I first met Hibiya a few weeks after school started up. I remember that it was Friday, because school had just let out and we were all excited about a three-day weekend. We grew up in a backwater sort of town, lots of farms, nestled safely in a valley and fed via a river that swung between the terraced slopes of the eastern and western mountains. The school I went to at the time was high up on the eastern mountain, and most kids, Hibiya included, had to take a gondola down the slope to get home.

School didn't let out till sunset, so whenever we left, we'd have a stunning view of the sun disappearing over the western peak. I remember because that day, the sky burned orange for the longest time. Despite the number of people leaving school, it was strangely quiet. I was with two girls, friends of mine that I've long since fallen out of touch with.

It's strange, because it's only been two years, August 15th notwithstanding, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was. Perhaps I died in there, or a part of me did at least.

But the girls.

They flanked me, one on either side. One of them - Kaori, I think - had a relative from Okinawa coming to visit that weekend, a real space-case, she said, a performance artist or something. She sounded fun to be around. Yumiko, the other girl, was taking a supplementary course in Portuguese on Monday, so she wouldn't be able to hang out like we'd planned. We chatted like that as we walked, oblivious to the motion of time.

The mountains had been terraced for ages, and since our school stood on the edge of one of the outcroppings, there were guardrails and a set of concrete stairs leading down to the next level. At the dropoff, Kaori and Yumi both got this sudden, simultaneous hitch in their step as the saw the western peak, like they'd been caught off guard by the sunset. An arc of light shot out from behind the peak, stretching almost to the eastern mountain. Directly above us, the orange hue bumped up against brilliant purples and reds. The three of us against the background of the setting sun must have been the perfect shot, because I heard a voice behind us.

"Hey, quick picture for the yearbook?".

We all turned, and there he was, camera in hand, kneeling, just waiting for our consent so he could take the shot. I had to laugh. We posed, and he took two quick shots, one with flash, one without. He thanked us, bowing deeply, then started to walk off before Yumi called out for him to wait. He did. She took out a little digital camera she carried with her and grabbed my arm. Before I could protest, I was standing next to him. Yumi started counting down from three, and Hibiya looked at me, his expression mirroring my own: resignation melting into conviction. "Own it", the look read.

The picture came back a few days later. It was Hibiya and I in front of the school, the orange sky blazing above us, our hands locked together and held high over our heads, like a victorious boxer and his trainer in the ring. We were both grinning, and we both looked perfectly at ease.

This was the picture I held in my palm two years later, weeping silently, as Tsubomi gently rested her hand on my shoulder, guiding me out of the elevator, through the lobby, and into the parking lot. It felt impossible. That picture was of another girl, from another place entirely. The yearbooks, terraces, gondolas, sunsets and mountains seemed as foreign to me as ancient civilizations or the intricate movements of distant galaxies.

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As we left the hospital, people stared at us. Hiyori, of course, was oblivious, but I quickly pulled the hood of my violet-grey hoodie over my hair and activated my power. Undisturbed, silent, we took the bullet train to our apartment. Hiyori's eyes were red when we got home - bloodshot, not our red - and her long hair was matted and tangled. Her ponytail had come undone somewhere between her hospital room and the parking lot. Her skin was pale, so pale I could make out the veins criss-crossing beneath her eyelids. Her tears had left a series of long stains down her cheeks, and the skin around her eyes was pinkish-red. She had tucked a photograph into her breast pocket, over her heart, I noticed, and now and again she would press her open palm against it like she was afraid it would fly away. I held out my hand. "Kano", I said.

"Yes, Commander?", he said, suppressing a yawn. I shot him a glare, and he grinned before dropping the key into my palm.

It was almost midnight, and the lights from the city cast a greyish-blue haze in through the window. Wordlessly, the others went to bed. Hiyori stood outside the door. When I turned to look at her, she matched my gaze for a moment, then her eyes darted to the floor.

"Come on in", I said. She slipped off her shoes, and gingerly crossed the threshold.

She sat on the couch with her hands in her lap, looking like she was about to be scolded. "Relax", I told her, "We're gonna take care of you."

Upon hearing this, her eyes seemed to snap into focus. She looked up at me as if for the first time and opened her mouth to say something, before reconsidering. She tensed her jaw, pressed her tongue against her teeth, and crossed her legs. I sat down on the ottoman across from her.

"My friends and I", I continued, "we have a...club, I suppose you'd call it. It's not as organized as it sounds, we're really just a group of friends with a name.

"I know you're upset about what happened to your friend, and I know it's hard, but I need you to tell me what happened."

She withdrew into her seat a little, so I added, "Not 'till you're ready."

I pulled a folded-up comforter from beneath the coffee table in the center of the room and offered it to her. She dipped her head in gratitude, then pulled the blanket up to her chin.

I gave her as warm a smile as I could manage. "I'll get you some tea. Then we'll talk".

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Her shoes clicked against the hardwood floor as she disappeared down the hallway. I was alone again.

Letting my neck go limp, I sank backwards into the couch until my head rested against the cushions, looking up at the ceiling. My muscles felt liquid and unresponsive. I was cold. Unable or unwilling to move, I listened to the on-and-off drone of the wind outside and felt the blood move sluggishly through my veins. My eyes were sore from crying. The entire world felt and sounded like a single dull impact, thump, drawn out forever in two directions.

In an odd way this was comfortable. I guess I developed a taste for stasis.

"Count the seconds."

It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that the voice was not inside my head. Mustering all of my strength, I sat up. "What?", I asked.

A boy about Tsubomi's age was sitting on the chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. His hair was short and shockingly blonde, and the hoodie he wore looked more like a poncho, as it didn't have a zipper or any way for the two sides to connect. "Ever heard of jet lag? You're going through something similar. You can't really sense the passage of time because you haven't needed to for a while." He stood up and started pacing around the room slowly.

"So start counting off the seconds as they tick by."

I obliged. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand. At ten seconds, my body started to warm up. His features were razor-sharp, especially his long, thin eyebrows. Eleven-one thousand, twelve-one thousand, thirteen thousand, fourteen thousand. At twenty seconds, the chill that had permeated me compressed into a tiny sphere behind my eyes. His irises were vertical slits, like a snake's. Strangest of all, they were red. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. At thirty seconds, my ears popped so suddenly and with such intensity that it was like being at the bottom of the ocean one second and in an airplane the next. I heard ringing, followed by a whoosh that I assumed was blood swirling around in my head, expanding now that the pressure had been relieved. My vision blurred, and when it refocused I was on the floor, looking at the ceiling. I felt a warm liquid above my upper lip, its texture eerily familiar.

"Kido! Get in here!", I heard the boy call, followed by frantic shuffling. Someone lifted me back onto the couch. My head was buzzing. Images were becoming indistinct masses of color, dissolving further and further until I blacked out. I don't remember if I was conscious for very long after that. But I remember thinking.

Ninety-six.

Ninety-seven.

Ninety-eight.

Ninety-nine.