scares Momo. She’s never heard Grandma sound like that before.

“Th-that’s not true,” she tries. “I’m sure that—”

“It is true.” Grandma looks up with red-rimmed eyes. “If I hadn’t fallen for the trick, we woulda made it in time. We woulda used that hammer and got you back to normal size and then … that’s it.” She takes in a shuddering breath. “The curse that made you small was supposed to make everyone else forget you. I never thought the effect could be reversed like that. To make you forget … everything else. My mistake cost you your memory. I’m … so sorry, Momo.”

Before Momo can think of what to say, Grandma clamors out of bed and sinks into a bow, gritting her teeth in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, in that soft, defeated voice that doesn’t belong to her.

Momo jumps up. “Wha—stop that!” She pushes against Grandma’s shoulders, trying to make her straighten. “It’s weirdin’ me out.”

Despite her condition, Grandma resists Momo’s attempts with surprising strength.

“Stubborn old bag!” Momo gripes. “Get back in bed!”

“I’ll make this right,” Grandma promises the floor. “I’ll help you get your memories back. I swear.”

“Okay, okay, fine! Will ya stop that now?”

At last, Grandma climbs back into bed, rubbing a thumb across each eye.

“Good.” Momo plops back into place with a pout. “Now what was that about pain meds? You were already takin’ ’em before you got beat up by a yokai?”

Grandma grunts, and when she speaks, Momo’s relieved that she sounds more like herself again.

“Got beat up by a different yokai first,” she says. “At least, an idiot wielding a yokai’s power. An iron bull. Tough bastard. I ended up takin’ quite a beating.” She sighs. “With me still recoverin’ from all that, I was no match for the enenra. Plus, damn thing’s made of smoke, so my strikes were useless against it. Jiji and Evil Eye had to step in and use their Evil Gun to take it down.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know. And … not like ya believe any of this anyway, huh? I’m still just a fake psychic.” Grandma offers a weak smile. “You’re probably wonderin’ how I really got all banged up. Well, I’m an old broad. Let’s just say I fell down the stairs.”

Momo’s eyes fall to her hands, twisting in her lap. “No, I … I believe you.”

Grandma pauses with her cigarette halfway to her mouth.

“You were just apologizin’ to me, but the truth is … I’m the one who should be sayin’ sorry.” Momo lets out a slow breath. “I’ve been so focused on myself, I didn’t even recognize how hurt you are. I shoulda been the one cookin’ you breakfast and makin’ sure you rest. I shoulda been here for you. I’m sorry, Grandma.”

Grandma lowers her cigarette. “It ain’t your job to take care of me, kid. It’s my job to take care of you. And—”

“No, listen! I ain’t finished!” Momo’s hands clamp into fists around the fabric of her baggy sweatshirt. “I’m not just sorry for now, but—but for all of it!”

“All of what?”

“My whole life! I—ever since I was a kid! That day … when I said … those awful things … when I told you I …”

Tears are leaking out of her eyes now, leaving fiery trails down her cheeks. She swipes at them stubbornly. “I didn’t mean that, I swear. I just—”

“Momo.” Grandma’s arms are open, her cigarette smoldering in the ashtray on the table. “C’mere.”

Momo shakes her head. “I’ll hurt ya.”

“I’m tough. C’mere.”

Momo sniffs and crawls over the blankets to Grandma’s waiting arms.

“This is embarrassing,” she mumbles into her shoulder.

“Get over it. No one’s even here.”

“Since when did you become such a hugger, anyway? I feel like a baby.” Momo takes a shaky breath, eyes shut tight.

“I ain’t. But old ladies are allowed to be sentimental on special occasions.” Grandma tightens her hold, voice dropping to a whisper. “I almost lost ya. I’m so, so glad you’re still here.”

Something in Momo breaks—a fragile thread she hadn’t realized was holding up everything inside her. She clings to Grandma, tears soaking her shoulder, while her whole body shakes with sobs.

“Shh,” Grandma murmurs, stroking her hair gently. “It’s gonna be okay, kid. I promise.”

They stay like that for a long time, until Momo’s tears finally stop and her breath evens out. She sits back, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Sorry,” she whispers, voice cracking.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. We’re both a mess today, huh?”

Momo stares down at the blankets. “I’m just … scared.”

“I know.”

“I feel like I’m losin’ my mind. Ever since Shimane, I’ve been feelin’ this … itch. Like somethin’s missing, but I don’t know what. And there’re all these people around, sayin’ things that make no sense, actin’ like they know me, but they’re all … strangers.” Momo swallows and looks up. “Except you, Grandma. You’re the only one I know. You’re the only one I can trust.”

“Momo—”

“So I believe you,” she goes on in a rush. “I—I’ve always believed you. I never thought you were a phony, or a liar. I always believed in your powers. I always believed in spirits, even if I never saw one—’cause you told me they were real. Just with … how things were with us … I never knew how to say that.”

Grandma nods slowly. “I get it.”

Momo slides off the bed and sinks to her knees, bowing close to the floor. “I’m sorry, Grandma. For lettin’ you think I was ashamed of you all this time.”

“Hey. Enough apologies for the day. I forgive ya, ’kay?” Grandma pats the blankets. “Come back up here.”

Momo climbs back onto the bed. Her eyes are still watery, making Grandma go all blurry at the edges.

“I’m glad ya believe me,” Grandma says, “but I got beef with somethin’ else you said.”

“Huh?”

“You said I’m the only one you can trust. That ain’t true. You might feel alone, but you’re not.”

Momo lets out a huff. “But they’re strangers.”

Grandma’s eyebrows rise. “Strangers who check in to make sure you’re okay. Strangers who distract you and make you laugh for the whole ride home. Strangers who make you bentos so you’ll have somethin’ to eat when you wake up.”

