Chapter Text
Nene Yashiro and Amane Yugi became friends like milk melting into coffee, to start with: an easy, effortless thing. They’d met during staff orientation at the Kamome Science Museum, years back, before working in the museum gift shop became cozy like an old pair of shoes Nene knew wouldn’t pinch her ankles, if that made sense. Before they’d both graduated college, last spring, and decided to keep on working here without ever telling each other why...
Before Amane started rating Nene’s crushes on a scale from one to seven, with “one” being some guy that ended up stealing the staff room TV and “seven” being the artsy, mysterious gentleman who sat on the benches outside the museum sometimes, working on a screenplay Amane claimed was about hamsters in space (but how would he know?)...
Before now, when Nene found herself arriving to work over an hour before her shift. Nene was here so early to watch Amane’s Planetarium show, again — it was full of horrible jokes, and she should’ve been tired of watching him point out constellations, by this point — and to return a dog-eared old sci-fi romance Amane had lent her. One of his favorite books, he’d said, and honestly the ending made Nene cry. She hadn’t expected there to be so much longing, in something Amane liked. He was usually a “science facts and big monsters crushing buildings” kind of person... and this book had plenty of both those things, don’t get me wrong... but still. But also.
Nene probably could’ve texted Amane to come get his book from behind her desk in the gift shop, truth be told. She’d read a lot of it sitting back there, after all, glancing up every now and then to watch people chase each other around with those bite-y dinosaur clamper toys, or process a credit card or what have you. But honestly, part of why Nene was coming in to work so early — the part she definitely wasn’t gonna tell Amane about — was to get out of her own head. To feel a little more like herself again, after being out late with this guy she was sort-of-seeing, whose over-the-top cologne she was having a hard time getting out of her hair.
Natsuhiko Hyuuga. Like Nene kept trying to remind herself, he was gorgeous: piercings and smooth-ish pickup lines, cool-guy clothes and melty sensitive eyes. Amane had only rated Natsuhiko a two on the Official Yashiro-san Crush Scale, and when she demanded to know why — “It’s not because he’s too pretty for me, right? Not because we’d look weird together?” — Amane had said it was because Natsuhiko never seemed to get Nene’s jokes.
That morning, Nene had been lying awake in bed just staring at her ceiling when really, by all rights, she should’ve been asleep. Or, if not asleep, she could’ve been making an extra nice breakfast, or maybe boxed lunches to surprise Amane and his accomplice Sousuke Mitsuba in the Planetarium’s projector booth... she could’ve been watching TV, or writing lovestruck poetry in her diary, or taking pictures of her beloved hamster, Sapphire Vortex, running around in her signature clear blue plastic exercise ball. But instead, Nene had felt drained and restless all at once. She’d kept thinking back on weird things that happened the night before — a time when she corrected someone that no, she and Natsuhiko weren’t actually dating. Not officially. A time when Natsuhiko started calling Nene by the wrong girl’s name... he had called her “Sakura”... and then caught himself at the last second. Called her “Cutie,” instead.
Nene’s heart had been hammering like she’d just run a long way, stumbling over her feet. But she was supposed to be happy, right? Nene had been looking for a handsome, charming guy who actually liked her for such a long time before Natsuhiko came smirking into her life. “Future Husband-sama,” Amane-kun had started calling that elusive stranger Nene always said she was after. Nene‘d officially invited Amane to her hypothetical wedding ages ago, see, and he’d promised to come cosplaying as one of the characters from her favorite idol game. She’d swatted his arm, and said he had better not. He retaliated by mimicking that character’s recorded voice, trying hard not to laugh as he worked through how the digital idol might object to her wedding. How he might vow to treat her better than this other guy: stupid old Future Husband-sama.
“Quit it, Amane-kun!” Nene had said, back then. “Don’t tease me! And don’t embarrass me in front of Future Husband-sa — my future husband!”
“No promises,” Amane had drawled. But then, a little quieter, “No... Yashiro-san, you know I’m gonna try to be nice. I’ll do my best.”
That was one thing to be said for Amane: he always treated Nene like herself, no matter what bad dates she called him to rant about. No matter what tests she failed, back in school; no matter how many times she thought she’d dissolve into the floor with embarrassment. Amane was a steadying force, like gravity, which was weird because his end goal was to escape Earth’s pull completely: when Nene first met him, Amane had talked a lot about wanting to be an astronaut. Attending a really great, space-program-worthy grad school course, and then walking on the moon like he’d imagined as a kid. But Amane was still here, and... ignoring gushy, copy-paste-from-yesterday-morning texts from Natsuhiko... Nene stormed out of bed thinking, “If I hurry, I can still catch Amane-kun’s Planetarium show!”
