Opportunity is missed by most people

because it is dressed in overalls and

looks like work.

Thomas A. Edison

Third Time's the Charm

A door clattering shut, distant hints of traffic, the air conditioner recycling morbid air. Dim rooms, a sky lined with pink chalk, keys clacking in-time with the chronically slow clock. A few more documents to proof, one last phone call:

Before I knew it, the alarm on my computer chimed four o'clock.

A final email, tomorrow's tasks spilling onto a notepad and the laptop died in my hands. Though slightly outdated, the equipment performed all of the necessary functions: data analysis, spreadsheets, financial algorithms–

Everything needed to do my job.

Placing the device on my desk, I plugged it into the wall and leaned back onto the sheets, crisp cotton cooling my neck. Nearly a week had passed since moving back into my apartment and though necessities were purchased right away, most of the ruined items – namely furniture – remained out of reach. There simply hadn't been enough time to buy them. While such a thing did not impact day-to-day living, the white walls and extra space made my home appear empty, desolate.

Depressing, Yusuke would say.

'You won't change your mind?'

"No."

Oddly enough, Yoko kept to himself this week, surrounded by thoughts, dreams, and schemes. Though we'd come to an understanding during our stay at Kuwabara's, I dared not encroach upon his privacy. For whatever reason, he saw fit to give me a reprieve, the chance to fall back into ordinary life. He'd left me to my own devices:

The least I could do was return the favor.

Rising from the futon, replacement for the bed destroyed by claws and vines, I crossed the room on silent feet, rifling through the closet. A meager selection – namely work clothes – though surely something would be appropriate for tonight. Dark pants, a green shirt with pearl buttons:

They would have to do.

'He won't be persuaded easily.'

"When is he ever?" Corduroy whispered softly, hugging both thighs. The buttons slid into place easily, as if eager for me to be off. Snapping the final four closed at the wrist, I tucked both shirt and undershirt in before fastening the pants. Socks came last, toes curling as I sat on one of two chairs at the kitchen table.

'You believe she will wait for you?'

"We have over two hours and the meeting place is fifteen minutes from our destination. There is plenty of time." Yet his words spurred doubt; I'd never seen Yoko anxious about anything. Perhaps anxious was too strong a word, though I could not think of a proper substitute. Unease peppered his tongue, the barest hint of mint; a subtle flavor yet present all the same. Of course, he would deny such a thing but he could not hide it from me.

After all, we'd shared this body twenty four years.

I smelled warm noodles long before Yusuke came into view, rich broth floating down the street on the autumn breeze. Few people normally ventured to this side of town on Sundays though my friend had gained quite a following since opening his ramen stand: while at first only single business men stopped by after work, now he boasted a healthy clientele, couples, children seeking a snack after school, even housewives placed large to-go orders to bring home to their families.

Currently, my friend was seeing his lone customer off, infectious grin spread wide as he laughed about being the 'other woman' the poor man spent his spare time with.

"Just bring your old lady next time – she might even forgive you for holding out on her!"

The man agreed, chuckling before departing. When he passed by, I couldn't help but notice his smile, the embers flaring in his eyes. Happy, revitalized:

Yusuke had that effect on people.

Currently, my friend was cleaning his wok, white skull cap rising as he wiped his brow, a cigarette tucked behind one ear. Stains old and new marred his shirt and apron though the counter and stools remained spotless; how he kept the carnage of his craft contained I would never know–

I'd seen him cook outside of the workplace.

He did not glance my way though he knew I was there; I made no effort to conceal my presence. "Business is going well?"

Yusuke stilled, turning. True, his work area had seen many hours of use, paper bills packed to overflowing in the money box. A harmless comment – an icebreaker among old friends – but still his eyes narrowed, mouth twisting to form an inscrutable expression.

"Sorry, who are you again?"

Petty as it was, the comment stung. I felt myself fall into an all-too familiar mask, one of polite indifference, yet I could not bring myself to smile. "If you do not wish to see me, I will leave."

Yoko held his peace as my stomach shrank, pulse slowing by force of will. All of the text messages and voice mails, the pictures, the letters delivered daily:

Did they mean nothing?

Would Yusuke agree to meet simply to humiliate me?