Momo looks down, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves.

“Strangers who’ll forgive you for callin’ ’em an asshole just for tellin’ ya their name when you ask,” Grandma adds.

Heat floods Momo’s cheeks. She buries her face in her sleeves. “Shut up. There’s no way that’s his real name.”

“Hate to break it to ya.”

Momo glares at her over the tops of her fingers. “Yeah, I can see how much you hate it.”

“The point is … you can trust ’em,” Grandma says emphatically. “Every one. Even the robot-obsessed perv.” She pauses. “Pretty sure.”

“What perv?”

Grandma waves a hand. “You’ll meet him at some point. He goes to your school.”

Momo drops her hands. “Okay, fine, I’ll try to trust them. I can at least buy the parts about the ghosts. But … aliens? Seriously?”

Grandma chuckles. “I hear you. I'm not so sure about them myself.”

“What?” Momo asks, affronted. “So why'd you spend all this effort tryin' to convince me?”

“’Cause you believed in ’em. Or, you did. Damn Four Eyes had you hooked. Soon as he showed up, you got obsessed. Wouldn't shut up about ’em.”

Momo chews on the inside of her lip. “So … all that stuff really happened?”

“Can't vouch for all the alien shit. Wasn't there. And I still think the mantis is a kappa.” Grandma picks up her abandoned cigarette and relights it. “But I can tell you this house has been crawling with yokai ever since Four Eyes showed up here all craggy and cursed. Turbo Granny. Acrobatic Silky. Evil Eye. And they're regular dinner guests. Crazy shit.”

“So … we were really friends?”

Grandma flicks the end of her cigarette. “You ’n’ Jiji? Sure. Soon as he showed up you pretty much picked up where you left off when you were kids. You and Aira were always at each other’s throats, but I think it was more out of habit than anything else.”

“Who’s Aira?”

“’Nother kid from your school who got mixed up in all this. Pink hair. Prissy. You'll know her when you see her.”

“And …” Momo hesitates, the itch prickling over the nape of her neck. “… Four Eyes?”

Grandma breathes out slowly, smoke billowing around her face. “What about him?”

“Were we really friends?”

Grandma takes extra time with this one, seeming to mull it over. She watches Momo carefully over the rim of her glasses. Momo feels stiff and wired under her gaze, like a string pulled taut. Her heart seems to slow down, as if it’s waiting for an answer too.

“Thicker ’n’ thieves," Grandma says at last.

Momo’s body relaxes, but her chest feels strangely hollow. She scratches at the lingering tingle on her neck.

“Look,” Grandma goes on, “all I’m sayin’ is to give ’em a chance. They’re your friends. Let ’em prove it to ya.”

Momo releases a breath. “Alright.”

“And go easy on Vamola too. You two were practically sisters.”

Momo grimaces. “Is she really an alien?”

“Hell if I know. But she’s a good kid. And this is her home too now. Got it?”

Momo thinks of the onigiri with the seaweed smile and the bean-sprout antennas.

“Fine.”

They pass the rest of the day lounging in Grandma’s bed, eating leftovers and drinking barley tea. Momo begs Grandma to tell all the real stories of the yokai she’s researched online before. Grandma tells Momo about kitsune and tengu and oni. She explains the legends of, like, five different toilet ghosts, but insists that only one of them is actually real (“If that bastard Aka Manto ever offers you toilet paper,” she warns grimly, “do not accept any, of any color. Just high-tail it bare-assed outta there”). 

When Momo asks about Evil Eye and Acrobatic Silky, Grandma tells her to ask Jiji and Aira instead. But when she asks about Turbo Granny, she goes quiet for a minute, taking a long, slow drag of her cigarette.

“Grandma?” Momo prompts.

Grandma blows out all the smoke in a huff. “She’s a miserable old hag. But I guess it takes one to know one.” She pauses. “I’ll tell ya later, ’kay? I wanna watch some Bakatono.”

Momo groans. “Come on. You’ve seen every episode, like, fifty times by now.”

“Yeah? And you’ve seen every Ken Takakura movie fifty times.”

“I would soooo rather watch a Ken-san film right now. That’s real cinema.”

“Too bad you’re not in charge around here,” Grandma says, cigarette wagging in her mouth. “Now set up a futon in the front room so my injured ass will be properly cushioned.”

Momo sits through two excruciating hours of it before the front door slides open. She’s so bored to tears that it’s almost a relief when Space Girl walks in.

“Hi, Grandma!” she says cheerily. “Hi, Momo!”

“Hey, kid.”

Space Girl kicks off her shoes and shrugs off her backpack like she’s lived here all her life. Momo catches herself clenching her teeth and has to slowly ease her jaw apart. 

“Grandma, how do you feel?” Space Girl asks, plopping down beside them.

“Still on the mend. But gettin’ there,” Grandma says. “The kappa’s s’posed to come over tomorrow and hand off some kinda doohickey to help the healin’ go faster. We’ll see.”

“That’s good! I’m sure Mr. Mantis Shrimp can help.” Space Girl turns to Momo. “And how do you feel, Momo? Has your memory come back?”

Momo blinks. This girl has literal stars in her eyes. What the hell.

“Um, no. But … I’ve decided I believe you guys. Mostly. Or … I’m trying to.”

Space Girl’s smile is so bright that Momo has to resist the urge to squint.

“That’s good! I’m glad. And I’m glad you’re not tiny anymore. And I’m glad I remember you again, even if you don’t remember me.” She tilts her head, her strange green eyes sparkling. “You were my first friend on this planet, besides Takakura.”

