Chapter Text
Momo sighed softly, her toes curling in her shoes. This part… this part always got to her. No matter how many times she’d read the old prose, her heart still raced in the same way, her eyes crinkling softly in second-hand pleasure.
A chime from the front door snapped her out of her reverie. Momo slammed the book shut with more force than necessary and stowed it beneath the front desk. She really had to stop reading ancient romance novellas on the job.
But really, was she to blame? Her sex life had all but dried up and their customer base was far and few between. Honestly, Momo wasn’t even sure how her Granny kept the gas lanterns lit in their magical oddities shop. She’d liken it to a ghost town, if the analogy wasn’t so on the nose.
She had to pass the time somehow.
Momo sat up slightly, smoothing her dress in a half-assed attempt to present herself well to whatever wackjob had found their way into their secluded little hovel. Her Granny may not be the most conventional, but she valued respect. Plus, they had a name to uphold as mystic experts. Momo wouldn’t allow herself to become a stain on Nessie’s otherwise respectable status.
A man – tall, somewhat self-effacing – carefully picked his way through the massive bookcases toward her. His eyes followed the spines as he walked, his side profile betraying nothing but a sharp, clean jawline and reflective silver spectacles. He turned his attention to her, his eyes obscured by the glare of his lenses in the dimly lit space, and Momo blanched.
Her eyes widened slightly as he came into view – it had been quite a long time since she’d seen a man so unoffensively handsome. Most people she knew nowadays boasted their beauty; their attractiveness like a slap across the face upon meeting. This man’s looks were anything but. Like seeing an old friend, or coming home after a prolonged trip abroad to familiar, breathtaking landscapes.
Her hands were clammy as she rubbed them absent-mindedly on her sweater dress. Hopefully her cloak kept the nervous tic out of view of Mr. Handsome.
He paused a respectful distance away from her desk, eyes slightly downcast. She hadn’t said anything yet - it felt like her voice was trapped somewhere far, far away.
Spit it out, Ayase!
“Anything I can…help you with? Uh…sir?”
Mr. Handsome cleared his throat, a polite smile on his lips as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. He was mid-greeting when he choked and coughed quietly, ducking his head yet again. Huh, strange. Momo thought. Do I have something on my face?
“Ah- ahem, please pardon me miss, is uh – is Nessie home?”
Momo’s eye twitched. Oh, he was one of those.
She squinted her eyes a bit, sizing him up yet again; this time under a completely different pretense. With a bit of effort, Momo hauled a dirty leather-bound catalogue up from under the desk and began rifling through the thin, worn pages.
Momo’s grandmother, Seiko, was one of the few powerful Sages left in their world. Her services as a Bridge and a Medium were highly sought after, which is why any coming to seek her aid or advisement had to know the secret phrase. Grandmother created the spell long ago – something about referrals, word of mouth, and business binds that Momo honestly didn’t care enough about to understand.
“Basically”, her grandmother said, “if someone tells another soul how to find me, they both get added to the ledger. If it deems them trustworthy, I’ll see them.”
She used to say it was for safety purposes, but Momo had a feeling it was so the old bag could handpick her bookings. She didn’t begrudge her for that.
It did mean that as Santa Dodoria, Seiko’s private appointments were few and far between. You had to know a guy, who knew a trustworthy guy, and be a pretty cool fellow yourself in order to make it onto the magical guestlist.
Momo paused on the page with the newest entries and glanced upwards, arching her eyebrow.
“Name?”
The man adjusted his glasses with a thumb and forefinger, cleared his throat and whispered something intelligible.
“Hm...? Excuse me…sorry, I didn’t catch that?”
What the heck, was this guy a secret weirdo? Or maybe his name wasn’t even on the list?
“I said it’s- uh- it’s Takakura, miss. Takakura Ken.”
Momo’s vision tunneled. She felt like she was being pulled back, way way back into her childhood – the last time she had heard that name…the infamous name of her high school crush.
Now it was her turn to murmur under her breath. “No way. Impossible.”
But sure enough, there it was – his name in his own neat, slanted script on the page. Takakura Ken.
How many years had it been? She wondered idly, tapping her nail lightly against his name on the page as it grew hot, glowing faintly with a greenish hue as a signal to her grandmother that her next appointment had arrived.
It had to be at least ten, if not more. Would he recognize her? Had he already, and that’s why he'd acted so shifty? She sure as shit hadn’t recognized him. But now it was wildly clear – though he had grown a half a dozen centimeters taller, broader, and his hair had softened into some sort of strange, messy waves, his eyes were the same. Big, bright, deep brown eyes framed beautifully by his signature circular glasses. She’d recognize them anywhere.
Except, it seemed, when they were right in front of her.
In her defense, he didn’t look like a goddamn male model the last time she’d seen him.
“Oka – Takakura?? From Class 2-C? Is that really you?”