He stared for some time, gaze never leaving my face. To his credit, he did not shrink from my pale pallor, body still much too thin though no longer skeletal.

With a snort, he turned back to his work. "Sit down." Something akin to scorn filtered in as he motioned loosely to the stools. "I'll have your food ready in a minute."

He stirred a pot of broth as he talked, tasting it before adding choice spices.

"Really Yusuke, that is unnecessary–"

"Not taking no for an answer." My friend didn't look at me as he talked, adding strips of raw meat to the wok. "Park it, fox boy."

He jerked his thumb toward the stool beside him and I relented, slipping atop the warm seat. Within seconds, a bottle of water sat at my right hand, moisture beading from the steaming pots. Grateful for the gift, I took a sip, enjoying the cold washing through my chest and stomach.

Yusuke sampled the broth once more, pushing the meat this way and that before glancing at me. "Nice duds."

Despite the compliment, sarcasm weighed his words, brows lifting as he stared. I glanced at my attire, fingers brushing an upraised button. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing, if you're planning on joining the circus." Lips curling, he rose on his toes, glancing at my pants. "Are those pink?"

"No, the saleswoman said they are 'magenta' – Kuwabara chose them."

"There's the problem, you let the guy who wears a uniform every day pick out your clothes."

Determined to avoid the brewing headache, I pinched the bridge of my nose, cooking meat pouring in as I inhaled. "Yusuke–"

"Binkie's watching all this, right?"

Hand moving to cup one cheek, I nodded. Yusuke knew the conditions for an in-person meeting: the four of us could not congregate without permission, matters of political importance and integration of demons were forbidden topics, and we must be monitored at all times.

"Good." Faster than most humans could follow, he flashed his middle finger to the heavens, emphasizing the gesture by pumping his arm.

I sighed at his satisfied smile, watching him set noodles in boiling water and add chopped vegetables and broth to the wok. "You're not doing yourself any favors."

"Like I care. This whole thing's stupid and you know it." He muttered several choice phrases under his breath, rotating the wok, stirring the contents. As he tossed the mixture, juices splashed onto his apron though none made it to the counter space or onto me.

Once more, I marveled at the care he showed his stand.

"I take it you are still angry?"

He stiffened though did not look my way, adding the steaming noodles. "What do you think?"

Pain stained his lips, barely perceptible but there nonetheless. In that moment, I saw not a man but the boy I'd met years ago, a boy who laid down his life for those he cared for countless times:

A boy who offered himself in my place when we were still strangers.

"If what happened bothers you rest assured, I never intend to do something like that again."

I could not imagine his thoughts when he saw me through my window, set on a destructive path yet refusing aid. Nor could I fathom his feelings the night my heart submitted to malnutrition, knowing what was happening yet powerless to stop it. Even now, I could not bring myself to ask what Kuwabara said to him, what words could possibly have kept him away.

So I said nothing, watching him put the finishing touches on the meal.

"Good – I'd hate to beat you up dressed like that."

And just like that, we were both laughing. All was forgiven.

He set the food before me and for a moment I could do nothing but enjoy the aroma, eyes closing as steam kissed my skin. Yusuke watched as I gave thanks for the food and, chopsticks in-hand, enjoyed the first bite, noodles disappearing with a loud 'slurp'. Other morsels followed, slices of carrot, eggplant and cucumber; edamame, as well as crunchy broccoli and water chestnuts. Scallops fell apart in my mouth, flavor mingling with marinated beef and savory broth.

I did not ask how much he normally charged for such a meal and he did not mention it; I already knew he would not accept payment.

Instead, we talked. "You still haven't answered my question."

He shrugged, scouring the pan. "Business is good enough. Keiko's still hounding me about getting a 'real job'."

Despite his words, I noted his eyes light up at her name, affection softening his brow. "How is Keiko?"

"Gorgeous." He glanced over, brandishing a ladle dripping soap suds. "Guys keep hitting on her at the restaurant, don't care that she's married and telling 'em no." Face darkening, he glared at the foaming mass, anger flashing. "Thought about going during one of her shifts and teaching them a lesson."

"That would not be wise." Taking a napkin from the dispenser, I wiped my mouth, taking a sip of water. "Don't forget you are the lord of Tourrin: any action you take against humans could be viewed as an act of war."