Momo’s scalp tingles, and she scratches at it absently. She hadn’t noticed before, but Space Girl uses the same odd personal pronoun as Occult-kun. Everything else is so weird about her that it almost fits, in a way.

“I, um, got the bento you left me,” Momo says, choosing to ignore the whole I’m-From-Another-Planet comment. “And the note.”

Space Girl beams. “Did you like it? Mr. Manjiro showed me how to make it! He found videos on BooTube.”

“Yeah! It was tasty. And really cute. Thank you. That was …” Momo musters a smile. “... really nice.”

“You’re welcome! And oh! I almost forgot. I have something else for you.” Space Girl hops up to rummage through her backpack. “Here.”

She holds out a DVD case. Momo’s eyes go wide.

“NO. WAY. Golgo 13 special edition?” She snatches it out of Space Girl’s hands. “Where did you get this? This is so rad! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She throws her arms around Space Girl and squeezes tight, forgetting that she was possibly an alien and definitely taking over her room and trying to steal her grandma.

Space Girl giggles. “I’m glad you like it. But it’s not from me.”

“Hah?” Momo lets go. “Who’s it from, then?”

“Takakura.”

Momo clutches the DVD to her chest, ignoring the itch at the back of her neck. “Oh, um, that guy with the glasses, right?”

“Yep! He was at our meeting place this morning, but he didn’t walk to school with me. He didn’t come to class till after lunch.” Space Girl taps her chin. “I’m glad he didn’t get in trouble for being late. Tanaka-sensei can be strict.”

Momo stares down at the cover of the DVD, tracing it with her fingertips.

“After school, he gave this to me and said to give it to you,” Space Girl goes on. “I told him to just come home with me, but he said he didn’t want to disturb you.”

Momo looks up. “Why’d he get this, though? How’d he even know I wanted it?”

“He said it was to replace the one that got destroyed.”

“Huh? I’ve never owned Golgo 13 before.”

Space Girl shrugs. “You can ask him when you see him tomorrow.”

For some reason, Momo’s heartbeat stutters, and the itch at her neck grows stronger.

“Hey,” she says quickly, shoving the DVD in Space Girl’s face. “Wanna watch this with me?”

“Huh-uh,” Grandma protests. “We’re still watchin’ Bakatono.”

“Not anymore! Come on, Gran, please?” Momo kneels in front of Grandma, batting her eyes and letting her lips slip into a pout. “For your precious granddaughter, who’s super traumatized right now, and really, really needs to watch a show starring the greatest actor of all time?”

“The greatest actor of all time is Ken Shimura.” Grandma extinguishes her cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table. “But whatever. I gotta make dinner anyway.”

She attempts to stand, but Space Girl pushes her back down.

“Grandma, no!” she scolds. “You need to rest. Momo and I will make dinner. Right, Momo?”

Momo groans. “Fine. But we’re totally watchin’ Golgo 13 when we’re done!”

Space Girl takes Momo’s hand and drags her to the kitchen. “What should we make? Takoyaki?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

“Nah. Too much work.” Momo peers into a cupboard. “Uh … how ’bout curry? That’s easy.”

“Oh, sure! Curry is Takakura’s favorite.”

Momo rakes her nails over her sleeve. Why can’t she stop sayin’ that damn name? (Although, just the half of it isn’t so bad.)

They gather up the ingredients and fall into rhythm, chopping vegetables side by side. For once, Space Girl is quiet.

“Hey, um, V-Vamola?” Momo says.

“Hmm?” 

“I know I’ve been, like, grouchy. And rude. I’m sorry.” She puffs out a breath. “This is all pretty overwhelming. So, thanks for being so … nice.”

“Of course.” Vamola smiles. “You’re my friend, Momo.”

When the curry’s ready, they bring three steaming plates of it to the living room, and Momo finally convinces Grandma to turn off Bakatono. She complains all through Golgo 13, but Momo doesn’t even mind. It’s such a familiar scene, arguing with Grandma between bites of a hot meal. For the first time since she woke in Shimane, she actually feels normal.

Later that night, Momo lies awake, staring up at the ceiling, while Vamola sleeps soundly on the floor. She thought she’d hate having someone else in her room, but it’s sort of … comforting, in a way. Familiar, even.

She lets her eyes fall close, trying to match the pattern of Vamola’s breathing. But her mind wanders back to Occult-kun.

He’d gone out of his way to get her that DVD. Skipped school, even, from the sound of it. And it can’t have been cheap. Why would he do that? 

I owe you a lot, Miss Ayase. I owe you everything.

Was that it, then? He felt … indebted to her, somehow? He got her a present just to pay off his tab? Momo huffs. Just the idea of it pisses her off.

But then … he didn’t sound like that’s how he thought of it. He’d seemed so … sincere. According to him, Momo was his first friend. Just like Vamola.

Thicker than thieves, Grandma had said.

But what did that mean? Had she been closer to him than she’d been to Jiji? To Vamola? To Miko and Muko?

Momo rolls over, burying her face in her pillow. She can’t even remember his face properly. When she tries to picture it, all she sees is those damn glasses, blocking out his eyes.

Her neck prickles. She scratches roughly. Maybe she has a rash. Maybe she’s allergic to aliens.

She groans. Her stomach kinda hurts too. She’d probably eaten too much curry. Or, no, it’s more her chest. Feeling, somehow, empty and full at the same time.

What color had his eyes been? Brown, obviously. But what kind? Really dark, so the pupil almost blends with the iris? Medium, like coffee with just a splash of cream?

(And damn it, why does she even care? She doesn’t even know him.)

It’s weirdly stuffy in her room. Maybe she should crack the window open.

(She’ll have to check tomorrow.)

Chapter Text

“Momo. Wake up.”

