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A full day of strenuous work doesn't lend itself to an especially energetic nightlife. Bars and street festivals are for younger people- for university students or twenty year olds working office jobs. You enjoy the occasional fireworks festival or quiet night at a restaurant with friends but largely eschew anything that would require spending more time on your feet than necessary.Tonight is an exception. Tonight Miyu has tickets for a concert near the center of the city (at the very edge of what was the blast zone, where the great broccoli that sprung up out of the explosion can be seen clearly). Tonight Miyu has just been broken up with, and needs someone nearby. Not enough to not go to a loud, popular live house, but enough to ask you to tag along.Good people support their friends, and you are a good person, so of course you go. The fact that you desperately need someone to talk to at this new job, and that winning over Miyu is the first step to winning over the rest of your new coworkers, is a secondary consideration.The tresDivine concert house (recently renamed, you're told) is cool. People with spiky hair, bold makeup, and stylish clothes idle around, while the band sets up their sound system. All around you is the bubbling noise of people, talking about new bands or old idols, the latest fads and the most interesting gossip.The rubble from a madman's attempt at world domination is just two blocks away, and people want to chat about literally anything else. It's enough to make you want to scream.You don't, of course. You're here as a guest. Instead you stick close to Miyu, pat her back consolingly whenever anyone asks about her ex, and make frigid small talk with all her acquaintances. Perhaps you might have liked them, some other time- many of them do seem like genuinely fascinating individuals- but the preponderance of leather brings back confusing memories.You're so used to seeing Ryou Shimazaki everywhere you look that you almost don't notice him.It's Miyu who points him out, in an indirect way."There are so many pretty people here, Akari," she complains into your shoulder as the lead guitarist starts warming up. The buzz of synths reverbrates through your bones, but you only have yourself to blame for agreeing to go to a "very tame" avante-garde metal performance."You specifically ordered me not to let you go home with any of them," you remind her, a little more sharply than needed. For someone who can hold a running list of the entire freezer inventory in her head at any given time she can be terribly silly. A photographic memory can't make up for an inability to handle relationships."I know," she sniffs and smiles bravely. "They'd probably all be terrible lays too.""Miyu!" She is by far more scandalous than any of the polite seniors of your old job at the Cultural Tower. Something about a university campus cafeteria seems to attract more open minds. It's possible that you're turning into an old fogey. You try to take a more generous tack. "I'm sure some of them would be acceptable. Just not tonight, because you're staying with me.""Hmmm." Her eyes are already scanning the crowd, searching. You suppose you can't begrudge her that much. Window shopping is allowed, even if you are on a strict budget. She nods her head to a pretty girl in a tricolored wig and a pair of cargo shorts. "I'd trust her to take care of me." She darts her eyes over to you after she says it, like she's testing out new waters."You can let her take care of you tomorrow," you say, neutrally.Miyu's shoulders relax a little. "Okay, what about him?""No." You feel like your older sister, back in the days when you were determined to make every inadvisable romantic choice possible. She was always terribly smug about her guidance, telepaths tended to be in your experience, but she had never technically steered you wrong."Her?""Seems very nice, but no.""Hmmm. Maybe- no, not that one. Maybe him?"You nudge her gently. Now she's just being silly. "Those boots are ridiculous," you whisper, because people are packed in very tightly and you don't want to insult others too loudly in a public place. "Make a better choice for me to deny."She giggles. "Fine, fine. Okay, not him then. Not her either, I don't like that eyeshadow. He just looks like trouble-"You follow Miyu's gaze as she picks out unacceptable suitors. Amid the hubbub of the live house, too dark and loud to make out people more than a few feet away, it's easy enough to take her word for it. Everyone is just a blur of black tulle and eyeliner- hard to distinguish much less judge.But when she says "trouble" the man she's staring at half turns to look back at the two of you. A camera flash from somewhere in the endless crowd lights up his face and you see wild dark hair, closed eyes, a strong nose and a catlike smile. He's even still wearing the same clothes, or at least clothes impossibly similar to the ones he wore that day in the Cultural Tower.For one terrible moment you flash back to that day, the sunshine coming through the windows, the endless overconfidence emanating from the ESPers, the sinking feeling in your stomach that was just as quickly replaced by an anger that led you to do terrible things. His hand in your hair and his mouth at your neck.You don't know what he's doing here, but you intend to find out."Stay here!" you shout at Miyu as you begin to push your way through the mass of people. You ignore her protests that you shouldn't leave, that the music is just about to start.In a movie Shimazaki would meet your eyes through the crowd. He's blind, so no such thing happens. This means you have the advantage of surprise.You duck and weave through the stumbling, dancing people as the band begins to play a strong bass line. Shimazaki is in the middle of a little pack of enthusiastic dancers, managing to duck every wildly flailing arm. You begin to think up ways to catch him off guard but as you approach he stiffens with surprise.Right. You're still not entirely sure how his powers work."Fancy seeing you here," you say, pitching your voice up over the music. At the same time you reach out to grab his arm, to anchor him. Trapping a teleporter is as hopeless as trying to hold the sea in a colander, but honor demands that you at least try.He doesn't shy away, lets you grab his sleeve even as he ducks another enthused music fan. This close you can see a fading scar on his cheek, a pale purple bruise at his temple."Akari. You made it out. I'm so glad."Annoyance begins to build like a pressure migraine behind your left eye. "If you were that invested in my survival you could have done something to facilitate it.""Yes," he agrees, still smiling. Then, to your surprise, he pulls away from your grasp and kneels. Several of the other