"I know, I know. Why do you think those guys still have their teeth?" He went back to scrubbing dishes in the small sink, choice hairs escaping the front of his cap. "The only way I can interfere is if they try to hurt her, and if that happens–"

"Let's hope it doesn't." I knew what my friend was capable of, the fullness of his wrath. Leaning forward, I enjoyed another warm bite, elbows resting on the white surface. "She's doing better, then?"

When Keiko first approached him about counseling before their wedding, Yusuke refused, not understanding why they would need it. Still, when King Enki appointed someone to meet with them – a demon who had lived among humans for many years – Keiko broke down, weeping openly while sharing her experiences of being plucked from an ordinary life and being confronted unavoidably by the supernatural. My friend had no idea how much the events after his resurrection effected her, her anguish in watching him be hurt time after time in the Dark Tournament, her pain when Sensui killed him, knowing his fate through Puu's state. He gave no thought to her pain while training in Tourrin; after all, she'd turned down his initial marriage proposal. Still, he trusted she would wait for him, an unspoken promise she kept at great cost to herself.

"Yeah. She's taking online classes at night now, always been crazy about school." Drying his hands on a towel, he took the cigarette from his ear and lit it, leaning over the counter. "She's talking about wanting kids now, too."

I blinked, taken aback.

"Yeah, that's what I said." A deep drag and he sighed, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Don't get me wrong, she'd be a great mom – she's good at everything – it's just–" Yusuke rubbed his neck, brows furrowing. "She's from a normal family: my old man left before I was born and mom's still a lush, parties hard every weekend. I don't know the first thing about being a parent, being a dad."

He nearly choked on the word and tilted his head back, smoke rings drifting into the air. Watching him, I chewed another mouthful, gathering my thoughts.

However, there was really only one thing to say. "You will make a wonderful father."

Yusuke snorted at the soft tone, embers glowing as he inhaled. "I think that's why she's been on my case about finishing school. I got another job; maybe that's good enough."

My brows rose. "Congratulations."

He waved away the remark, chin in-hand. "It's not much, working nights – a valet gig for an apartment complex. First night was stupid weird."

"Oh?" I sank onto my elbows, settling in for the tale. The clock behind Yusuke's head read 5:05 – there was still time.

"Yeah. Everything was fine until the end: a few people gave me funny looks but when I showed them an ID with the complex's name, they were cool; didn't have any problems. Then, this chick shows up the last five minutes of my shift. I knew she lived there because of the parking tag on her mirror and asked her to give me the keys, didn't think much about it." He wrinkled his nose, cigarette held between two fingers. "You'd think I threatened to steal her ride!"

I could well imagine. Yusuke was not known for being level-headed at the best of times. "Did you show her your identification?"

"Yeah, after she hit me with her car."

Yoko snorted, the first sign he was listening. I simply said, "She sounds brave."

"More like crazy." He muttered, flicking ashes into a tray behind the counter. "She was easy on the eyes, though. Not as pretty as Keiko but still nice to look at."

I nodded, setting back to the rapidly cooling food. "Did you come to an agreement?"

He shrugged, "I guess. She let me park her car and rode with me, said I needed to go to the hospital. Made me take my shirt off and everything!" A dramatic shudder and I chuckled, just as he intended. "She didn't back off til I threatened her with Keiko."

"Did she at least tell you her name?"

"Huh? Yeah, I think so." He crossed his arms, eyes closing as if in deep thought. "What was it, Odi? Odawai. . .?" Yusuke shifted from one foot to the other, cap giving him the air of a sailor at sea. "Doesn't matter, I'm sure I'll see her at work tonight."

Nodding, I lifted the bowl to my lips, enjoying the rich broth.

"What about you? Who's the girl?"

I choked, nearly showering him with soup. "I don't know what you mean."

The response was late in coming, reservation weighing the words. Yusuke would have none of it. "Aw, come on fox boy! You only get dressed up for three things: weddings, funerals, and dates; and I don't see a suit." He grinned, a cat full on cream. "So, who is she?"

Deterring him would be impossible. I wiped my mouth, rekindling calm. A chuckle sounded, echoing in the corners of my mind. "A lady to whom I owe a favor."

He wiggled his eyebrows, speculating far more than the subject was worth. "Just a bit of business, Yusuke; nothing more."