A pair of starry green eyes blinks at her, centimeters from her face. Momo jolts upright with a strangled yell, almost hitting Vamola on the nose.

“Geez! Don’t aliens know about personal space?”

“I tried waking you up three times,” Vamola says. “We have to go.”

Momo groans and runs a hand over her face. “School? Nah. Pass.”

“Grandma says you have to.”

“I can’t go to school lookin’ like this! I gotta do my makeup first.”

“There’s no time.” Vamola tugs at Momo’s arm. “Takakura is probably waiting for us already.”

Momo stiffens. Her heart seems to trip over itself, and the itch twinges annoyingly at the back of her neck.

She plops back down and yanks her blankets over her head.

“I don’t feel good,” she mumbles. “I ain’t goin’ today. Just go on without me.”

“Well.” Vamola pauses. “Okay. See you, Momo. Hope you feel better.”

Momo waits until the door clicks shut before she emerges. Her face feels all hot. Probably because it was so stuffy under the blankets. But that has nothing to do with that damn itch.

“MOMO!” Grandma bellows up the stairs, with way too much energy for someone who’s supposed to be hurt so bad. “Get your ass down here!”

Momo groans.

“I’m sick!” she hollers back.

“Quit lyin’! I told ya it’s non-negotiable today!”

“I’m already late!”

“Then you better hurry your ass up!”

Ughhhhh.

Slowly, Momo climbs out of bed. She takes as long as possible to get ready. Washing up. Putting on makeup. Doing her hair. She fiddles with her bow till it hangs just right over her sweater—loose and casual, but not sloppy. She pinches at her socks till the scrunches are perfect. She tries on five different pairs of earrings till she comes back to the same big turquoise pair she always wears.

Finally, she can’t stall anymore. So she stumps down the stairs, dragging her feet the whole way.

“You sure took your sweet time,” Grandma comments over a cup of coffee. She still seems worn, but she looks stronger today. More like her old self. Her hair is even piled up in her usual topknot. “But don’t think that’ll get ya out of it. You’re goin’ to school today.”

“Don’t ya need me to stay home and take care of you?” Momo asks hopefully.

“Nice try. Manjiro’s comin’ back to be a pain in my ass for the rest of the day.”

“Damn.”

Momo kneels at the table and reaches for the bowl of rice, but Grandma snatches it away.

“Huh-uh. Sit-down breakfasts are for good, punctual kids. You can have a piece of toast while ya walk.”

“Ughhh. Seriously?”

“Seriously. Get movin.’ And don’t forget your lunch. Vamola made ya another bento.”

Two minutes later, Momo trudges toward the torii gate with a slice of buttered shokupan. She’s normally a pretty quick walker, but she forces herself to move slowly down the path. Maybe if she takes long enough, she can miss all of first period.

She chews methodically on a bite of toast. The walk to school feels sorta lonely today—but she’s always walked to school alone. It was nice, usually, to have a little moment to herself in the mornings. If she had a phone, she’d listen to music. She feels strangely exposed without her earbuds. 

She scratches at her neck with her free hand. Vamola and Occult-kun must have arrived at school a while ago. What did they talk about on the way? Vamola probably told him they’d watched Golgo 13. She wonders if he’s ever seen it.

All of a sudden, her heart feels stuck in her throat. She tries to swallow it back down with her last bite of toast, but it stays lodged there, making her feel like she can hardly breathe.

What the hell is wrong with her?

She turns the corner and freezes.

A boy is standing at the end of the street, on the other side of the crosswalk. Spidery hair. Slumped shoulders. Round glasses, catching the light so she can’t see his eyes.

Momo’s heart thunders in her chest. His head is bowed. He hasn’t seen her yet. She can leave now, before he notices she’s there. She tries to turn around, but her shoes feel like they’re glued to the sidewalk.

The boy lifts his head, and his shoulders straighten.

Why is he here? He should be at school, doodling UFOs on his notes or whatever, and forgetting all about the girl who’d been so cruel to him. Who’d called him a liar and said she never wanted to see him again.

The white sheen of his glasses is turned right at her. He’s watching her. Waiting.

Momo’s eyes drop to the sidewalk. The stinging, aching itch feels like it’s eating her alive. But she forces herself to step into the street.

When she gets to the other side, she doesn’t look up. His neat white shoes are perfectly still. 

“Um.” She fights the urge to scratch her neck. “Mornin’.”

“G-good morning, Miss Ayase.”

He speaks carefully, softly, using polite speech forms, just like before. He even sinks into a belated half-bow.

Momo’s cheeks feel hot. She keeps her eyes trained on his sneakers.

“Geez. No need for all that,” she mumbles. “I ain't the emperor.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly.

Sorry? He’s saying sorry to her?

“Don’t go apologizin’ either,” she says, more gruffly than she means to.

“So—o-okay.”

Ugh. Why is this so hard? She still can’t even bring herself to look at him. She tries to drag her eyes upward, but her gaze tilts sideways on the way.

“Why’re ya bein’ so formal, anyway?” she asks the bike rack behind him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand come up to adjust his glasses. “This is … just how I talk.”

Finally, her eyes flicker to his face. The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Even with your friends?”

He stiffens, still clutching the rim of his glasses. “A-are we friends, Miss Ayase?”

She wrenches her eyes away again, before that soft, surprised look on his face makes her explode. Her fingers pinch at her bangs, blocking her sightline. “You tell me.”

“Well … we were, before. And … I'd like to be. Again. If … that's okay.” He takes a breath, like he’s steadying himself. “I’d really, really like to be your friend again, Miss Ayase.”