She brushed her teeth furiously, and tied her hair into a still-shower-damp ponytail; she barreled through the science museum’s super-weird stained-glass doors all out of breath, suddenly really needing to be where things felt normal. Nene and Amane ate or grabbed coffee together most days when they both worked; they came to the annual museum staff Halloween parties in coordinated costumes. He was saved in her phone as “That Jerk,” ever since he’d braided her hair to look like a daikon (because of her thick daikon-shaped legs/a nickname she’d picked up during orientation, ugh) while she was distracted watching a movie at their coworker Mitsuba’s place. All of that was safe. All of that was easy. Nene wasn’t anybody’s “beloved lady” (Sakura?) when she was around people who actually knew her.
Nene waved at her coworker behind the desk in the gift shop — who gave her a baffled look, and pointed at her watch as if to say, “Why are you here?!” — and jogged past the intro plaques explaining Kamome Science Museum’s unusual history. She’d heard the story a gazillion times before: the whole place had been founded by a wealthy benefactor known only as “Hanako-san,” supposedly, and had originally been meant as a seagull research and rehabilitation facility. Oddly specific, right? Not the kind of place anybody had particular reason to expect, this far inland.
The museum’s Seagull Studies wing had stuck around, inexplicably, which explained all the ocean-bird plushies and fact books Nene sold day-to-day in the gift shop. Over the decades, those landbound seagulls were joined by six other exhibits, the building stretching out in rambling, mismatched wings and corridors and disorienting-ly different architectural styles. Nene knew just how to duck through them all, behind-the-scenes, so she’d be able to make it to Amane’s first show of the day right as it was starting.
There were the Botanical Gardens, full of flowers dyed strange colors by even more stained-glass windows, and a collection of dinosaur bones made to look like they were milling around and going about their dinosaur days... ancient bones, posed with their jaws over the plastic grass and plodding around through the artificial plains. There was the Rocks and Minerals Hall, and the Insect Emporium, and Hanako-san’s own changeable display which was swapped out with some traveling exhibit or another every season. This autumn, a spidery librarian had brought in his personal collection of old-timey strangers’ journals, for example, and was walking Hanako-san’s patrons’ through the bookmaking process. Starting up journals of their own.
And finally, of course... Number Seven, and the most recent addition to the museum: Amane’s Planetarium. It was a magnificent domed space with the sort of electronic seats you could get to recline with a push of a button; it was velvety and metallic, both, and Amane was sort of like the ringmaster in a huge, spangly circus tent, artificial stars wheeling above him. Amane liked to wear a lab coat and a bow tie, doing his shows — he’d originally applied to work the projector, but... hey. This felt right, Nene thought. Amane seemed so at ease in front of the crowd, strolling between the aisles with his microphone, bantering with Mitsuba in the projector room. Anyone would be able to tell space overwhelmed him, and his honest amazement was infectious. How else would Amane be getting applause like this from a gang of schoolkids out on a field trip at eight-thirty in the morning?
Amane offered Nene a tiny wave, when he noticed her. He used to lose track of his lines, catching sight of Nene out in one of the plush chairs near the back of the auditorium, but now he only smiled wider. She’d made it just in time, like she knew she would.
The lights dimmed, and the heavens flickered to life above them.
Slowly.
Majestically.
“Any time now, Projector Crew,” Amane quipped. Ruining the moment, on cue.
“You can’t rush perfection,” Mitsuba called down. “This guy. Thinks he controls the stars...”
How was Nene still grinning? She could recite this script in her sleep!
Amane asked the field trip class where they thought humanity was most likely to find extraterrestrial life in their solar system... not counting Planetarium Crew Member Mitsuba, of course. And Mitsuba shot back that what do you know, him being an alien sort of made sense. He was way too cute to be human, after all. Ha-ha. Amane talked about Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons, and its alien oceans mostly-hidden in the dark under miles of ice; Amane said Europa wasn’t alone, and that their solar system was full of possible secret oceans waiting under the surfaces of dwarf planets and moons. And just like that, the Planetarium show surrounded Nene, again, like swelling music, and she leaned her seat back to watch the stars. She found herself thinking about how she’d met Amane, during staff orientation: the first time she’d looked at him, she thought he was plain, and earnest, and safe. Those had seemed like mediocre things, back then. The unassuming surface of a distant moon, with uncharted, living, oceanic depths? Amane would get so cocky, if he knew Nene was thinking stuff like that.
Amane wasn’t a heart-stopping pretty-boy from a manga, or anything — he wasn’t Nene’s type, of course, not like she’d thought Natsuhiko might be — but he’d muttered something sly to her during orientation, a wicked look in his eyes, hoping to make her laugh. Nene couldn’t exactly remember what Amane had said, now... it’d been some sort of commentary on a training video. Why hadn’t she written it down in her diary, or something? It had felt ordinary, at the time. Natural. Not the sort of thing she’d be looking back on, trying to remember at all.