"Uh-huh." He mumbled a bit about what he imagined the 'business' to be, a satisfied smirk rising. "So, what's she like?"

Glancing down, I made sure the shirt remained free of broth; there was no time to return home now. "That is none of your concern."

"Don't be like that!" Yusuke leaned over the counter, hips drifting first left, then right. "Is she hot?"

I met his gaze, brow raised. "Need I remind you that you're married?"

Another snort. "I was there, remember?" Rolling his eyes, he took another drag from the cigarette, frowning before putting the thing out of its misery. "Look, no girl can ever compare to Keiko but you can at least have the next best thing. What kind of friend would I be if I let you date a dog?"

"And you still wonder why she told you no the first time you proposed?"

He waved his hand, dismissing the subject. "Come on, you can tell me! Is she hot or what?"

Her image came unbidden, unchanged from nearly a week before: sun-kissed skin, the protected throat, slender arms exploding from all that black. A jaw traced by thick hair, perfect lips, eyes which seemed to see all, know all–

Those eyes were why I asked for tonight's meeting. "Yes, she is attractive."

A low whistle and he grinned once more. "Nice! I knew you had it in you!" Rising onto his elbows, gave me a once-over, nodding to himself. "So, what'd you bring her?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh come on, you can't go on a first date and not get her something! Even I know that!"

5:20; almost time to go. "I told you, this is a business meeting, not a date."

"And I'm the Queen of England!" When it became apparent I truly had no offerings, Yusuke sighed, hopping over the counter. "Oh well, too late now."

Such was the only warning he gave before pulling at my clothes and hair, fussing over buttons and who knows what else.

"Yusuke!" I glanced around, noting the handful of passerby giving us odd looks. "What on earth are you–"

"Gotta give her something nice to look at. How else are you gonna get laid?" Brow furrowed, he rolled up first one sleeve, then the other, hands traveling to my chin. "At least you've got a good face."

The seeds didn't react as his hands dove into my hair, red waves falling when he pulled away the elastic band. Fingernails scraping my scalp, he bunched the strands this way and that, pulling the mass behind both shoulders, aimless tufts flowing down my back. When he reached for my throat, I didn't protest, refusing to move itching hands from my pockets.

Finally, Yusuke stepped back, pleased with himself. Glancing down proved he'd unfastened several buttons, folds flashing well below my clavicle; I was surprised he left the pants intact. An open chest, bare forearms and tussled hair – mother would be horrified. "Yusuke–"

"Oh, almost forgot!" Stretching the hair tie well beyond its limit, he pulled one hand free, twisting the black thing around my wrist to form a type of bracelet. "There, good as new!"

Biting back rising panic, I glanced once more at the clock; there truly was no time to change. "I cannot meet a woman looking like this."

"Sure you can!" If he noticed my distress, he ignored it, heedless of the glower sent his way. "You gotta let your hair down, live a little! You don't want to be one of those guys who moves back in with their mom at forty, right?"

Yoko laughed outright and I groaned, fingers burrowing into my bangs. "That's hardly–"

"Wait, do that again." The quiet words caught me off-guard and I obeyed, hand raking through red once more.

A slow grin, complete satisfaction. "Perfect."

The clock glared and I set off without another word, waving over one shoulder.

"Hold up, you didn't tell me her name!"

I ignored him, inbred punctuality forcing my feet into a brisk trot. Hair whipped about my face, lashing my chest, elastic pressing rivets into my wrist. The shirt was a minor inconvenience – one which could be fixed in seconds – but my hair:

I had no idea what Yusuke had done.

Or why passerby continued to stare.

The address eventually appeared, stairs leading below to a cream-colored wall. Dark windows faced the street, judgmental gaze fixed on any who dared venture too close. No sign presented itself though a painted red rooster perched above the door, crimson silhouette worn at the edges.

Bending at the waist, I took a moment to catch my breath, fresh air prickling bared skin. Both hands rose in unison, intent on covering my shame–

'Leave it.'

Yoko's voice rose from the depths, irrefutably calm, despite the pounding of my heart. 'You are meeting a woman, not attending a banquet.'

Etiquette rebelled at the words though I allowed myself to descend the stairs, hands falling away. He was right; there was no need to impress her. Though she chose the meeting place, this was not Demon World; this was not her territory.