audience members around you stop, turning to watch the scene. Even Miyu has a clear view of what's happening now. Shimazaki tilts his head up, as if to look up at you through his eyelashes with still shuttered eyes. "I would like to apologize, deeply and truly," he says, so softly you can barely hear it against the wailing of the guitar. "I think you are owed that much?"You are owed so much more. Just as you begin to lean forward, to grab him by the collar and haul him up and shout, he disappears in a flash. The air left after he goes tastes like tacky cologne.The other music listeners applaud politely for the magic trick then turn back to the real show. You stalk back to Miyu.Worry is written on her face, sharp as stone carved words.She knows how you lost your last job in an explosion, knows you were involved in the Situation at the Cultural Tower. It was all the gossip when you were first hired at the campus cafeteria. You fielded dozens of questions about ESPers, about the Prime Minister, about the explosion and the Divine Tree, before your boss finally declared a moratorium on Claw related discussions and won your eternal respect.Miyu just nestles back up to your side and mutters, "I said he looked like trouble. Are you okay?""Yeah," you lie. "Let's listen to the music, okay?"It's loud and full of energy, the sort of energy that urges you to do what you want because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. It's exactly the sort of music you can imagine Shimazaki listening to- rebellious but not principled, revolutionary in that it is self-serving.It's hard to get him out of your head, now that you know he's here, that's he's been in your city, walking your streets.Maybe it's the rock music talking, but you feel inclined to do something rash. The next day after an early breakfast shift you go find the one who controls plants.Despite all the terrorism and the hole in the city center where office buildings used to be this ex-Claw member hasn't been hiding. You've kept track of all of them, as much as possible, and he's by far the most accessible. Nanami swears she saw the man with the umbrella walking in a suit around the town center, and you know for a fact that a few people with scars have shown up to job interviews around town, but the chloropath is actually working as a florist now, in a little shop near the Salt District.It was Tanaka, your former coworker, who told you about where to find him. It was Tanaka who first spotted him, quiet and lavender haired, doing menial work behind the counter of the florist's and acting like he hadn't just tried to take over the world.It terrified the old man, who had stayed with you until the end of your adventures that day. Unlike the rest of your coworkers, who managed to evacuate out the service entrance and pick their way across the rubble to the open arms of the military, the two of you had been forced by circumstance to remain in the Cultural Tower until shortly before its destruction. As you, Tanaka, and a handful of red-suited Claw foot soldiers had fled you had seen such strange things.It was hard to forget the shuddering feeling as the air bent and frayed around you, or the shaking under your feet. Even the earth had been unsteady. Your band of evacuees had steered clear of the larger group of ESPers congregating a few yards outside the doors but you'd still seen the stones fly up as green shoots grew into powerful vines. Still running, you'd felt the heat of a building explosion that never came. Instead all that simmering energy had been turned into a mushroom cloud that bloomed green and rocked the rubble of the city to its core. You don't remember the face of whoever commanded those wild vines- the figure in their center was far less important than the fact that there were living vines moving like animals- but if Tanaka says this is the one then you'll trust him. At seventy he's had far more trouble than you finding a new job. More than a few of his new spare hours have been spent researching psychics "just in case" something similar happens. There's something worryingly obsessive about this coping mechanism- and you are inclined to keep an eye on it just in case it takes a dangerous turn- but in the meantime it serves you well.A wind chime rings as you enter the flower shop.Outside there's an older man with grey hair and glasses talking with a woman over a bunch of irises. Behind the counter, amid a jungle of flowers, is a thin individual, probably not much older than you, with dyed hair and a forehead so furrowed it overwhelms the pale lines of his bleached eyebrows. He looks up at you, then goes back to his work. Of course he wouldn't remember. You never even met.You lean over the counter as his boss chatters away in the background. "Hi. Can you help me find something?"He mulls this over for a moment. "That's technically my job, I guess. What do you need?"For a moment you wince at his bad form. He has a good grammatical grasp of formal speech, but not the style needed for sales work. He's polite, but not deferential. It's horrible practice for anyone who might interact with a customer. You want to shake him and give him a manual on retail catch-phrases.One ESPer's inability to deliver quality customer service, isn't, if you're really specific, any of your business. You slide your shaking hands into the pockets of your overalls and fix him with a piercing stare. "I'm looking for a man; tall, dark hair, smiles a lot, very psychic, seemingly incapable of wearing properly fitting pants. I don't suppose you can tell me where to find him?"It's a gamble, to push a confrontation in the middle of a store where every wilting rose twitches when he does. But his boss is right there, and Tanaka says he's a very sweet man who is almost certainly not psychic. You're willing to bet a criminal on the run won't try to murder someone in broad daylight.