Worst possible timing, Itsuki thought.
Seventeen boxes — that was everything he owned in Polis District Two. Fourteen were already in the new place by morning. He’d gone back for the last three, stacked them by the entrance, and was turning to make his final trip when the terminal on his wrist flashed red.
Storm alert. Level B. All residents proceed immediately to the nearest shelter.
Of course, he thought, and looked up. The sky was the usual rust-brown. Exactly the same as always — which somehow made it worse. The storm was invisible. It came anyway. That was the thing about storms here.
The shelter was two hundred meters away. Leaving three boxes behind would’ve been easy. But those three boxes held kitchen tools, books, and the espresso machine his ex-girlfriend had left behind.
“No particular reason to leave it,” Itsuki said to no one.
The machine was heavy. But he could carry it.
The problem was the other two boxes. He might have consolidated the kitchen stuff and books into one if he rearranged everything, but there was no time for that now. Level B gave you thirty minutes; a round trip would take twenty-five. He did the math, decided three boxes was impossible, and headed for the shelter with just the espresso machine.
About ten residents were queued at the shelter door. Nobody was going in — they were all arguing about their stuff.
“Can I run back for my keys?” “I have a cat.” “My laundry is still on the line—”
The attendant had his hand pressed to his forehead, repeating “Everyone inside, right now” over and over.
Itsuki joined the back of the line. That’s when he noticed a familiar head of hair in front of him.
“Saori?”
The face that turned around was unmistakably Saori. His ex. They’d broken up at the end of last year. Nothing to do with the move, he told himself.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“Moving in. Today.”
“Today.” Her expression did something complicated. “In this?”
“Still got three boxes outside.”
“Did you bring any in?”
“One. The espresso machine.”
Saori went quiet for a moment. “That’s mine. The one I left.”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t throw it out?”
“Too heavy to bother.”
The attendant chose that moment to shout, “I said inside, please!” and the two of them were pushed through the door.
The shelter was one floor underground — about forty square meters, already packed with forty or so people. The air circulation system hummed low. The walls were some kind of composite, denser than concrete. In here, you were safe for the duration.
The problem was the duration: two hours.
Itsuki and Saori ended up sitting next to each other on a bench along the wall.
“Why today?” she asked. No accusation in it — she sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Only day off I had.”
“New job?”
“New job. Observatory out in District Three.”
“Oh.” Her expression softened a little. “That’s a nice spot. The view—”
“Almost too nice. It’s unsettling.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
They didn’t talk for a while after that. No sound of the storm from in here. But it was out there. Something invisible was falling on the surface, and two meters of composite wall were catching all of it.
“The other two boxes,” Saori said eventually.
“Written off. Nothing in them that can’t get wet.”
“Kitchen stuff and books, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“I came to pick up my things once. From the old place.”
“Right.” Itsuki remembered. The address he was leaving behind. The one she’d shown up at. “Right.”
“Books get ruined if they’re wet.”
“I’ll run when they open the doors.”
Saori thought about it for a moment. “I’ll come with you,” she said.
“There are two boxes.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I sort of know what’s in them.” She looked straight ahead. “Also it’s cramped in here.”
It was cramped. The storm lasted two hours. They barely spoke. Saori checked her terminal now and then; Itsuki stared at the ceiling.
The shelter opened at dusk. The sky was still rust-brown. They walked to his old place, picked up the two remaining boxes, and carried them back. The espresso machine went on the counter in the new kitchen.
“Thanks,” Itsuki said.
“Heavy,” Saori said, and left.
The next morning, Itsuki made himself an espresso.
It wasn’t very good. But there was no reason to throw it out.