Our days are filled with a constant stream of decisions.

Most are mundane, but some are so important

that they can haunt you for the rest of your life.

Travis Bradberry

Proclivity

He came every day just after three.

Chin in hand, I glanced at the over-sized clock just above the counter. Great arms stretched in some ridiculous pose, fingers pointed to their destinations with certainty. Two o'clock and six o'clock; 2:30 pm–

Stupid thing must be broken.

Dappled notes whispered in my ear and I sighed, taking a sip from the porcelain cup. Even though it was five minutes from the train station, Black Lotus served the best coffee in Mushiyori. Renovated from an old drug store, the owners decided to keep as much of the place as original as possible. Bare brick flecked with plaster constituted the back and side wall, each adorned with spotless steel shelves where customers placed their belongings. Antique cubbies lined the left-hand wall from top to bottom, each bursting at the seams with coffees, teas, and various cups. The bar began at the door and spanned the length of the shop, accessible only from a small entrance at the back. Despite the new paint job and modern appliances, the metal block took me back to the fifties – a relic nearly forgotten by time. Eight stools stood at attention before the bar, single legs cemented cruelly in place. A quaint, quiet room; the perfect place to hide.

Or, it should have been.

"I'm telling you, it's true!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down!"

I sighed, removing one ear bud. Normally, I came here to decompress before or after work, given the schedule. Actually, management learned years ago to expect me at two every afternoon I was in town. Alone.

However, such was not the case today.

"Look, all I'm saying is this could be bad for us."

This from Motaru, who'd yet to touch his drink. Easily 6'2 and wide as two average-sized men, the rookie resembled a giant invited to a child's tea party, hunched as he was in his seat. Each time I looked at Motaru, I wondered how his body managed to contain him. Muscle pressed against every inch of sun-kissed skin; there wasn't more than an inch of fat. His occupation always came up when making small talk on the subway or at the station: are you a model? An athlete? A bodybuilder?

However, when he announced his official position, no one knew quite what to say.

Scowling, the twenty-three year old glared at the cooling cup, running a hand across close-cropped hair. "They're stronger than us and nearly impossible to kill. And have you seen them move? Poetry in motion, a dancer's dream." He lifted his tea but thought better of it, sable eyes nearly disappearing as he wrinkled his nose. "Some of them even look like us!"

"And you have a problem with that?"

Tatsuo's tone remained level, as always. If Motaru was a giant, Tatsuo had to be a dwarf – the thinnest dwarf in the world. Short-limbed and lean, one would think a swift wind gust could carry him away. Hair pulled into a tight bun, speckles of silver dotted ochre locks, though he'd just turned thirty-five. Dressed in impeccable blue, Tatsuo folded his hands before his cup, steam massaging stark cheekbones and a narrow nose. Amicable amber regarded the younger man through drawn lashes, though he made no move to speak further.

"What, you think I'm some sort of bigot?" Motaru sighed, finally taking a sip of coffee. He remained silent for a moment, brows knit as he studied the cup. "I don't have a problem with them personally – demons have just as much a right to live as we do – I just don't want them taking our job." A sullen murmur and he returned the porcelain to its coaster, fingering the smooth finish. "They're better than us in every way."

A flash of color and my eyes wandered back to the counter. Black Lotus' newest patron stood at the door, the only customer present besides us. Half a head higher than the average man, too-pale skin clothed his face and throat – flesh which rarely saw the light of day. A beige business suit further pushed him toward an occupation in academia or as an office monkey, though I couldn't tell which. Scarred hands remained hidden in his pockets today, still as dead worms beneath the earth. Quiet and unassuming, he waited patiently for the barista to make his drink, ghost of a smile turning both lips. Liquid fire spilled from his scalp to brush narrow hips, tamed only by a black ribbon which would look ridiculous on anyone else. Soft features, rounded ears and a shapely nose, each drawing attention to green eyes, dull as unpolished emeralds–

How long had he been standing there?

"There's already been protests all over the world. Some have even been violent!"

"And you approve of those?" Tatsuo grunted.

Feather-light music bled from the ear bud as he took his drink with a formal 'thank you', moving to the seat furthest from the door.

"No, I didn't say that!"