(Sure, they did do an awful lot of crime in broad daylight just a few weeks ago, but the circumstances were wildly different then. Looking back, you can almost believe that those hours of explosions and concrete dust were just a terrible fluke- a brief foray into an alternate universe where your city wasn't safe.)Brief surprise flickers across his face and it looks so similar to Shimazaki's shock. There's fear there as well, which satisfies some dark urge central to your being. Let them be a little afraid. Before you can even begin to relish that small victory, he reverts back to practiced boredom."Sorry. We sell plants here?"Right. You suspected he'd be difficult.You maintain eye contact even as he tries to look away, and speak softly and slowly. "And I'm looking for plants. For the man described. What would you, an expert recommend?""Oh." He considers this for longer than it merits, keeping his eyes lowered. "A flower that smells nice might be best. Phlox or magnolia, for preference. But I don't know if flowers are an appropriate gift. For someone you described. He sounds... ill inclined towards strange visitors. Some people are more prickly than others." The cactus behind him begins to bloom as he speaks. It's like watching a time-lapse video in real life; as fascinating as it is frightening."We met before," you say, fighting to keep your voice as passive as his. "You could say circumstances threw us together during the Claw unpleasantness."He glances up at you, something complex in his eyes. It might be guilt, or maybe you're just projecting. "Hmm."You lean forward, intruding on his personal space. "You know where he is, don't you? I just want to... talk.""You say that," he drawls, "But for some reason I don't believe you. A lot of people have wanted to "talk" since Claw dissolved. A lot of people have had things to say.""Yet you're still here- in plain sight," you point out.He shrugs. "I'm innocent," he uses gender neutral personal pronouns, which makes his language stiff, but his tone is relaxed and informal. "Growing plants isn't a crime. Theoretically, however, the man you describe might be on camera doing something like-""Abducting the Prime Minister?""Of course not," he tells you, face utterly unreadable. "Who would do something as terrible as that?"It's hard to suppress a grin. Super villain or not, he's funny in a dry way."And yet it occurred. The twisted soul who did it might still be at large. On a totally different note, our mutual acquaintance."The ESPer before you remains resolute."Come on," you plead, switching to a more girlish mode of speech, "I know he's in the city. I just want- I want-"He tilts his head. "What?""Closure, I suppose," Laying all your cards out in front of a former enemy isn't the best idea, but you don't have a lot of ways to force the information out of him. Brute force simply isn't an weapon in your arsenal, as much as you sometimes wish it was. Charm has to do the work of violence here."Do you ever feel like it all happened too fast?" you ask, inspecting the vase of orchids next to the register. "One minute our whole country was frozen in fear, everyone was at the mercy of... that man, and then it was over. He was gone, there was a big broccoli where there used to be a tower, and we were all expected to move on with our lives. Even though things happened in those hours. People were afraid, people were angry, people listened to an ambitious egomaniac and hurt other people. For one day everything was desperate and cut throat and now it's over.""I might understand what you're trying to say," your conversational partner responds. "It was a very confusing day. It made me rethink a lot of things.""And now you work at a flower shop." It comes out as more of an accusation than you intended. "You tried to take over the world and now you work at a flower shop.""It's more than I deserve," he admits, "Like you said- things moved very fast."The wind chimes by the door ring out. The florist is coming back in, clearly having made a sale. He nods at the ESPer across from you and says, "Minegishi? Are you helping this young lady or do I need to take over?"There's only so much that can be said in a small room with a sixty year old civilian- and you both realize it simultaneously."You can probably help her more," Minegishi agrees easily. "If it's alright by you, I'll take my break out back now? In the alley?"The florist, who seems blessedly oblivious (he did hire a psychic who tried to destroy the city), nods.You buy a bouquet of bright orange and yellow flowers that cost more than a week's food budget, bid the very nice florist good evening, and slip around the side of the shop.Minegishi is leaning against a chain-link fence down the alley, waiting for you. His plastic apron blows around his legs in the late afternoon breeze. In his hand is a candy wrapper that he's folded into a little origami flower.He blinks, owlishly. "We were talking about Shimazaki?"He seems more open here, away from the store. You say as much, as you settle next to him in the wind-cover of the vending machine."I'm fairly sure the government has the store bugged," he says, not seeming to care particularly about the possibility. "It makes sense. I did- well, you know what happened.""More than almost anyone else," you agree. "Most of the city evacuated early. I ran out of the tower while it was exploding. I saw your plants rip the ground to shreds."Minegishi nods, accepting this. "Then what do you want with him?""To talk. We had an encounter that was upsetting, and now that I know he's in the city I want put the whole thing to rest." That's a very mature way to phrase the fact that you want to shake him until he admits how wrong he was, make him apologize for real, tear him apart until he's something more palatable to you. You want to leave him shaken- as shaken as you are when you think back to the tower and the day the city shook. It's a dark, secret want that you don't even think can be realized, but you're willing to try. You arch an eyebrow. "You can't be afraid on his behalf- not knowing what he can do.""You'd be surprised. The world is full of far more powerful ESPers than either of us realized. The President made us feel like we were above everyone else, but we weren't, really." He sits on the ground and pats some weeds growing through the concrete absent mindedly. "It took getting defeated by a middle schooler and a demonic ghost for me to realize that. I'm not sure Shimazaki has... come to the same realizations as the rest of us." He tickles a dandelion leaf, ready to focus on anything but you."You're worried about him," you realize. It's strange to assign emotions to the creatures that shook the city and tore up the streets, but they're just people, in the end."To some extent," Minegishi admits. "The President never cared about us- we realized that, except maybe Serizawa. But we were a team for a long time. It's hard not to form some friendships with people you're that close to. Shimazaki can be especially- attractive, if you're interested in bad choices. And we've stayed in touch"It's the most relatable thing he's said so far."Then you do know where he is?"He stares at you. "He was sleeping at my apartment for the last two days. I kicked him out because he was teaching my pitcher plant bad behavior." The absolute deadpan with which he delivers the last line makes you question if it's even a joke."Ah. He's left town then?" It's disappointing, but not surprising. Running when faced with the slightest barrier is exactly what you expect from him.Minegishi glances down. "No, he still has some business here. I could probably get his hotel name, if you wanted.""I do.""Right," he picks up a still green fallen leaf from the ground