After the show, Amane answered piles of questions... actually, Nene knew he routinely got scolded for dragging his Planetarium shows on too long, so he could answer as many questions as people wanted to bring to him. That was probably part of why he got thank you cards from classes in the mail, though, with little drawings of planets and asteroids and his dorky bow ties in crayon. Nene watched Amane pace over on the edge of the stage, rubbing his chin, dutifully considering what he’d been asked. Taking every question seriously; doing his best, just like he always promised to do. Just like he would do someday down the line, too, when Nene married her handsome stranger.
Nene and Future Husband-sama would watch Amane’s shuttle launch off on TV, someday, Nene had promised, when he used to talk a lot about grad school. She’d tried to imagine herself clutching Natsuhiko’s hand, watching smoke billow around Amane’s rocket like special effects on an idol-game stage. Holding her breath as her best friend trusted himself to flimsy metal and roaring fire; as Amane finally gave himself to the stars. And then, Nene had caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window she was walking past, trying to imagine all that. She’d been wincing so hard, it looked like she was sick to her stomach.
Maybe that was part of why Nene wasn’t more upset that Natsuhiko hadn’t officially asked her to be his girlfriend, yet, too. Maybe that was part of why she wasn’t reaching for this romance with both hands. But wouldn’t it be worse watching Amane’s shuttle lift off alone? Hadn’t they always agreed Future Husband-sama would have to be there to rub her back and promise everything was going to be okay?
Yeah.
Yeah, of course.
But Nene didn’t want to think about Natsuhiko, right now... or even Future Husband-sama, honestly. She waited until Amane had answered every question, and shook all the teachers’ hands, and waved his arm up over his head, saying goodbye, and then she met up with him and Mitsuba both in the projector booth. They had kind of a rhythm, after all this time. Nene passed Amane his battered sci-fi romance novel, and he said “Trade ya!” before tossing her a bottled iced coffee. He’d gotten enough for Mitsuba, too. When had he even found time to glue a fake label over Nene’s, declaring it “Daikon Flavor?” Mitsuba’s was labeled “Cuteness Enhancement Potion,” and Amane’s was plain black, lightly sweetened. Normal, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing at all. He liked plain donuts and vanilla ice cream, too.
“So, Daikon-senpai,” Mitsuba said — that meant Nene, by the way... she and Amane had been a year ahead of Mitsuba’s class in college — “Did you get the creepy email, too?”
“Creepy email? Um. No? I haven’t actually signed into my work account yet, today... haven’t checked my messages...?”
Mitsuba leaned in, like he was about to tell a secret. He was still sitting behind the projector controls, name tag covered in pastel stars, pinkish red hair tied back in a ponytail. He was cute, but in a way Nene found kind of exhausting, now that she’d gotten to know him. “Well! It’s from Hanako-san, for one thing. Yeah. The same Hanako-san that hasn’t sent out a single email since we started working at this place... and she says the museum is haunted. That haunting’s gonna be next season’s special exhibit, too.”
“What?!” Nene looked from Mitsuba to Amane, trying to decide how seriously she was supposed to take this. It was true that Hanako-san, as the museum’s founder, chose a new special exhibit every season. But a haunted museum exhibit? What would that even look like? “So... it was a prank email, maybe?”
“It came from Hanako-san’s official company address, apparently,” Amane shrugged. He tapped around on his phone a bit — (the screen was cracked, from a time when he’d accidentally dropped it down the stairs from up near the Insect Emporium... Nene had been there to witness it. She knew her contact info was saved on that phone next to two emojis, a daikon and a crescent moon. Wasn’t that stupid?) — and showed Nene the email in question.
Hanako-san’s plan sounded fairly simple, if also completely bizarre. She’d hired an exorcist, for starters, and would be taking applications for the rest of the day from groups of employees interested in escorting that exorcist around the museum, night after night for seven nights, instead of clocking in for their usual shifts. The exorcist wasn’t supposed to banish any supernatural from this “Near Shore,” Hanako-san insisted. Not unless said supernatural posed a concrete threat to museum visitors or staff; not unless their stakeouts got “messy.” After the exorcist — Kou Minamoto, representing the ancient holy Minamoto Family, or something (???) — had dedicated a night each to every exhibit throughout the museum, he’d put together the next season’s special display exhibit. “A glimpse of this friendly, ordinary-seeming place after dark,” Hanako-san wrote. “A collection of rumors people can believe, or not. A potential illumination, the way science can always strive to be.”
“So this is... something,” Nene said, voice a disbelieving deadpan. She handed Amane back his phone.