He stayed eerily quiet, feet shifting slightly. No shot he didn’t remember her. They’d talked thousands of times!
“It’s me, Ayase? Ayase Momo, we were…in the same year…?” her voice faltered towards the end as his eyes finally found hers. The emotion in them looked so different – distant and reserved, nothing like how she remembered him. It made her sad, briefly, before she shook off the feeling and steeled herself.
“Of course. Miss Ayase. It is an honor to make your acquaintance again. I hope you are well.” He bowed low in the conventional manner of respectful greeting and Momo felt her cheeks warm.
“What’s with the pomp and circumstance? We’re literally, like, the same age. No need to be so formal.”
“Ah, my apologies…Mo – Miss Ayase.”
Momo just rolled her eyes. Same old Okarun, wound tighter than anything. She never could get him to crack open his hard exterior, even as kids.
She sighed and smiled slightly, resting her chin on her hand. Even though he was being a bit cold, it was really great to see him again. “So how’ve ya been? Still hunting aliens?”
He smiled back at her, still tight-lipped, though the warmth in his eyes flooded back some at the mention of aliens. “I’ve seen better days, Miss Ayase. It’s funny you ask because…the answer is yes, I have been on the hunt, and that’s exactly why I’m visiting your establishment today.”
Her eyebrows shot up, “Oh shit! No way! You’ve…actually made contact with them? You saw a UAP?”
He adjusted his glasses again, thumb and forefinger gripping the frames with more force than was probably necessary, and looked off to the side of her. He seemed almost sheepish as he said, “It’s more like, we’ve made contact with…each other?”
“Dude. That’s wicked. But why’d you wanna see Gran about some aliens? That’s totally not her thing.”
She turned her back, motioning for him to follow her.
She could hear him padding along obediently down the hallway just a few paces behind her. “Your grandmother is….the Great Sage, Santa Dodoria?”
“Yup,” she answered, popping the last syllable for emphasis, “and one day, that’ll be me. Family business, and all.” She turned towards him and winked, motioning with her left hand towards the sliding shoji doors that lead to her grandmother’s makeshift office.
She walked backwards a few paces and leaned against the thin wall, taking in Okarun’s thoroughly befuddled expression with glee. Good to know she hadn’t lost her edge from all those years ago; she could still rile him up quite easily.
He bowed slightly again in her direction and she had to prevent herself from eyerolling on the spot. “I had no idea. That must be an enormous responsibility to take on, Miss Ayase.”
Ugh. Who the heck says things like that?! He was so damn kind! It made her insides twist pleasantly and she grinned again in his direction, wider this time. “It can be, at times. But she does train me pretty well, so it’s not so bad. Plus, I’m a tough cookie. A lifetime of psychic training? Pssshh, ain’t nothin’ but a peanut!”
Okarun grinned right back at her and straightened to his full height once more. Damn, they used to be at eye level as teens. Turns out just a few centimeteres really did make a difference; he looked down on her and shook his head somewhat, “Still as strong-willed as ever. I’d expect nothing less from you, Miss Ayase.”
She waved him off, bashful under his too-honest eyes. “Whatever, Okarun, ya big softie. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for! Good luck!” She didn’t wait to hear his reply as she quickly made her way back towards the front of the store.
Maybe it seemed unnecessarily dismissive, but she was honestly quite flustered by the whole interaction.
Hopefully she could pass off the hurried exit as a need to attend to her post at the desk. That is, if he ever wanted to talk to her again.
Momo flopped back into her seat and held her head in slightly shaky hands. Get a grip, girl!
She’d tried and failed throughout high school to catch the eye of the introverted Takakura Ken. He was respectful but aloof, and she could never tell if he enjoyed her presence or merely tolerated her attempts at friendship.
She’d even divined a nickname so she could talk somewhat-openly about him to her best friends Miko and Kei. Occult-kun, for his deep fascination with all things paranormal. Okarun. How many times had she chastised herself for crushing on such a shy, awkward boy?
How many times had she cried to her grandmother, wishing he would pick up all the hints she dropped? Describing how he’d bury his face in another issue of the Globe before class began, or how he suddenly started showing up all of the other boys in their physical fitness tests in third year?
HOLY SHIT. Gran! That old bag is gonna embarrass the fuck outta me! Momo shot up out of her seat, abandoned her shoes, and cast a muffling charm on her stocking feet as she made her way as quickly as possible to the storeroom.
There was a tiny tear in the screen, hidden behind the large bonsai Seiko cared for dutifully. If she crouched just so, Momo could see her grandmother’s back and the somewhat obscured face of whoever sat across from her. And she could hear everything.
As a child, Momo would snoop for hours, intrigued by the high-ranking officials who so desperately jockeyed for her Granny’s counsel.
As a woman, she was intrigued for a completely different reason. She’d let the man she was obsessed with in her youth walk right into a friendly chat with her tactless guardian.
Just how fucked was she?