and solemnly hands it to you. "Toshiki Minegishi. This is my card."You almost laugh- but when you look down you find a phone number etched in bright red against the green of the leaf. It's the first time you've seen ESP used to do something delicate and practical. It's beautiful. "Clever!" you cry, just to see the tiny expression of satisfaction on his face. Then you pull an old receipt and a pen out of your pocket and scribble down your own number."Akari Suzuki," you say, handing it over with the appropriate care. "Give me a call any time."Minegishi's eyes widen, and you realize your mistake a second too late. Of course he would have some reservations surrounding that name. But Touichirou Suzuki's personal details were never released to the press, meaning the average person would have no reason to know why Claw might hesitate to trust a Suzuki. Besides, it's the second most common surname in the country. You keep your expression neutral and power through, until Minegishi seems to come to the logical conclusion (it's a big city, there are probably thousands of people with your last name) and nods."Fine. Now please leave. I have work to do." He pauses and gives you a serious look. "Make good choices."Life advice from a criminal. Excellent. He texts you the next morning- a crisp, impersonal message with nothing but a hotel name. It's a nice, upscale chain, located on the edge of the city where the hustle and bustle give way to parks and temples. You have to catch two trains to get there.Getting into Shimazaki's room proves easier than expected. You've done some catering for business hotels in the past and know that the more staid establishments where white-collar workers stay usually have strict rules about guests. Here at a large, three-star hotel the manager doesn't even blink when you come looking for a customer's information. She does seem to think you're a shady massage therapist, which on another day would sting your pride, but you let it slide. If this is the sort of place where those sorts of shenanigans are allowed (and it does seem to be, you note, glancing around the hotel lobby) then you might as well take advantage of it.You make friends with the maid service, weave a tale of woe about your boyfriend, discover an old acquaintance from your days working at a downtown pub, hastily revise your story so word won't get around about your heroic romantic endeavors, and end up with a key card just past 7.At times like these, you wonder if you're really a good person or just haven't had a chance to be devious yet. It's concern that's been cropping up with increasing frequency since the day the Cultural Tower was destroyed.That's the sort of self-reflection you can save until after tonight, you decide.Hands shaking, you let yourself into Shimazaki's room. He's not there. It is still early in the evening.There's an arm chair next to the neatly turned down bed that you sit in, taking care not to disturb anything else in the room. You might be a confrontational idiot, and arguably at this point a stalker, but you won't be accused of snooping around someone else's belongings.For five minutes you stew in anxiety. Then you play puzzle games on your phone until you can almost forget how silly you're acting. (The little voice in the back of your head that sounds like your sister never fully goes away, but you can ignore it, almost.)You're half asleep in the chair, head propped up on your arm, when he shows up. The sharp smell of outside, of street vendors and overpowering aftershave and gasoline, sweeps over you and you look around to find Shimazaki staring at you in dark eyed horror."Minegishi is a coward and a traitor, I think," he says eventually.You snort. "You're the one who ran away. Why don't we stay and talk this time?""Or?" Shimazaki is already crossing to the closet, pulling out clothes. He hasn't even taken off his dark, heeled shoes yet. "I could just make you leave.""You could." It's a bitter thing to acknowledge, but you can't hope to fight him head on. What you can do is play dirty. "I think that there are some people in the city who'd be interested to know where you are, however. Some, shall we say, community concious young citizens."Minegishi mentioned a frightening middle-schooler. Your former coworkers, who evacuated slightly earlier, spoke of seeing figures in school uniforms on the edge of their vision as they ran. There were a disproportionate number of children among the gaggle of ESPers you saw when you made your escape. You didn't look back long enough to confirm, but one of the bright figures zipping through the buildings in the stratosphere looked suspiciously young as well. You've heard rumors of teenage gang leaders with a little too much pull, of grown men getting defeated by kids who go by silly school names like White T-Poison. There's even that thing with the Psycho Helmet Cult, which has gotten very popular on campus over the last few days, as trends tend to get popular with college kids. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots.There are children in Seasoning City who are powerful ESPers, powerful enough to scare even Minegishi, powerful enough to help defeat Claw. At least they seem to have their heads screwed on straight, if you disregard the light gang activity. Psychic teens can get up to more destructive antics- even your sister at her most responsible still blackmailed her teachers and manipulated the high school gossip vine until it grew sickly and bloated.Shimazaki is suddenly in front of you, eyes blazing with electrified helium light. You flinch- it's instinct- and then chide yourself for doing so. "I could get rid of you," he says, casually, and reaches out slow and ominous as a horror movie villain.You meet his empty eyes, more for the style of the thing than out of any real expectation that he can see you back. "Do it then, weakling. Just keep in mind whose city you'd be committing that crime in." Then, because something about his mere presence makes you need to escalate things, you offer your hand palm up. "Drop me off the top of a building if you think you can."A second later the wind is rushing in your ears. Shimazaki's hand in yours is the only solid thing you can feel and you're scared. Of course you're scared. The night sky and the city lights flash around you, once, twice, three times.You don't scream, though you do bite your tongue. Blood fills your mouth and you cling desperately to him and your resolve alike.Then you're back on the carpeted floor, wobbling a little. Slapping him won't work, you remind yourself. Words are the best weapon here."What was that for- show?" The bloody saliva in your mouth is hard to swallow but you manage."I thought I could scare you," He purses his lips. His eyes are closed again. It makes his face look more serene. "I