...wanna hang out, then?

I’m so blind sometimes.

Father never managed to drill situational awareness into me, much as he tried. He wasn’t a bad teacher, I was a bad student. It’s hard to pay attention when the barest whiff of dopamine sends you into euphoria.

But now it’s all cortisol, and my executive function resumes and recalibrates. New directive: keep Hinata safe. But while fun mode switches to mission mode, it doesn’t do so seamlessly.

Clumsily, I help Hinata back to her feet and she still hovers closeby. Like a hug without an embrace.

“You okay?” she asks, concerned and no, I’m not. I feel like I’m gonna shoot the scallops we had earlier out of both ends, but I can’t tell her that. Nor that someone not in her gang has been on our tail for god knows how long. Do not alarm civilians. Stress breeds risk.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble absently, scanning the area as subtly as the Terminator. The guy’s image is seared into my mind, but with a black hoodie and skinny jeans, he’s a chameleon in this crowd. But nevertheless, he’s near. I can feel his glare mocking me.

“You sure?” Hinata presses. “I wasn’t too heavy, was I?”

Reflexively, I turn to her, size her up. From painted toes all the way up to twitching lips. Now I’m not so sure anymore.

I planned to keep what I found a secret. Let the evening continue as normal. Then, as soon as Hinata and I went our separate ways, I’d lure this guy into a secluded place, subdue him, then find out what his deal is. Who hired him and why. But going through it all again, that doesn’t sound right.

Not only I’ll be a robot for the rest of our, ahem, outing, too distracted to give Hinata the quality time she deserves, I’d also be lying to her whenever she’ll inevitably ask me why I’m not really there. And sure, it would be a white lie with a good reason behind it. Lenient circumstances make wrong means just, as father would put it.

But I don’t know if I want to follow his teachings here. Not now. Not with her.

So I take a deep breath, gather all my courage, and lean down to her ear.

“Something’s up, but before I tell you about it – promise not to freak out?”

She flinches, but gives a shaky nod, “Sure?” Not too convincing, but it’s enough for me.

“Okay then – don’t peek behind you. Somebody’s following us.”

Her eyes fly wide, a normal response. But then, she clenches her fists tightly and – sighs. A long and heavy sigh that sounds more frustrated than shocked or scared.

“Of course,” she mutters to herself, before grabbing my arm. “Come, we’re going.”

“What. Where?”

“Somewhere these losers won’t find us.”

Now, a couple things stand out. First off, she said losers plural, and a quick reassessment reveals that the dude was not alone. As we move, several guys move with us, all donning the same attire like it’s a uniform. But second, and more important, she sounds – almost unfazed. Slightly angry that this could and did end up happening.

And with how she harries me like a reluctant dog on a tight leash, I think it’s safe to say that she also has a plan.

We head into the part of the exhibition where eating is less about the food and more about the service. Monocled butlers paint your pates at the table with horseradish cream and pea puree. Fish is filleted, flailed and flambeed before oodles of drooling eyes. Desserts are abstract art pieces, assembled by hungry architects. But pretentious as it all may be, it attracts a suffocating lot. Which would be useful if –

“I’m half a foot taller than everyone,” I comment.

Hinata grits her teeth, “I know.”

“And also curly and blonde like a haystack.”

“My golden flagpole.”

“And pairing all that with how we can’t go too fast because of all the foodies, aren’t we an easy target to track?”

She snaps around, shoots me a cold glare, then yanks me down until I’m slouching harder than Quasimodo before a mass.

“Everything alright?” I ask cautiously.

“Oh yeah, great. Dandy, you could say.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Noooo.”

“Okay, will you at least tell me what’s going on?”

“I just – I’m tired. I wanna catch a break for once,” she says in an opaque tone that I should probably get used to by now. If only I knew how to deal with the tension it causes.

Now under the radar, we reach the land of performers. Champagnes are sabered and seafood swims in tanks. Posh bars sprout here and there, long oaken counters replete with the clattering of ice-filled cocktail shakers. From one of those Hinata swipes an unwatched glass and takes a tentative sip. Alcohol, judging by her recoil.

“Drinking away your troubles?” I joke.

“As if. This diluted piss couldn’t even get me tipsy.”

“You sure? You are pretty lightweight, after all.”

A short-lived smile dangles on her lips, forced off by a heavy frown. “And you’re surprisingly light on stealing.”

“Well – it’s for a good cause, right?”

Hinata digs her heels in, her grip on me loosening. Quiet gasps and cheers cut through the air, agitated by the clinking of knives juggled above sizzling steak. Keen, watchful eyes cage us from all directions – the pressure of a vigilant audience.

“It’s not,” she spits, slipping away from my grasp. “I’m about to ruin everyone’s time just because I made a mistake.”

For a second, I have no clue what she’s talking about. But then, her gaze slides over to the teppanyaki chef building a nearby onion volcano. And when she swirls the liquor again, it all dawns on me.