“Yup.” Amane grinned, took a swig of plain coffee. His eyes shown sort of amber, when the crackling glow from this side of the Planetarium projector hit them. They reminded Nene a little of stained-glass, caught in the light. Stained-glass like on the museum door, and painting liquid multicolored shadows all through the Botanical Gardens. “Now, you know I don’t believe in supernaturals. And I know you probably have at least a couple hot dates planned out over the next seven nights. But... but Mitsuba and I are submitting an application. You want in with us?”
Nene actually didn’t have any particular dates scheduled with Natsuhiko this coming week, but she knew she was... technically... supposed to be scheduling them. Her stomach turned, remembering all those unanswered messages. She unscrewed her iced coffee lid and took a big gulp — Amane knew she liked trying interesting, flowery flavors. This one was apparently some sort of bottled lavender honey frappuccino. She considered it for a second, and then said, “I never thought we’d be going on a ghost-hunt at work, Amane-kun. Never in a million years. But maybe Mitsuba-kun will get some good photos, right?”
Amane’s face cracked open into a wild grin — that was exactly the answer he’d been hoping for, Nene knew. Of course an enthusiastic scientist like Amane would be curious enough to give supernatural investigation a try, if a situation like this came wandering along; of course a photography student like Mitsuba could use the publicity, if he happened to take any pictures that got used in this exorcist’s... Kou Minamoto’s... final presentation for Hanako-san. And in that moment, Nene felt so strangely weightless.
This was a work thing, a chance to come back here, night after night, with people she trusted. And how was the Kamome Science Museum supposed to be haunted, anyway? Had a cursed diamond been moved into the Rocks and Minerals Hall? Or maybe the t-rex bones had finally gotten tired of all their metal display staging and decided to drag themselves around on their own instead? It couldn’t have had anything to do with the spidery librarian guy and his collection of crumbly dead people’s diaries, right?
Amane didn’t believe in supernaturals, true, but Nene wasn’t so sure. She went back to her counter at the museum gift shop a couple minutes before her shift officially started, and knew her friends from the Planetarium would submit an application for their investigation team to Hanako-san before the end of the day. She straightened the seagull plushies, glancing over her shoulder a little more than normal, maybe, thinking about ghosts, and scrubbed fingerprints off some of the huge glittering amethyst bookends. When she texted Natsuhiko that she might not be able to hang out in the evenings this next week, he replied, “All good, cutie! ;) ;) ;) I’ll just cancel our reservation tonight.”
Wait.
What?
There was a long silence, and then Natsuhiko texted again: “Oops! I misspoke lolololol. We didn’t have a reservation, did we?”
Nene swallowed hard, staring down at her phone. No, she and Natsuhiko definitely hadn’t made plans yet. Had he gotten her mixed up with somebody else? He must have, right? Nene remembered how beautiful she’d thought Natsuhiko was when they first met, and how uncomfy their conversations had turned out to be, and how... if becoming friends with Amane had been like stirring milk into coffee right from the beginning... trying to date Natsuhiko had been like struggling to stir the coffee itself into whatever cup was holding it.
Next time Nene saw Natsuhiko, she was going to tell him they’d gone on their last date. If Future Husband-sama existed... nope, no way, this wasn’t him. Nene was in the middle of drafting a, “We need to talk, Natsuhiko-kun” message in her head when her work email binged. The second email from museum-owner Hanako-san Nene had ever gotten, letting her know her team — Nene, Amane and Mitsuba, together — had been chosen for the supernatural stakeout project. That was fast, right? Wasn’t that kind of unnervingly fast?
Nene shivered. Glanced over her shoulder, again. There was a family sifting through the dinosaur puppets, out in the gift shop proper, and someone sitting over in the corner reading a book on gemstones in folklore. There was a lady trying on hoodies with constellations splattered across the back, glow-in-the-dark and everything, and a couple arguing about whether they needed to buy any more fancy commemorative spoons. Convincing arguments on both sides, if you asked Nene.
She texted Natsuhiko something simple. No frills. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, in person, during the day. Is there a time you could be free?”
And then she texted Amane, “I guess we’re supposed to meet this exorcist guy at sunset tomorrow, at the Arby's down the road from the museum. When I think ‘exorcist,’ I don’t immediately think ‘time to order a sandwich,’ do you?”
“No,” Amane... “That Jerk”... answered, almost immediately. His next Planetarium show would be starting in, oh, about fifteen minutes. He was probably eating, watching videos on his phone. “I think ‘curly fries.’”
Nene would have to tell Amane how much she’d loved the book he loaned her, soon enough. It was kind of a weird thought, considering they were just about to participate in a supernatural investigation and all that, but she felt more at ease now than she had in days.