suppose not, though. You really aren't afraid of anything, are you?""No," you lie.He sits down on the bed and starts taking off his shoes. "You should be. You really aren't one of us- anyone could kill you easily.""And there are people out there who make you look just as powerless as I am," you point out, making some wild assumptions. "Are you scared of them?"Shimazaki smiles. "I'm terrified. Real power when you feel it is overwhelming. The force of all that rage directed against you? I couldn't stand to be within a mile of it. He could have destroyed me. He wouldn't have even had to try. And his teacher- I won't even get into that.""Great," you tell him brightly. "Now imagine living like that every single day- knowing that your boss or your boss's boss can ruin your life, understanding that when it comes down to it you can't protect yourself. That the world is full of unknown variables that will tear up city streets and take your whole workplace hostage. Imagine what it's like to be normal and have to deal with you." You won't even get into the element of being young and female, of being cornered in dark storerooms and freezers, of uncomfortable remarks and too close touches on trains. This is about one awful situation- nothing more. A reformed terrorist doesn't deserve your life story. You won't give it to him.There's a long pause. "Maybe I can see where you're coming from," he says slowly. "What happened with Claw was bad, wasn't it?"You collapse back into the armchair, feeling boneless. "Yeah, man, it was pretty bad. I still have nightmares. My friends still have nightmares.""I did say sorry," he reminds you reproachfully.Outraged, you sit up. "Sorry isn't enough. It isn't- you can't just say things and then move on. You have to make amends. You have to become a better person."As much as you hated to admit it, Minegishi seemed to be making himself a useful part of society. The umbrella man, who had come into the cafeteria to softly suggest everyone might want to leave now, was apparently completely reformed and doing white-collar work with ghosts. The young man doing IT support, the handful of scarred weirdos Tanaka kept an eye on, the low level Claw minions who sometimes showed up on daytime television or with small scale organized crime- they'd all moved on.Ryou Shimazaki isn't quite the person you met all those weeks ago, but he isn't entirely changed either. He's somewhere in-between, dancing the thin line betwixt remorse and obliviousness. He's willing to say sorry, you're just not sure he actually know what he's sorry for."And how do I do that?" he asks mildly."Figure it out yourself. I'd suggest you talk to your friend Minegishi.""He exiled me for plant crimes," Shimazaki informs you. "I'm not allowed to speak to him again until his venus fly catcher has recovered." He's smiling like that's a wonderful in-joke as opposed to what you suspect it is- an open admission that he shouldn't even be allowed near houseplants.It's frustrating, but you can't make him a better person, you remind yourself. Only he can do that. You came here to put your own mind at rest, nothing more."I'm not here to watch you list all the ways you're terrible," you remind him. "We both know that you're terrible-" Shimazaki nods, agreeably, "I came here because I still can't sleep at night and you're the closest person responsible.""What can I do for you then, Akari, so that you won't bring the wrath of a middle school god down on me?"This is where you hit some snags in your plan. Your gut tells you all sorts of ways to work through your trauma, every one of them less sensible than the last. Your head tells you that you not a single one of them is even remotely a good idea, and that you should leave now and go drink your emotions into submission like a normal person. You're left frozen with indecision, feeling a white hot heat in your chest as your heart speeds up, the warring urges to punch him and pull his hair turning your brain into mush. Twice you feel your fist begin to curl before you overrule it.He frowns. "Well that's some strange input I'm getting." He appears on the ground next to the chair, not quite looking in your direction. "If you want to punch me you can punch me. I'll even give you a head start."Playing the game on his terms is futile. You refuse to be condescended to. There is one thing that you know from experience tends to throw him off, however, so you grab his hair, pull him up, and kiss him.You can see the realization of what's happening- what's going to happen- cross his face several seconds before your lips actually make contact. It's electrifying.In the Cultural Tower he kissed you but it was strangely chaste. This time you open your mouth and taste custard on his hot, wet tongue, then bite his lower lip until blood fills your mouth for the second time that night.The second the kiss breaks he starts talking again, which is a definite argument for continuing to kiss him. "Akari, Akari, is this what you want? Because I don't actually think this is a good coping mechanism."You shrug. You're well past the point of making good choices here. Some small part of you thinks that this is what you get from abstaining from ill advised romantic relationships for most of your twenties. All that built up horrible decision energy has just been waiting for you, slowly forming into the living shape of Ryou Shimazaki, the world's worst choice personified.It is maybe possible that Minegishi knew exactly what he was talking about.The thing is, it does feel like it will help. The logic is unsound, but the primal part of your brain that reasons these things out is telling you that if you can take this situation back, make this choice on your own terms, defang the beast and show yourself that he's just another person, you might feel less afraid. It's like getting over a phobia by confronting it- you have to sleep with Claw to stop feeling like Claw is haunting you.A psychologist would have a field day with your argument, and you can already feel yourself picking it apart, but the subconscious isn't rational and it's getting to be late enough at night that this whole situation feels almost justified."It's my bad choice to make," you tell him. "I'm not pressuring you, am I?" The feeling of weight pushing down on you, of having choices and yet no choice at all is terribly familiar. Shimazaki is an asshole but even he doesn't deserve that."I can leave anytime I want," he notes, flickering in and out of your grasp as if you could forget his powers. "But you've made some very good arguments about being a better person tonight and I'm willing to try it, for you. Plus, you're very diverting.""You do know how to woo someone," you mutter.Shimazaki nods. "And I've been told that I have an ass that simply refuses to quit." His hands have settled