For a moment, she feels like she’s submerged in water, suspended under crystal waves. Her pulse thuds through her whole body, muffled and dull. Everything blurs around her—the trees, the bikes, the street signs. Just smudges of color at the edges of her vision.

But in the middle of it all, he’s there, in perfect focus. And for once, she can see his eyes.

Chocolate brown. Dark and rich and warm.

She wants to cry.

“Whatever.” She pushes past him, fast, so she doesn't have to look at his face anymore.

“M-Miss Ayase! Wait for me!”

She doesn’t slow down. He has to jog to catch up.

“What were ya doin’, standin’ around on this corner, anyway? Dontcha know how late it is?” She still refuses to look at him. The itch prickles over her skin. 

“I was waiting for you.”

“Why would ya do that?”

“We always walk together.”

“Didn't Vamola come by?”

“Um, yes.”

“She didn’t tell ya I wasn't comin’ today?”

“She did. But I wanted to wait anyway. Just in case.”

“That's pretty stupid of you.”

“Is it? You came, didn't you?”

Momo nearly stumbles, and against her will, she glances his way. Those brown eyes are there to meet her, making her cheeks flood with heat before she tears her gaze away again.

Why was she so affected by this stranger? Why was her heart beating so fast? Probably just because she knew he had Ken-san’s name.

For several minutes, they walk in silence, falling into matching strides. The itch seems to dig at her, burrowing deep into her bones, making them feel like live wires, sparking with lightning. She wants to sprint ahead, away from this boy and his eyes and his name, but she can’t bring herself to break their rhythm.

“Um, Miss Ayase?” he says at last.

His face is unreadable in her peripherals. She keeps her eyes forward, focused on the sidewalk ahead.

“I … I know you said you didn’t want to see me again. So you must be angry that I’m here. But … I’d really appreciate it if you heard me out. Just this once. And then, if you want, I’ll leave. I won’t bother you again.”

He falls silent, still watching her, waiting for a signal. Without looking at him, she gives a curt nod.

“Th-thank you.” A shaky breath. “I know it’s probably hard to believe that you would choose to be friends with someone like me, but … somehow … you did. And it meant a lot to me. You mean a lot to me, Miss Ayase.”

Beneath the itch, a cavernous ache yawns wide inside her chest. The street ahead goes blurry, and she blinks once, hard.

“And—and I know I’m just a stranger to you. And there’s no reason for you to listen to me. I just keep thinking that if you knew, you’d be pissed at me for not trying. For … for giving up on you so fast.”

The school is just ahead now. Almost there. She quickens her pace, disrupting their cadence for a moment before he lengthens his stride to match her.

“Look, I don’t expect you to just take my word on any of this,” he says. “I—I don’t want you to. I want to earn your trust. You can tell me to get lost, and I will, but if you’ll let me, I’ll prove myself to you. I promise.”

They’ve reached the school gates now. Momo finally slows to a stop, and he trails to a halt beside her. She can’t bring herself to look him in the eyes again, so she fixes her gaze at the level of his shoulders.

“Is that why you got me that DVD?” she asks. “You tryna bribe me or somethin’?”

“What? No! I just …” His shoulders slump, head bowed. “I just thought you’d like it.”

“I did.”

He lifts his head. “Really?”

“’Course. It’s a damn good movie.” She closes her eyes, breathing out a sigh. “Ugh, I’m such an asshole.”

“What?”

“You didn’t need to do … all that. I was so shitty to you the other day. And even now, after you’ve been so …” She lets out a frustrated groan, tugging at her bangs, scratching at her sweater. “I still just—I can’t … geez.”

“Sorry,” he says again.

“Would ya cut it out with the damn apologies?” she snaps. “I’m tryna apologize to you.” 

“I—oh.”

She sucks in a breath, steeling herself, and raises her head.

Those eyes. The kind that tons of girls would kill for. Huge and round, with thick lashes peeking out from beneath the hood of his lids. Somehow dark and bright at once.

They flicker between hers, soft, earnest, questioning, and a strange feeling overtakes her—like she’s been chasing a moment just like this one and has finally caught up to it. A chance to look into these eyes like this, and find the answer to a question she’s not brave enough to ask. Or maybe just the confirmation of a truth she already knows. 

She doesn’t know the question, or the truth, or the answer, but somehow, that part doesn’t matter. She finds herself releasing all her breath, deep and slow, while the tension of her last two sleepless nights drains away.

For the first time since she woke, the itch goes quiet.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers.

His fingers grip his glasses, and his head lowers slightly, so that the lenses flash white. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed that his eyes are hidden again.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It was a lot to handle. Anyone would be upset.”

“Yeah, but I didn't have to be such a douche about it.”

“No! Well …” His voice trails into a mumble. “Yeah, maybe.”

A wispy huff of a laugh escapes her. He bites his lip, then breathes out a quiet laugh of his own. It’s gone as quickly as it came, like a glimmer of gold. She wishes she could hold it tight inside her fist. She’s never seen him smile.

“Listen …” She grips the straps of her backpack, face warming. “I … I wanna be your friend too.”

His mouth falls open in a tiny O, eyes still covered by the shine of his glasses.

“If you’re okay bein’ friends with a dickweed, that is.” She laughs nervously.

“Please don’t say that.” He lifts his head, finally showing his eyes again, and his lips curve, just a little. “I’d … love to be your friend, Miss Ayase.”

“Good.” She clears her throat. “Um, we better get to class. First period will be over soon.”

“Right …”

They walk past the gate in silence. She pauses at the doors, chewing her lip.

“Um … would you wanna … eat lunch together?” she asks. “You could … fill me in.”

“Fill you in? Like, tell you—what?”

“Everything.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Grandma only told me bits and pieces earlier. She said you’re the one who has the full story.”