Why, then, did I feel nervous?

'If you make a fool of yourself, show more flesh. There are few faults lust will not overlook.'

Banishing the faintest fear, I took a breath and opened the door.

Darkness greeted with open arms, embracing with such force I paused at the entrance. Confusing smells, a unique mixture of hot and cold, music which hummed against the skin without truly being heard–

A foreign world.

Yoko rose and I didn't fight, falling into the familiar pattern. One by one, tiny lights appeared in the gloom, fireflies hovering mid-flight. He focused on the light long enough to note the distant hall leading to a back door, the ceiling-high windows too small for even a child to squeeze through. I saw the bar and bottles lining the left wall, counted the tables nestled against the opposite side and near the exit, anything which could offer cover in case of an emergency. Patrons sat in red-backed chairs and bar stools their number branding into my brain. A pitiful number, especially for this time of day, though I made no comment on his thoroughness:

After all, Yoko's instincts had saved my life many times before.

Settling into a corner table, I relaxed against faux leather, pretending to study the menu. The dance floor was well-worn, victim to decades of stamping feet. Despite their small number, the patrons were well rounded, a fair mixture of professionals and lay-people weary from a week's work. Low conversation sounded here and there though I ignored it, glancing at the clock above the bar.

She appeared amidst sultry brass and a lazy bass line, laughter filling air tainted by alcohol and cigarette smoke. Low lamps made halos atop that head, kissing a neck moist with sweat. A white T-shirt hugged her chest and stomach, printed cat stretching from breastbone to navel. Arms sculpted from brass erupted from the half sleeves, adorned by woven leather bracelets on either wrist. Denim showcased slender calves, accentuating firm thighs and–

I looked away, ignoring an appreciative hum and the heat filling both cheeks. No, I was not like Yoko; I would not stare at a woman's backside–

But she saw me anyway and broke off her conversation, sauntering from the table. Really, there was no other word for her gait: hips swaying, shoulders rolled back, gaze unflinching.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

When I stood to greet her, she paused, brow rising. "Cute shirt."

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, much like someone else I knew. What on earth was wrong with my clothes? "I'm sorry, does this establishment have a dress code?"

Unlikely, given her attire, though most of the patrons were dressed in a similar manner.

"Not unless the 70's made a raging comeback while I was in the bathroom."

She sounded so much like Yusuke they could be mistaken for siblings; I could only pray they never met.

"Hey, you're a grown man – dress however you want." She sat and I followed suit, watching as she rested her elbows on the table. A waitress appeared with a serving tray and handed us both a glass of water, bowing before moving on to other customers, allowing us time to decide what to order.

"I want to pay for this evening, as an apology for before." I said as she studied the menu, curled bangs flirting with her eyebrows. "So please, order whatever you like, Ms. Odawara–"

"Azumi."

I stopped mid-sip, lowering the glass. "Pardon?"

"Ms. Odawara is my mom." She waved the comment away, as if it wasn't worthy of attention. "And Odawara–" A gentle shake of the head, hair floating about her ears. "I hate when people are overly formal; Azumi is fine."

A healthy pause, a drink of water. "Would you prefer to call me Shuichi, then?" Such seemed more than fair, given her request.

"No." She traced the menu with a finger, not bothering to look up. "You don't have anything against your last name, right?"

I blinked, trying to make sense of the statement. "Of course not."

"Then we'll stick with Minamino."

Azumi fell silent, studying the laminated page. Thick lashes brushed her cheekbones, though I could not tell whether their volume was natural or the result of mascara. No lipstick coated her mouth; her face did not smell of foundation, either. Rather, a musky scent clung to her skin, subtle and filled with dark things.

Water did nothing to quench my suddenly dry throat.

"So, which is it?" She took a sip from her own glass, cheek resting in one hand. "Do you work as a cross-guard or a gigolo?"

"Neither, actually." I said as Yoko rattled with mirth. Yes, she and Yusuke should never meet – under any circumstances. "I work at a local firm."

I knew she was fishing for information, though sharing this meant nothing. She could discover as much by entering my name online.

"An office boy." A skeptical look, taking in my attire once more. "I take it your firm doesn't have a dress code, either?"