at your waist now.You kiss him again, hard and sloppy, brushing your fingers over the almost healed cut on his cheekbone, and then when he's properly distracted, slap his ass. The crack of flesh hitting plastic rings out through the room. He starts, toppling into your arms. Slowly but surely, you're figuring out how his powers work. A lot of it is just logic, really. He can only focus on so much at once, and if he wants something to happen he's not especially inclined to stop it, even if it's not in his best interest. You like feeling like you have some edge over him, however small.He seems to be thinking along the same lines, because he smiles and says, "I never told you who you reminded me of! It's really funny, I promise. Did you know that the leader of Claw was actually named-""Touichirou Suzuki," you cut him off quickly. This is a distinctly unsexy line of conversation. "I know.""Then you are related to him!" Shimazaki looks ridiculously pleased."A distant relative got in contact with my dad after she heard I'd been trapped in the Tower." It had been a strange conversation. The poor lady had clearly thought her insight might somehow help you heal, but instead it had just made things infinitely weirder. "We're something like fourth cousins. Once removed.""Still, it's rather improbably you were involved in the whole thing," Shimazaki comments, letting himself be walked back until his knees hit the bed."Not really," you counter, "He probably has hundreds of distant relatives in the city." On average a person has almost a thousand fourth cousins. You googled it. You're not sure why he's making such a big deal out if it, until a horrible realization strikes you. "You're into this, aren't you? The idea of screwing over your old boss by proxy?""A little," he tilts his head up to look at you. "Like you said, Suzuki, coping mechanisms come in some very strange forms.""Oh, shut up."He has very quick hands, you note, as you go back to trying to kiss him into silence. He always seems to know where to put them too. Any time you hesitate, or think about pulling back, he backs off first. It's a strange sort of politeness, given what you know he can do and has done, but you appreciate it. You pull his blazer off and throw it away, and then watch his strip off his t-shirt with professional interest. There are a handful of bruises, the deep yellow and puce of healing, over his chest and sides, but they somehow don't detract from his appeal. He's pretty, which isn't a non-factor in this whole fucked up stew of emotions, but whenever you think about him the overwhelming urge is to still his tongue, hold fast his quick hands, grind him to dust underneath you and leave nothing to spare. That's not lust- or if it is it's certainly not the kind that you're used to.You have tacit permission to lean into the morass of conflicting feelings (he's certainly not shying away from working out his own issues here) so you reach out to grab his wrists, pinning them to the duvet beneath you."I wonder," you muse, "if you've ever felt trapped before in your life.""Never," he admits. "But for you I could try. Is this part of being a better person?"Quickly, you clarify, "No. This is a personal indulgence.""Indulge away, then." He lets you hold him fast, lets you grind against his torso and his legs, and tries admirably hard to stay still. You know from experience that he gets fidgety the second you touch his cock, so you take it slow, pressing against his thighs (he's still wearing those stupid fake leather pants), sliding flush against his hips, and then painstakingly beginning to move.With every tiny shift, leather creaks and you can feel the bulge between his legs beginning to grow. Your own arousal grows as well, bunching in the muscles of your legs and abdomen, sending jolts of sharp sensation through your nervous system. Can he sense this too, the way you want to shiver, the way your skin tingles?Probably. It would explain how smug he looks right now."Stay still," you order, letting go of his wrists. "I desperately need to get you out of your stupid pants."It takes a while. They're too tight and stuck to his skin with a thin layer of sweat. He's gone stubbornly limp as well, utterly unhelpful and unabashed about it. Eventually you give in and rest your chin on his bare chest- noting without surprise that he waxes."Fine, you can help."He teleports out of the pants and stands, bare and glorious, next to the bed you're now sitting on. It's a clever trick, and you're only a little annoyed at the necessity of it. There's something lovely about him stripped of artifice. The sharp v of bone at his pelvis gives way to wiry dark hair at his pubis, the arch of his neck and the lean muscles of his shoulders complement each other in a way you never realized before. He has a handful of small, dark moles scattered across his body that you want to map.It's a lovely thing, a body, and it's been a while since you touched someone else's. Hasty end-of-year hookups and amicable oral between acquaintances don't really count.Shimazaki kneels in front of you, hands on your still clothed knees, and smiles. "How about I return the favor from last time?" It takes you a second to grasp his meaning, and then another second to talk yourself into agreeing. On one hand, it means letting yourself be vulnerable in front of him, on the other the idea of getting eaten out is incredibly appealing."If you want," you say noncommittally, and then start undressing while he finds a condom to cut up."Minegishi made me keep these around, when we still slept together," he explains when he turns back to you. (It's another point in favor of Minegishi, who is rapidly becoming your second favorite ESPer in the world- third if you count whichever teenager beat up Shimazaki.) He can't see your nakedness- of course he can't- but that doesn't stop you from feeling defenseless in the airconditioned room. "I only have a few more left, I'm afraid.""I'll keep that in mind," you reply cooly, all too aware of the slight space between your thighs, the tickle of hair against your neck, and the fact that you're on a hotel bed. Even if this place is on the sleazy side of luxury, this feels questionable. Leaving a mess for someone else to clean up goes against everything you've ever believed. After a few moments of increasing anxiety on this front, you lay down a towel.Then Shimazaki is in front of you, running his hands up and down your bare legs, and the main thought in your mind is the feeling of skin against yours"Yes," you whisper, and that's all the encouragement he needs to dive forward.You'll give him this- he knows how to go down on someone. The initial finger slipped past your lips sends a jolt up your spine. It circles your clitoris a few times, making you gasp, and is then replaced by cool