“Oh.” He nudges his glasses up on his nose. “Well, sure, I’d be happy to.”

“Okay. Meet me on the roof?”

“Sounds good.”

He reaches for the door, holding it open for her, but she stops before the threshold.

“Okarun.”

He blinks, eyes widening. They catch a ray of morning sun, lighting up inside like amber.

She wets her lips, but the words feel caught in her throat. She isn’t exactly sure what she wants to say, anyway. There’s too much. There’s not enough.

He tilts his head, curious, patient, watching her with his sunlit eyes. Her cheeks warm under his gaze.

“Thank you,” she says at last.

His eyes soften, and for the first time, he smiles.

“You’re welcome, Miss Ayase.”

Inside the school, Momo steals over to her locker and swaps her street shoes for slippers. She glances at the clock in the hallway. Just a minute till the end of the period. She makes her way to class B, hanging back until the chime rings.

She’s barely made it inside the classroom door when a shriek fills her ears and she’s almost bowled over by a blur of bleach-blonde pigtails.

“Girl! Where the hell have you been?” Miko plants her hands on her hips while Muko continues to crush Momo’s spine. “Jiji says you were in some kinda accident or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” Momo chokes. “Muko, let me breathe. Geez.”

“You were gone for aaages!” Muko pouts, finally releasing her. “What gives?”

“Not to mention, you didn’t even try to keep us in the loop!” Miko scoffs. “Like, I know you got no phone, but come on! I know you got a computer at home. Ever heard of Insta? Twitter? Hell, I would’ve logged into my 8th-grade fashion blog on damn Tumblr to talk to you.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Momo plops into her chair. “I didn’t mean to ghost you guys. Promise. Somethin’ … happened to me.”

“What?” Miko eyes her up and down. “Are ya hurt? You look fine to me.”

“Nah, I’m not hurt.”

“Do you mean, like, a heartbreak?” Muko perches her chin on the edge of Momo’s desk, blinking up at her with her long false eyelashes. “Did ya break up with Okarun?”

Momo jumps in her seat. “HAH?”

“Come on, Muko. You know they’re ‘not dating.’” Miko’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Seriously, though, if that’s the case … I hope you let him down easy. He’s a good guy.”

Momo’s face blazes with heat. “The hell are you talkin’ about? You guys know Okarun?”

“Uh, duh.” Muko frowns. “What’s this all about? You sure you’re not, like, sick or somethin’?”

“No,” Momo says. “And I’m not—”

“MOMOOOOOOO!”

A familiar, sing-songy voice cuts her off, and Jiji twirls into view, striking a pose in front of her.

“Sure am glad to see ya!” He beams. “Class was awful dark yesterday when it was down a cuuuuutie!”

“Shh, Jiji, not now,” Miko scolds. “Our girl’s goin’ through a breakup.”

Jiji freezes mid-moonwalk. “Huh?”

“Um, yeah!” Muko straightens in her seat. “She broke up with Okarun!”

Momo buries her face in her hands. She’s pretty sure the residual heat will give her second-degree burns. “I told you. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Soooo … you and Okarun are still together?” Muko asks.

“NO. We’re not—we were never—” Momo groans. “I don’t even know the guy!”

Miko and Muko blink. Jiji rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Okay, ya lost me,” Miko says.

Momo huffs a breath. “I lost my memory, ’kay? That’s the accident Jiji was talkin’ about. I ain’t hurt, but up here?” She points to her head. “It’s gone. Poof.”

“Whaaaat? No way!” Muko leans forward. “But you remember us, right?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure how much has been, like, erased. But … since before I met Okarun, I guess. I don’t remember him at all.”

“Dude.” Miko drops into her own seat. “That bites. You serious?”

Momo sighs. “Dead serious.”

“Wait, but you know Jiji, right?” Muko seizes Jiji’s hoodie and drags him down to Momo’s eye level, right in front of her face. “Jiji, remember?”

Jiji puffs his cheeks and crosses his eyes. Momo shoves his face away.

“Yeah, yeah, I know Jiji. Or at least, I remember him from elementary school. And he’s basically the same goofball he always was.” She pauses, catching his eye. “But we’re still sort of … getting to know each other again. Rekindling the friendship, I guess.”

Jiji springs into a salute. “Yes, ma’am! Engaging friendship core! Set blasters to … schweety-pie!” He mimes beaming her with a laser gun, and she rolls her eyes with a smirk.

“Anyway, I’m sorry I worried you guys,” Momo says. “I really missed you!”

“Aw, we missed ya too!” Muko throws her arms around Momo again, and this time, Miko joins her.

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Miko says. “This memory-loss thing kind of sounds like hell, though.”

“Yeah … it hasn’t been fun.” Momo turns back to Jiji. “Hey, I owe you an apology too.”

Jiji holsters his pretend laser gun. “Nah. It’s all good.”

“No, seriously,” she insists. “I was a huge jerk to you. And you were just tryna help. I’m really sorry.”

Jiji’s smile is bright and easy. “No worries. I get it. I’m just happy we can be friends again.”

“Same.” Momo smiles back. “Hey, uh, I’m kinda on an apology kick lately, sooo … is there anyone else you can think of that I owe one too? I already got Gran, Vamola, and Okarun.”

“Uh …”

“From the last two days only, though.” Momo folds her arms. “I ain’t apologizin’ for anything I don’t remember. That’s Old Momo’s beef.”

“Uh, well, you’ll probably owe Aira an apology within five minutes of meeting her,” Jiji says with a laugh. “But she’s not here today anyway. Okarun said she’s still recovering from an attack at the school. But don’t worry! She’s okay. Should be back soon.”