"We are a celebrated business in the community." Straightening, I crossed my legs, fingers weaving atop the table. "What I wear in my spare time is no one's concern."

She accepted the statement and neither of us spoke for a time, casually studying the menus. Azumi's fingers tapped the aged table, a subconscious accompaniment to the music playing overhead. Though staring dutifully at the page, she knew what she wanted, betrayed by lax posture, eyes waxing a curious shade of gray. I found it difficult to focus on the food choices, acutely aware of the patron's stares, the sweat beading at my open chest.

My gaze left her hand only to stop, transfixed on her blouse. At first, I couldn't fathom why. There was nothing remarkable about the top: a white shirt with cropped sleeves, cat silhouette staring at one breast – the type which could be bought anywhere.

The problem took far longer to register than it should. While the shirt covered all the proper parts, the material was surprisingly thin: I could see not only flesh through the material but also a bold, clear outline of her brazier. A black thing, the undergarment was darker than the cat, each line sharp and simply-crafted. Though I willed otherwise, my eyes lingered, intent on degrading me further–

I did not miss Yoko's chuckle.

If Azumi noticed my stare she gave no hint of it, shoulders rolling as she leaned back. "Know what you want?"

Suddenly aware of the approaching waitress, I nodded, taking another sip. Clarity returned once the cold water hit my stomach but still I waited, taking a few short breaths before daring to meet her gaze.

Of course, she wasn't looking at me but the other woman. "I'll take yakitori and tsukemono, with chilled edamame. And green tea, if Tai's making it."

I moved to speak though when her eyes found me, the order fled, words turning to ash in my mouth. Heat gathered at my nape, crept down my spine, threatened unspeakable places. "Agedashi dōfu and goma-ae, please. I would like tea as well."

The waitress took our order and left, though not before giving Azumi a knowing look.

She reclined as the music changed to a hit from the 80s. "Don't tell me you eat like an old man, too?"

A humming only I could hear, flashes of fortresses made from takeout boxes. "Unfortunately, cooking is not my forte, though I eat healthy meals whenever possible."

Another subtle wave of perfume, sharp claws pressing closer to the surface. "Forgive me, I should have asked sooner – would you care for a drink?"

Most around us nursed an alcoholic beverage of some sort, beer or otherwise. Too late did I realize how the question came across, especially for a second meeting.

Thankfully, she remained gracious. "No thanks, I prefer not to drink in public. If you want something though, go for it. Don't hold back on my account."

"Actually, I generally only drink at home." Her brows rose and I took this as a good sign, forcing a chuckle. "I'm afraid I cannot hold alcohol."

A smirk, hard-won yet present. "A lightweight, huh?"

"Unfortunately."

She lowered her guard as we talked of trivial things, back losing its rigidity, shoulders drooping by degrees. When the tea arrived, she brought the cup to her lips immediately, blowing softly before taking a small sip. Still, I knew even as I watched that she did the same, observing with little more than a glance, though I could not tell her thoughts.

"You look better."

I started at the observation, her voice so low I nearly missed it. "What do you mean?"

"When I first saw you at Black Lotus, you looked sick, like you'd keel over at any moment." She took her time with the words, swirling the tea in her cup. "At first, I thought it was nothing: a cold, maybe even the flu. But every time I saw you, you were worse: paler, clumsy and slow, dark circles under your eyes." Another drink, steam massaging her face. "Then, you disappear and the next time I see you, you're good as new, like nothing happened."

Her perception was remarkable. Fear and dread mingled, along with an unspeakable duty, though none of this to show.

Chin resting in one hand, she swirled the tea in her cup, gray eyes searching. "So what, are you anemic or something?"

I tried and failed to hide my surprise, clearing my throat. "How–"

"I used to know a girl who was anemic. She eventually grew out of it but was in the hospital a lot, way more than at school." A sip of tea, another knowing look.

Slowly, I saw a path unfurling. A simple lie, one which could be easily supplemented–

A crack in her armor.

'She will see us as weak.'

Then let her. I drank from my own cup, tea cooled to a tolerable state. Perhaps this will help to win her trust.

His anger rumbled still though I ignored it, smiling for her. "This is a bit embarrassing."

"Why? It's nothing to be ashamed of." She set down her cup, nail tracing the wood once more. "Were you hospitalized?"