To my surprise, however, I don’t mind it all.

For too long now, I’ve lived by rulesets and procedures, boxed in by labels and codes that only work in a training drill, never out in the field. And Hinata showed me how exhilarating it can be to just go off script. To let go. To improvise. That’s what good agents can and should do, after all. But honestly, spycraft is the last thing on my mind right now.

Because all I want to do is just get over this little thing, so we can resume our date.

“You won’t be ruining mine,” I say with a shy grin, that grows more cocksure by the second.

“Don’t say that,” Hinata scolds. “It’s selfish.”

“But it’s fun, isn’t it? And that’s what this is all about.”

“And the people?”

“Boohoo, they’ll get a little wet. Sneeze a little, maybe. Good reason to use a sick day.”

“And water damages?”

“You think they don’t have insurance? In this economy?”

“But what if –”

“You’ll make the right call,” I squeeze her hand, gentle but tight. So that she knows, “I trust you.”

Hinata tries a scoff, but ends up snickering instead, rolling her eyes with a smirk.

“God, you’re so cheesy.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t hate it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’ll be chaos soon. Don’t lose me.”

“Don’t go too fast, then.”

“You’re quick, you can keep up.”

“I take it you’ll be running.”

“And you’ll be right behind me. Promise?” she raises the glass. A toast.

“Promise,” I say, clutching it tight. And, together, we spill it right into the open flame.

It’s an eruption. A wicked tall plume. The fake palm from the Caribbean bistro lights up, its leaves a living blaze. Cardboard smoke climbs to the ceiling. The alarm rings. Sprinklers fire off, one by one. A welcome defect in a flawed system.

Panic ensues right after. The first scream beside us, the next one left behind. We slice through the mob. At times, elbow to elbow, at times clipping feet, but never too far apart. Before long, we’re at the far end. The emergency exits are open and we shoot right through them, drenched from head to toe. But grinning nonetheless.

But we’re not out of the woods yet. Our pursuers are there, but they’ll be out soon too. And when they are, we’ll be far, our trail grown cold and damp.

The destination is obvious. Across the road, round the baseball stadium. The music swells. Hoorahs. Must be a local home run. The parking lot is packed too. A derby, I take it. Couldn’t be the beach, because it’s dead empty.

And trust me when I say this. I’ve suntanned on Copacabana, rode Santa Monica’s wheel and swam in cerulean lagoons all over the Pelopponese. But nothing will ever beat this mud brown strip on the ass of Tokyo Bay.

It’s not beautiful, far from it. It’s festering with algae, sharp seashells and seagull droppings. And our destination is awful, a rickety shed that’s one black mould colony away from sentience. But I’m here with someone I feel I could conquer the world with. And it’s a feeling I never want to lose. Even if now, after all the adrenaline wore off, I’m asking myself –

“What the hell are you doing?”

“The handle fell off a while ago. This is the only way to get in now.”

“By molesting the keyhole with your fingers?”

“Tell me you never picked a lock without telling me.”

“Psht. What is this place anyway?”

“Fisherman’s hut? Lifeguard’s shack? Jury’s still out.”

“I meant –”

“Hush, you’ll see for yourself in… just.. a… click.”

With a creaky moan, the door opens revealing – nothing. Partly because in the light of dusk, everything inside is just a series of silhouettes. Partly because Hinata only allowed me a quick peek before shutting herself in. With a loud wooden crack.

“Should I ask?”

“I’m changing out of my clothes. Which you should too. Don’t want you getting sick.”

“So stay naked in the wind, then?” I reply, already peeling my shirt off of me.

“We’ll light a fire! I’m sure there’s something we can use as kindling in here.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Who’s gonna know, the birds? Besides, your health is a good cause.”

“I – well played. What’s taking you so long, by the way, you were only wearing a –”

Jumper. And that’s the only thing she comes out wearing. It’s in my size, by the way, going by how far it covers her thighs. And with the messy bun and the little blemishes poking from under her washed away make up – I can’t help feeling embarrassed. Like I’m looking at something I’m not meant to see just yet. And with how her eyes flit between my abdomen and the water behind me, I wonder if she can empathise.

Especially with how awkward silence settles between us.

“So,” I scratch the back of my head. “What now?”

Hinata looks down at her feet, curls her toes in the sand. “Well, we’ll light a fire. Should see if we can dry our clothes somehow. But it’ll take a while –”

“I mean, it’s spring. Night falls slowly.”

“And it’s pretty warm for April.”

“Plus there’s the sea.”

“And the stars will come out soon too.”

“So…”

“So…”

We bite out tongues. Swallow them, spit them back out. Our gazes meet, quickly cower away. But as we each rub our own elbows, shrinking and shivering against ourselves, we realise that, after everything that’s happened – it’s silly to be nervous now.

“...wanna hang out, then?” we ask at the same time. And reply with the same smile.