Momo frowns. “What about that one guy? Was I ever rude to him? I can’t remember ...”

“What guy?” Jiji asks.

“The one from the plane. The hot one. With the earrings. Zuma, I think?”

The smile slides off Jiji’s face.

“You don’t owe that guy shit.”

Class seems to take forever. Momo tries to pay attention, but her eyes keep drifting to the clock, waiting for lunch to arrive. She puts her backpack on with ten seconds still to go, springing up when the chimes finally sound again.

“Wow, someone’s hungry.” Miko yawns and stretches. “Wanna grab lunch at the caf?”

“Nah. Got a bento today.”

“We could meet you on the roof!” Muko suggests, peering into her compact mirror. She wets her thumb and wipes away a smudge of mascara.

“Uh …” Momo fiddles with an earring. “I’m s’posed to meet Okarun up there.”

“Cool! We can eat together.” Muko clicks her compact shut, and Miko elbows her.

“I think Momo wants to be alone with her not-a-boyfriend that she just barely met.” Miko raises her eyebrows. “Am I right?”

Momo blushes. “Geez. You don’t gotta say it like that. I’m just tryna, like, get to know him. Since we used to be friends ’n’ all.”

“Yeah, sounds like a date to me.” Miko stands and shoulders her backpack. “We’ll stay outta your hair for today.”

“Aw. Why does Okarun get to have lunch with Momo?” Muko whines.

“Did someone say ‘lunch with Momo’?” Jiji hunches over, pretending to hold a cane. “Good idea, that is. Very hungry, I am.”

“C’mon, Yoda.” Miko grabs his sleeve and drags him toward the door. “We’re goin’ to the caf. We’ll eat with Momo next time.”

“We better!” Muko shouts back at her. Momo gives her a thumbs up.

She waits for a second before she follows the rest of the class out the door, feeling suddenly fluttery and nervous. Her heart hammers as she climbs the stairs to the roof, and she pauses at the door to catch her breath.

Okarun hasn’t arrived yet. She scans the empty roof and then flops onto a bench to wait.

The minutes crawl by. Momo keeps her eyes glued to the door.

Damn, what’s takin’ him so long? Did he have to take a crap or somethin’? She’s starting to get hungry for real now. But it’d be rude to start eating without him, right? She sighs and leans back on the bench, crossing her ankles. It’d be nice to have something to sip on, at least. She should have grabbed a Pompy from the school store.

Finally, the door bangs open, and a figure in a dark uniform appears.

“Miss Ayase! I’m so sorry!” Okarun calls as he runs toward her. A plastic sack swings from his hand.

“’Bout time!” Momo gripes. “I was startin’ to think you wouldn’t show. If I’d known you’d take forever, I woulda gotten myself a Pompy.”

Okarun slows to a stop at the bench, panting, and reaches into his sack. “Here.”

He holds out an orange carton—cold, delicious Pompy, sweating on the sides.

“For me?” Momo asks. “Aw, sick! Thanks!”

He sinks onto the bench beside her. “Sorry about the wait. The line was super long today.”

Momo opens the carton and sticks the straw in. “Where’s yours?”

“They were almost sold out. That was the last one.”

Momo pauses, lips halfway to the straw. “Oh. Well, here, take this.”

She holds out the juice, but Okarun shakes his head.

“C’mon, I can’t take this if you don’t have one! Not after you waited in line for it and everything.”

“I got it for you,” he says. “I know they’re your favorite.”

Momo takes a sullen sip, feeling her cheeks grow warm again. “Dude, you can’t just keep gettin’ me presents like this. I can’t be bought, okay? I ain’t a sellout.”

In the corner of her eye, she sees him smile.

“And what exactly am I buying?” he asks.

“I dunno. It’s your nefarious plan.” She takes another sip. “However, because this Pompy is delicious, and Golgo 13 is an extremely rad movie, I’ve decided to trust you. Don’t make me regret that.”

He laughs. “I’ll try.”

She sets the Pompy on the bench and unzips her backpack, pulling out her bento. 

“Aren’t ya hungry?” she asks, nodding toward his plastic bag. “C’mon, take out your lunch.”

“Oh, it’s, uh—it was just the Pompy.” He waves the empty bag.

Momo frowns. “So where’s your lunch?”

“I, uh … forgot it at home.”

“Why didn’t you buy something at the store while you were there?”

His hand comes up to hold his glasses, blocking her view of his face. “Didn’t have enough change,” he mumbles.

“What the hell! Why’d ya go buyin’ me a damn Pompy when you didn’t even have somethin’ to eat!” She lets out a huff. “C’mon, we’ll split my bento.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Dude. I ain’t gonna let ya starve.”

Momo lifts the lid from the bento.

It’s pretty much the same as yesterday, with the flower-shaped veggies and the rice ball shaped like Momo. There’s a second onigiri too, with the same smiling mouth and blushing cheeks as before. But this time, it doesn’t have bean-sprout antennas.

This time, it has a pair of glasses.

She stares at the heart-shaped omelet wedged between rice-ball Momo and rice-ball Okarun. Then panic erupts inside her. She slams the lid back down, cheeks flaming.

“Oh, th-that’s fine!” Okarun says. “I’m not even that hungry. I don’t—”

“Ugh. Shut up.” Momo lifts the lid again and shoves it toward him, turning her head away. “Take one.”

Okarun is quiet for a second. “Uh … is that you? And, um … me?”

“I dunno! I didn’t make it. Vamola did.”

“Oh. I see. Which one do you …?”

“I don’t care! Just take one!”

The box gets lighter in her hand. She brings it back to her lap, staring down at the Okarun-shaped rice ball left inside.

“It’s … cute,” Okarun says.