I first noticed him two months ago, though how long he'd actually been a patron here was beyond me. His appearance didn't catch my eye – there were enough beautiful men in the world without him – though his meticulousness did. Every day the same thing: he entered the shop, stood by the door, somehow acknowledging everyone without looking them in the eye. Always the same drink – green tea with ginger and a splash of milk – to be enjoyed alone for exactly thirty minutes while reading a book. The books were the only anomalies in his routine, however. I'd never seen him bring the same one twice. He read everything from fiction to biographies, poetry and biology; though, to his credit, I'd never seen him carry around trashy romance novels–

Maybe he left those at home.

"A lot of people are scared, Tatsu." Motaru pressed, using the self-imposed nickname. Our senior hated nicknames. "And I can't really blame them. The Diet is having to pass new legislation now, changing how our society works just to suit them."

The work of choice today was an extended version of Beowulf, complete with short essays and commentary from multiple scholars. The essay topics featured on the back cover caught my eye, bloody font baring its teeth. Most featured Grendel in some shape or form and some focused on him completely: The Monster in the Man; Murderous Creatures Banished: Grendel and the Human Psyche; It Dwelt Beneath the Deep – Grendel as Other; and on and on. I hadn't read Beowulf in years – not since high school – yet I didn't remember much about Grendel other than he ate humans. Funny:

I'd never seen him read books on monsters before.

"What do you think, Azumi?"

Biting back a sigh, I turned to our merry group. Motaru wrung his hands as he stared imploringly, an odd habit for a man of his girth. Tatsuo watched on in stone-faced silence, though exasperation pulled at the corners of his eyes. A warning rested on his tongue, ready to fire at my word but I shook my head. One glance proved our guest listened intently as well:

He'd yet to turn a single page.

"Azumi?"

"Motaru," The fidgeting stopped almost immediately – my tone left no room for distractions. "Where do you think demons come from?"

"Huh? Well," His voice trailed off and he licked his lips, staring at his hands. "According to that Koenma guy, some place called the Demon World–"

"Yes, but what about before then?" I pressed, giving up on the music and removing the remaining earbud. "Where were demons before this so-called 'Demon World' existed?"

He looked at me then, brow furrowed as he followed the cord wrapping around my fingers. "What do you mean before?"

"Think about it." A popping sound and I fanned the air, rotating my wrist in a circle. "All around the world, civilizations have been built upon a mythos in some shape or form: beliefs in beings while, not necessarily heavenly, are definitely supernatural. For example, don't you find it odd that legends of dragons exist on nearly every continent? How about witches, or spirits?" I counted them off one after another, fingers weaved-through with the rubber cord. "Fairy tales repeat themselves in the East and West, variations existing only where humans have put them. Don't you understand what this means?"

Motaru chewed his inner cheek, teeth grinding like a millstone. "What are you getting at?"

"Humans have known about demons since the dawn of time – we only chose to ignore them when they became inconvenient for us." I stretched against the wooden chair back, grunting as my back popped. "We pushed them out of our world to begin with, so we can't complain too much if they want back in."

Suddenly his jaw stopped working and he stared, eyes widening by the second. "Don't tell me you agree with–"

"All I'm saying is whining won't change anything." Checking the time, my body rose of its own accord, taking my coffee cup with it. "My opinion doesn't matter and yours doesn't, either. They're here whether you like it or not."

I drained the last of my drink, tucking a stray strand behind one ear. Movement in my peripheral and I found him staring at me, book forgotten in his hands. For the first time since spying him months ago a flicker of light glimmered in his eyes, pale ferns shifting secrets I couldn't hope to know. Intelligence danced in their depths, the cogs of an ever-working mind–

A buzzing in my pocket and I looked away, hand diving for the device. "You need to be mature enough to form your own opinion, Motaru. Do some research: read a book, talk to a demon, however you want to do it." I placed a fistful of coins on the table, frowning. "Don't jump on a band-wagon and don't make everyone spoon-feed you information – both lead to half-baked ideas."

My pocket vibrated again and I sighed, turning from my coworkers and those lingering eyes. "Odawara here."

A/N: Hello again! Hope you enjoyed a look at the OC for this story, Azumi Odawara. I decided to write this story alternating between Kurama and Azumi's perspectives because they both have equal say in the story but if anyone needs specification on whose mind we're in for each chapter, please let me know.

Thank you McMousie and WhatWouldValeryDo for your reviews and to all you other wonderful readers out there!

And thank you WhatWouldValeryDo for beta reading this chapter!

So, integration of demons into the human world is not going as smoothly. What does this have to do with Azumi's occupation, and what's the deal with this red-headed stranger? Find out next time!