latex and then behind it, a tongue that licks up and in and around. You spread your legs wider, urging him forward, and he obliges. As he laps folds of flesh that are all at once familiar and foreign to you, two fingers twist inside your body.The little squeaks and shudders that fill the air can only be you, you can feel yourself making them every time Shimazaki finds some new nerve to press against, but they don't feel like your own. The only thing that you own right now is the feeling of being touched- the pressure, friction, and burning heat. When he starts to slow a little you grab his hair (it's good hair, thick and shiny and soft beneath your hands). He laughs, and you laugh back, because the whole situation is ridiculous any way you think about it, but the sensation of tongue and fingers where you need them most returns.It's impossible to say how long it takes. The ebbing and flowing of pleasure seems to go on for hours, however a more honest estimate would probably be closer to ten or fifteen minutes. Climax, when it does hit you, does so suddenly. Your hands twist in his hair, you feel your muscles begin to tense up, and then bliss hits you like a speeding truck. Everything trembles, your core spasms, and as the buzz begins to fade, you blink and sit up."That was... good." The urge to cover yourself is back again, but you're not entertaining it. Shimazaki is blind, for heaven's sake.He crawls onto the bed next to you and wipes his mouth. "I'm very multi talented.""Let's not go that far, friend." If you glance down you can see his arousal, still standing to half attention despite the lack of attention given to it. Was he touching himself? You weren't alert enough to keep track. Now all you can look at is his dick.Even after that orgasm there's still a heaviness in your lower stomach that demands attention. You want more.You didn't come here to not get what you want. If tonight is going to be a night of making bad calls, you might as well go all the way.You nudge him. "You should go get another one of those condoms."Delight all but radiates off of him. "We can do that." As he flashes back and forth- from his luggage to the bed- you see a dark foil in his hand.He uses the same brand as your former coworker, Megumi, from the Cultural Tower. You know this because she slipped you a condom before you left to go "negotiate" with Claw. Perhaps you should resent her for that, for letting you wander into a nest of vipers alone, but it was such an awful day. Everyone there did their best to make it through alive, yourself included.For a moment you remember the fear and outrage and anger- that heart aching fury that a group of people could turn your life upside down so easily. You remember staring at Shimazaki's face and hating him, hating that he was being polite in the middle of this nightmare, hating that he had contributed in one way or another to the series of events that ended with the two of you feeling each other up in an empty board room, hating that you were holding him just to feel like you had some small amount of control over what was going on.You don't hate him any more. Claw is disbanded, he's in disgrace. Your city is still broken- there's a giant broccoli in the middle of it- but it's recovering. Perhaps he hasn't been shown the error of his ways, but he's learned how to be afraid and that's a good first step.Hands curled into fists, you take a few deep breaths and center yourself. You're here, you're alive, and everyone is safe. You aren't responsible for Shimazaki's moral well being. You are responsible for yourself and right now yourself wants to pound him into the bed frame. That's a perfectly reasonable and only slightly maladjusted desire."What are you thinking about?" he asks next to you, "Your nervous system is having an absolute blast in there."When you open your eyes you see that his eyes are open as well. You're still not sure if there's anything in there- he certainly doesn't have normal eyes or even the expected shadowy pink of empty sockets. Instead there's a darkness that seems to defy categorization. Are they unnaturally dark eyes, sclera to pupil, or just voids that occasionally fill with light? Whatever they are, they're fixed on you."Just remembering the day you tried to take over the world.""Ah," he shuts his eyes and sits back. "Yeah, that was a lot of fun, until it wasn't."Frustration fills you up again. Maybe you do still hate him. "It wasn't fun for most of us. We barely got out alive!"He cocks his head to side. "How did you make it out? The whole tower got destroyed, from what I saw later on the news. Not that I'm not glad," he amends quickly."One of your friends," you wave a hand vaguely and hope this encapsulates the wide range of personalities in Claw's upper echelon, "the one with the umbrella, he made sure everyone evacuated before things started to get structurally unstable.""Serizawa," Shimazaki confirms, sounding a little wistful. "He always was the best of us. He deserved better than Claw, I think.""Suddenly you can recognize when people deserve things?" you snap, "Suddenly you know right from wrong?"He looks a little worried, maybe just for the sake of his semi-hard erection. "I'm not the best at ethics, as we can both attest," he says, carefully. "But I'm not an idiot. I know when the state of things is truly unbalanced. I know when some lines are crossed."Historically, he's not wrong. You know he can recognize certain elements of consent, that he isn't stupid or even malicious- just strange.Then he adds, with a casualness that makes even practiced formality seem easy, "I know that what happened was probably... hard for you. I am sorry, and I know that being sorry isn't necessarily enough."The overflowing glass of emotions in your heart finally shatters, threatening to overwhelm you. You want to cry. You want to scream.As an alternative to both of those, you pull him close and fuck him.It's not elegant. He has a good dick and better fingers, but you're on the verge of tears and he seems to be on the verge of some horrifying mental breakthrough. Every time you touch each other there are apologies and questions that require polite, measured answers. Eventually those give way to helpless giggles. It's just all so ludicrous.The simple pleasure of hands on your breasts, a mouth a the juncture of your shoulder and neck, and stimulation at the center of your body eventually does it, however. You find that Shimazaki has an ass made for holding onto, so you do, kneading it until he hums with satisfaction. The tempo slowly picks up, and as it does you can feel your orgasm building.You come and he strokes you through it, finger tips pressing where his cock can't. Then you come again, and finally he does.Head muddled by post-coital hormones, you think, the inappropriate pants weren't