One quiet evening, just after sunset and before it would've finally been time to clock out for the day, your office door slams open.
You are just about ready to give an earful to whomever of your officers had the audacity, but instead, two teenagers enter--no, burst through-- the door.
Your officers are at their heels, but it's too late. One of them, the taller one with pale blue hair, locks the door behind them. Quite a stupid and reckless thing to do at a police station with armed officers, really, so you dismiss the officers giving chase to avoid any accidents. After all, they look pretty harmless to you... fingers crossed.
"All right, look. Commander," the tall one huffs, approaching your desk with unrelenting recklessness, "You've had us escorted home a couple times--"
"He prolly doesn't even remember that," the shorter one with glasses mutters, rolling his eyes.
"--but we heard you like tea so I nicked these--these TWIG tea bags--"
"--from our Dad's stash. Not that he'd mind cuz they'd prolly go bad before he even comes home but--"
"Commander Hiwatari, maybe this time you would grant us an audience over tea--"
"We traveled so far and worked soo hard to get here. We'll brew you any cup you'd like, so please take your pick and hear us out!"
There is a momentary silence after the teen who's like wildfire is done with his spiel. Then, in the silence, the other one approaches.
"Or perhaps you'd like this better?"
The long-haired boy, with his deceivingly quiet demeanor and surgically pointed gaze, sets down what looks like a still unopened tin can from the same brand. The packaging, black and gold with a pocket watch that's missing all the hands of time on its lid, is a chillingly telling metaphor.
"We know you, Commander," the boy said, his sharp gaze unreleting through his glasses.
The tall one, now much calmer, put an arm around the other's shoulder. His eyes were now pools of ice that scowled at you in a very, very familiar way. "Do you know us?"
He smiles, looking down at the kidsā entertaining masquerade, he smiles as they spread their wares on the table like peddlers, he smiles as they try to convince him, somehow, to grab one for himself. He smiles, but his arms remain crossed, his face undoubtedly unamused.
Did two teenagers, around thirteen years of age thus most likely old enough to understand social conventions, really run up uninvited to the top layer of the Azumano Police Department building to barge into his office and offerā¦ tea? This is unprecedented. Whoever is responsible for this will have to give a serious explanation and get ready for a mutation in some cold, damp HokkaidÅ village Kei will make sure to personally recommend.
And what was that part about escorting them home? (Mental note to find out where these two live and have his most austere-looking couple of officers knock at their parentsā door to send a message everyone will retain, next time.)
His gaze lowers to the tea bags spread in uncertain order on his desk, a pathetic attempt at an offering. If anything, that is unhygienic.
āThat is an interesting question. Do I know you? Any sane man would instead wonder, how come I donāt know you?ā
He opens a drawer, pushes a notebook to the side and extracts one of the tissues he keeps at hand for emergencies like this. The sober piece of fabric is slowly unfolded, then laid flat on the table to receive the bags, one by one, even though it is now way too late to salvage their salubrity.
āNo one could ever forget about children with such low respect for authority, be it law enforcement officials or their own father.ā
Leaving the pathetic remains on their last stop before the trash bin, he carefully picks the full box that still awaits, visibly untouched. Now, this is something he would consider drinking, especially as he does not recognise the (clean) pack and its elegant design. It would be difficult to come up with a more interesting one as a gift; perhaps he will end up believing the kids when they say they know him, after all.
Do they really, however? Their faces do not ring a bell. Still wearing the rounded cheeks of childhood, they both look way too young to evolve in Keiās usual circles ā officers, art professionals, politicians. Eager to refuse most invitations to public events, he has also rarely been introduced to anyoneās offspringā¦
But he sees it, he sees it almost painfully, in the curve of a lip, in the blue shade of a pair of eyes, in the well-defined nose that resembles one he can summon in his mind when he shuts his eyes, or in the fierce passion that has led these young men so far.
But no one better than him can disprove this theory. No one better than him knows the Hikari family tree, as he has walked alongside most of its members for centuries: his eyes are lying to him, tricked by the kidsā insistent questions. He would recognise a hallucination, feel magic manipulating his mind; this is all nothing, nothing but a coincidence.
āBesides, a lot of individuals do know me, right? Every single person in this building does; you could safely mention my name around regional administrations ā even stalkers could get to know me, had they any interest in wasting their time. Does it mean that you should imitate them?ā
The tea box meets the rich wood of his desk again, this time placed right in the middle, between the boys and him. If they want him to invite them over tea, fine, he will, and then show these children how an invitation is properly made. After all, he has his own kettle, a few snacks and enough cups for a pair of prying, undesirable guests. What he lacks, however, is chairs, but surely they wonāt mind getting a taste of their own surprise medicine.
āNow,ā he begins as he rises from his chair to boil some water, āyou two better have important things to say.ā