The slightest hesitation. "Something like that."

A sliver of truth, enough to satisfy her for the time being.

Our food arrived shortly after and she dove in after giving thanks, reaching for a meat-laden skewer. I took my time, enjoying the vegetables, the creamy tofu steeped in broth. Soon enough, the finely cut pickles on her plate shared the chicken's fate, followed by another sip of tea.

We ate in silence for a time, enjoying the food, the music, and, for myself, the company of a stranger. "Would you mind telling me more about your work?" I asked after swallowing an explosive carrot, homemade dressing causing my mouth to sing. "I've never met a movie star before."

"It's nothing like that." Clacking wood and she brought a frosted pea pod to her mouth, making quick work of the thing. "I'm a stunt double, not a celebrity."

Of course, I knew somewhat of the position but feigned ignorance, setting the chopsticks aside. "I cannot imagine what such a role entails."

Another shrug, another sip of tea. "We basically handle any scenes that could hurt

the princes and princesses of Hollywood; very few actors do their own stunts."

My brows rose though not from the information given, for everything she shared could be found out with little effort. No, I was struck by her demeanor, the truth laid out without pride. "That must be dangerous."

"Not usually. There are various fail-safes: trick wires, foam mats, inflated landing pads, you get the idea." She set the earthen cup down, shoulders rolling back. "We only have problems when the equipment breaks or with unpredictable phenomena."

Like you.

She didn't say the words yet I heard them anyway, nettles lurking beneath thick lashes. "Your coworker – how is he?"

"Resting at home. He'll be fine, given time."

I nodded, conscious of another set of ears, golden eyes watching from a forgotten corner of my mind. "I am truly sorry. It was never my intention to trouble you or harm an innocent–"

"Are you still going on about that?" A whiff of perfume as she leaned forward, chin resting on the backs of her hands. "Like I said, it's already taken care of. Yatsu isn't mad."

We fell into a comfortable dialogue, the type of conversation anybody can have with anyone. Once more, I marveled at her wit and sharp tongue, navigating topics of weather, recent events and culinary tastes with ease. Each answer hinted at another, a hidden proverb, witticisms I wished to know. No words were wasted yet she remained polite, expertly evading probing questions, expressing only what she wished me to know–

A game I rather enjoyed.

I could not say as much for my companion, however.

Yoko had ceased speaking some time ago.

All at once, she held up a finger, noting a change in the music I'd barely noticed. "Can you hold that thought? I like this song."

Such was my only warning before she peeled away, joining those on the dance floor. Azumi fell into her chosen partner's arms when tapping sounded overhead, allowing him to set the pace as the music began in earnest. They glided among their companions while the singers talked of planets of stars, she lithe as a phantom, he the black straits she walked upon. Quick steps giving way to slow, deliberate moves, arms outstretched; fingers playing with that pale neck, floating, testing:

I'd never seen anything like it.

Her pace rose and fell like ocean waves, retreating, teasing, before rushing back into his arms. Back arched, she tossed her head when he grasped her shoulders, hands cushioning bones as though he held something precious, a holy thing. No contact lingered for too long – neither touched the other inappropriately – yet somehow the display appeared grossly out of place, a prerequisite for other, darker things.

Certainly nothing which should be seen in public.

At long last, the number ended, breathless Valkyrie exiting with a short bow to her partner. Falling back into her seat with unaccustomed grace, Azumi reached for her cup and drained it, though the tea was lukewarm by now. She called to the waitress for water before settling back, the beginnings of perspiration working at her bangs. Drinking deeply once it arrived, she sighed, pushing suddenly fussy hair back. "Sorry, where were we?"

I hadn't the foggiest notion and my companion offered no aid though I knew he did not sleep, lingering just beneath conscious thought. "That was quite impressive."

A snort and she shook off the praise, nibbling once more at her food. "That's nothing; I'm rusty."

The statement smacked of impossibility yet I sensed no falsehood from her, neither body nor scent betraying a lie. "Then let me amend my praise – that was amazing. How on earth did you learn to move like that?"

"A little late to start flirting, don't you think?" When I made no move to retract the words, she sighed, glancing back to the shifting bodies. "It's really not a big deal. Going to Togashi's will do that to you."