“Yeah. Super cute.” Momo’s face still burns. “Is she, like, obsessed with you, or what?”

“Miss Vamola?” He takes a bite of the Momo onigiri, chewing thoughtfully, and swallows. “Well, she’s pretty attached to me, I guess. Since she’s in my class, and I helped her learn Japanese. But I think she’s just as attached to you.”

“Right.” Momo tears a chunk out of Ricekarun’s face. 

Damn it. Crab is delicious.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. When Ricekarun is gone, Momo takes her half of the omelet heart and offers the other to Okarun—which somehow feels just as humiliating as the onigiri.

“Thanks,” Okarun says. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I owed ya. For the Pompy.” She shifts toward him on the bench. “And now, you owe me. The full story. Spill it. I wanna know everything.”

“Um.” He pinches the rim of his glasses, still facing forward. “I’m not sure there’s time. Lunch will be over soon.”

“So we’ll cut class again. We already missed first period.”

“Miss Ayase—”

“Please. I gotta know.”

He lowers his hand, turning toward her. His eyes search hers.

“Okay.”

And so he tells her. He tells her how they met at school. The bullies. The argument. The bet. He tells her about the abduction and the aliens and the UFO (“UAP,” he corrects her). About Turbo Granny’s tunnel and the race with the crab. His curse, and her powers. The search for the golden balls.

He tells her how they met Aira, and then Jiji. He tells her about all the supernatural creatures they’d come across—the Flatwoods Monster, and Acrobatic Silky, and Nessie, and Mr. Mantis Shrimp, and Evil Eye. He tells her about Vamola and her kaiju suit. The perv and his nanotech. The invaders from space. The class rep and her … whatever the hell that was. He tells her about Zuma and the trunk and the curse that made her tiny.

It’s around this part that he gets nervous, shielding his eyes from her with his hand while a rosy blush dusts his cheeks. She pesters him about what he’s skipping over, but he insists it doesn’t matter. Before she can push it, he rambles on about a bunch of knife-wielding power thieves and a girl’s entourage of invisible pygmies.

“So … um … that's it,” he says at last. “You're caught up.”

Momo twirls her straw around in her empty Pompy carton. “It's a pretty good story. Sorta convoluted plot, though.”

“Do you … believe it?”

She lowers the carton. “It sounds totally batshit, ya know that?”

“I know.”

“But …”

“But …?”

“I believe you.”

“Really?” His eyes widen. “What changed your mind?”

She laughs. “You’re just so damn sincere. I feel like you couldn’t lie if you tried.”

“I'm not lying!”

“I know that. Well, I think I know that.” She shakes her head. “But this is all still crazy. Like. Completely bananas.”

Okarun cringes. “Please don’t mention bananas. You’ll call down the Serpoians on us.”

Momo snorts. “Did they really say that? ‘Give us your banana’?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Many times.”

Momo laughs—a deep belly laugh, shaking her whole body.

“It’s not that funny,” Okarun says dubiously, but that just makes her laugh harder. She feels light as air, tears streaming from her eyes. She tries to stop, but her attempts are all fruitless, and soon Okarun joins her, both of them clutching their bellies under the gold of the afternoon sun.

At last, their laughter fades. Momo leans back, wiping her eyes. “Man. My stomach hurts. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.”

“Me neither,” Okarun says.

She takes a deep breath. “I think I really needed that.”

“Me too.”

She turns to him and smiles. “Thanks.”

“I mean, I didn’t invent that joke. Also, it’s not even a joke.”

She laughs again, softly this time. “No, I know. I just meant … thanks for tellin’ me everything.”

“I know it’s a lot,” he says apologetically. 

“Yeah. Honestly, I’ll probably forget most it and keep askin’ you a million questions.”

“That’s okay.”

The sun is behind him now, keeping his eyes in shadow, rich and dark behind his glasses. His hair lifts in the breeze and glints gold along the edges, like a crown.

“What?” he asks, catching her staring.

Momo tries to be embarrassed, but she isn’t. Not this time. She stares at him openly, and he stares right back. The sun’s warmth makes her feel hazy. The itch has been quiet all afternoon.

“I don’t get you,” she finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno.” She fishes in the bento box for a stray carrot. “I’m just tryna figure you out. And I can’t.”

“Maybe you’re overthinking it.” He shrugs. “I’m just an awkward guy.”

Momo nearly chokes on the carrot. “What the hell!”

Okarun’s shoulders jump up to his ears. “Sorry! I forgot you don’t like it when I say that.”

“Ugh. Just … nevermind.” Momo packs up the bento to hide her blush. “We’d better go so we can make it to last period. That was a friggin’ long story. Even with you skippin’ a buncha stuff.”

“I didn’t … skip that much,” he says, ears going pink.

“Whatever.” She stands, stretching, and slips her backpack on. “Wanna have dinner at my place tonight? We can invite Jiji too. I’m sure Grandma won’t mind. Vamola and I can cook.”

“Sure.” He puts his backpack on too. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“I just think it'll be nice to regroup with everyone who’s, like, involved. So I can finally be on the same page, ya know? And not bite anyone’s head off this time.” She sighs. “Actually, do you have my grandma’s number? Could ya text her a heads-up? My phone’s trashed, apparently.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. My phone got destroyed when yours did.”

“Oh. Hmm. Jiji’s still got one, right?”

“I think so.”

“Cool. I’ll ask him after class.”

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, the chime rings, signalling the start of the last break of the day. Momo scuffs her slipper against the floor.

“Well, um, see ya soon, then?” she asks.

His smile is a soft, bright, gentle thing, drawing the sunshine of the rooftop down into the hallway, making everything feel hazy and golden again.

“Yeah,” he says. “See you soon.”