false advertising.Shimazaki has curled against your side, still and quiet for once. You manage to maneuver the towel out from under him, clean up the condoms, and then return to bed where you're promptly tucked under the duvet by arms that appear out of nowhere and disappear as fast."I really can't stay the night, I have work tomorrow morning," you begin to say.His lips quirk as if you've said something very funny. "It's only 10. Take a nap, Akari.""I have a last train to catch.""Ah. Dinner, then? I was told there's room service.""Really? How strange." You've never had cause to stay in many hotels- in fact you've worked in far more of them than you've slept in- but the idea of room service is a bit odd. It sounds like an awful lot of work for the kitchen. "What is that even like?"He shrugs. "I've never tried it before- I can never read the menus."Somehow the idea that Shimazaki, who never seems the least bit concerned about his surroundings or out of place, can't read, is astounding. It makes perfect sense, of course, but it still throws you for a loop. When you blink away the tactless questions, he's sitting next to you holding a laminated card."I found it."You pull it out of his unresisting hands. As you sit and read it out loud you trace the sickly blotches of color here and there on his bare skin."Not the seafood." Shimazaki winces as you press into one a little too hard. "That'll teach me to pick fights with children. Apparently it can backfire on you? Little brats really put up a fight.""Most people choose not to attack kids for more generalized reasons- like for example the fact that they're children- but yes, they can fight back," you concede, and then, out of spite, press down on the bruise again. "Udon, then?""Udon is fine."Curiosity gets the better of you in the silence after calling down to the front desk. "How did you end up being defeated? Your powers are rather- excessive."He launches into a lengthy explanation of how he'd been about to murder this one child, when he was ambushed by a bunch of traitors, and then another child who he had previously defeated (while kidnapping the Prime Minister, and fact that makes you wince and wonder if high treason is sexually communicable) managed to catch him off guard by punching right where he was going to teleport, and then finally when he'd almost managed to wrestle the cleverest of the insurgent toddlers who seemed to make up most of the resistance against Claw into the ground he felt the strongest presence he'd ever encountered- "I'd blocked out most influences from my minds eye by that point," he added helpfully, "So I could mostly just sense the espers nearby. My sensitivity never really recovered from that.""Based on the last twenty minutes or so your sensitivity seems fine."Shimazaki hesitated, then continued, an unstoppable force of nature. "The aura of simple, everyday creatures like you-""Incredibly rude, continue.""Were almost invisible. All I could feel was this presence coming closer, stronger than even Suzuki. And then someone punched me in the face.""May whoever did it live a long and healthy life," you tell him and see the tiny crease as his smile imperceptibly changes. You both dress again (his trousers squeak when he puts them on) and share the udon, once it shows up, in silence. He asks you about your new job, you make sure to remind him that the only reason you lost your old one was because someone tried to take over the world, then you ask what's brought him to the city."I did look for you, after," you say, trying to keep the tone of accusation out of your voice. "Mostly to make sure I knew where you were for the sake of safety, but also because I wanted to put things to rights.""If I knew you were going to sleep with me I would have returned much faster," he promises, perfectly straight faced. "No, I was... running. Your city is full of frightening people. I wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. But my new employers needed me to liaise with some contacts here, so here I am!"There's a quality to the word contacts that reminds you of tv shows about gangsters."Shimazaki, who do you work for now?""People," he tells you, which can only mean the government or..."Is it crimes? Did you come back to Seasoning City to do crimes? Actually, don't tell me," you revise quickly, remembering that you can't testify about what you don't know."I came back to the city to see Minegishi and the others. And because there was a great band playing at one of the clubs in town."It's a strangely earnest admission.You pat him on the shoulder."I think that you might be able to become a better person after all. Just try to avoid any further criminal malfeasance in the city, please? There are powerful forces here.""Of course. Your so-called Divine Tree alone," he opens his eyes and then closes them again, "This place is like psychic soup. I can feel the auras of half a dozen ESPers even from here. It's frightening. Not to mention the untold number of Suzuki's distant relatives running around. I mean you're nice but I can't trust all of them."The obvious discomfort on his features, even masked by the usual blend of good cheer and apathy, is striking.Maybe, just maybe, things can change for the better.Maybe he can be a decent person, someday.Not that you'll see it, of course.You stand up, gather your things, and then turn to him. "Right. This is goodbye then, I guess."He clasps your hand and smiles wanly. "It must be. Can I walk you out?"You agree and then find yourself outside in a rush of cool night air. Shimazaki lets go of your hand."Make good choices," Minegishi told you. Well, he's not your boss. Neither is your older sister. It's your life."You know," you say casually to Shimazaki, not even turning to check that he's there, just trusting in the sense of weight by your side, "If you're ever in town again- if you're willing to cross the scary teens- we could meet up.""I think I might end up in this neck of the woods again, shortly," he replies, "And it would be nice to have a place to stay. I think Minegishi's still banned me and Hatori's apartment is a mess." There's something sweet in his voice. There's something dangerous.You've had bad boyfriends, you've faced down an army of ESPers- you can handle a difficult psychic acquaintance.Like a fool, you give him your number and address, just in case he wants to drop by."Thank you," he says, tucking the piece of paper into his back pocket. "I'll see you around, Akari."You're already thinking of your warm, familiar bedding, and the bouquet of orange flowers waiting for you at home like a sunburst in your kitchen. "See you. Don't kidnap anyone important. Watch out for heroic middle schoolers."When you get home, you find you can sleep without nightmares. It's wonderful, to feel properly fearless again.