My ears perked at the name. Togashi's Academy of Dance, a school renowned throughout Japan:

The only claim of fame Mushiyori possessed. "You attended Togashi?"

Azumi realized her mistake too late though attempted to hide it, stoppering the color rising in her cheeks. "It was a long time ago."

Finally, a crack in her armor. Already, my mind spun, weaving a plan. "That's quite an accomplishment. How long did you study there?"

"Ten years." Again, the answer came slowly, reluctant, something very much like fear minting the air.

Yoko voiced no objection so I placed both hands on the table, open for her to see. "Would you consider taking on a student?"

Azumi laughed outright, nearly dropping the morsel she held. "Sorry, you've got the wrong girl. I don't teach."

"Why not? You obviously have the knowledge and skill."

"Look, I appreciate the offer but you're barking up the wrong tree, Minamino." She ate the last pickle, crunching on the bite slowly. "If you want to learn how to dance, ask someone else."

"I don't want someone else, I want you."

She stilled, lifting her eyes to stare at my face. I could not fathom what she saw there but focused on maintaining a pleasant expression, hands visible, chest and throat bared, inviting:

The nuances of body language humans often took for granted.

"Why?"

I was prepared for the question but still paused, pretending to consider. Of course, I could not tell her the truth, that she may know of Yoko, my hidden life. Such was not practical nor necessary.

Not with the way she looked at me.

"I have never seen someone move as you do, one who can create magic simply by walking." A deliberate softening of the tongue, lips spreading in an easy smile. "I want to capture a bit of that magic, or at least become part of it."

The confession appeared sincere, heartfelt. She fell silent, gaze struggling to remain stony. "I told you, I'm not a teacher."

"Then lead me – I am yours to command."

She fell silent, the air chiming with her heartbeat, pulse quickening in-turns. "I will make it worth your time."

"You have no idea what my time is worth."

I noted the tipped chin, the wrinkling nose. "Enlighten me."

"10,000 yen an hour."

A generous sum though I did not say so, smiling still. "I'll double it."

Her eyes widened and I sensed her excitement, spice rising from areas carefully hidden. Despite this, she hesitated, doubt twisting her mouth. "Why me? You can find plenty of licensed teachers, qualified dancers."

The self-effacement wasn't intentional; she simply spoke the truth. An unexpectedly humble, honest response. "I've never seen someone move like you, even during that first night–" A deliberate slip though I shook my head as if dismissing a nagging thought, gauging her reaction. "It has to be you. I won't consider anyone else."

She could taste the truth through the flattery, measured out to hide the gaps in logic:

A perfectly human response.

Still, I could tell she did not trust the praise. Azumi hesitated, glancing from my face to my hands and back again before shifting her attention to the bottles lining the bar, colored glass reflected in her eyes. I allowed her time to think, conscious of the humming inside, the claws pressed to my spine.

We waited.

At length, she turned back, mind made up. "I have two conditions."

I nodded, forcing my body to relax further.

"One, if this becomes inconvenient, either of us can cancel at any time. If you're looking for a solid commitment, find an actual instructor."

Another nod, holding back a chuckle. She knew exactly what she wanted.

"Two, lessons will be held at my place – I won't have them anywhere else."

This, I admit, surprised me. Most women did not allow strangers into their homes, much less men they did not know. "Is there any particular reason why–"

"That's my offer. Take it or leave it, Minamino."

The first was easy enough to reconcile, a term I would have suggested, if pressed. I still did not know quite what to make of the second. Her home, her private space:

Her territory.

Why would she suggest such a space for dancing lessons, an open invitation into her life? Such did not make sense.

Unless she wanted something more.

Yoko's original suspicions rose and I found myself agreeing with her, extending a hand. "Agreed."

A/N: Hello again and welcome! This chapter was a monster and the finer details took a while to iron out but thank you for being patient!

So Yusuke finally makes an appearance and Kurama makes a firm connection with Azumi. Will his grace in battle transfer to dancing or will he fall flat on his face? Why would she agree to such a request, and what does Yoko make of all this? Keep reading to find out, reviews appreciated!

Yakitori – grilled chicken skewers

Tsukemono – pickles

Edamame – green peas

Agedashi dōfu – deep fried tofu in broth

Goma-ae – vegetables with sesame dressing