& Dinner

As evening rolled around, the energy of the day mellowed. Amaya spent a couple of hours in the afternoon practicing on her aerial hoop, true to her word, nothing too wild, mostly graceful stretches and slow spins that Akio pretended not to watch from behind his laptop screen.

Her movements were smooth, sinuous, and strangely hypnotic. Her body curled around the hoop like a serpent, perfectly timed with the classical music drifting from his Bluetooth speaker.

For his part, Akio caught up on work and even sneaked in a short nap on the couch.

They decided on a light dinner, just sandwiches and fruit, since lunch had been filling. Amaya made the sandwiches, insisting she had a special circus recipe. This turned out to be slathering a scandalous amount of peanut butter and sliced bananas between thick slices of bread and drizzling it with honey. It was a sticky mess and probably 800 calories a bite, but he had to admit it tasted pretty good. They ate on the couch, plates balanced on their knees while a random variety show played on the TV for background noise.

By the time the sky outside dimmed to deep blue, smeared with the neon of Tokyo’s city lights, both of them were comfortably sprawled in the living room. Amaya claimed one end of the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket she’d dragged out from her room; Akio sat on the other end, nursing a cup of barley tea and flipping idly through channels. It struck him as almost surreal, this level of ease, as if they’d been doing this for years rather than a week.

“Stop, go back! I love this show,” Amaya suddenly exclaimed when he passed a channel showing a scene of a samurai running through a forest. He raised an eyebrow but obliged, setting the remote down as the opening theme of some old period drama played.

“You watch historical dramas?” he asked, skeptical that her attention span could survive something so slow-paced.

Amaya grinned. “Oh yeah. They’re like the circus in their own way, lots of costumes, melodrama, people with cool swords. What’s not to love?” She tugged the blanket up to her chin and settled in.

Akio shook his head in amused disbelief and settled in too. The show was indeed slow-paced, and within fifteen minutes he noticed Amaya’s eyelids growing heavy. She fought it, valiantly, insisting she was “definitely not falling asleep.” Two minutes later, her head lolled back against the cushion.

Akio glanced sideways. Out like a light. A fond smirk crossed his face. She looked so different like this, completely still, for one, and without her usual cheeky grin or firecracker spark. Her face was peaceful, younger somehow. A few strands of white hair fell over her forehead, and her mouth was slightly open. Akio made a mental note to tease her about the little snore he could just barely hear when she breathed.

He kept the volume low and let her sleep. The drama on TV droned on, but Akio found himself paying more attention to the girl dozing next to him than the samurai avenging his clan. It dawned on him that he didn’t mind this at all. Her taking up space on his couch, in his life. In fact, it felt… right.

He recalled Juliya’s words from the party, how she’d raised an eyebrow and all but commanded him to “take care of her.” At the time, he had scoffed, firmly denied any such duty. But watching Amaya now, soft breaths and soft blanket and that absurd clown tank top peeking out, he felt an undeniable protectiveness.

He could take care of her, in small ways like making extra coffee, or ensuring she didn’t slip on soapy floors, or quietly listening when she rambled to stave off her fears. And she… she took care of him, too, in her own chaotic fashion, dragging him out of his shell, making him laugh, reminding him that life was more than spreadsheets and schedules.

This is dangerous territory, Akio thought, gently scolding himself. Attachment leads to heartache, especially when your lives are as different as night and day. She was a wanderer, a nomad at heart; he was rooted here, in routine and responsibility.

In a matter of months, she would pack that stubborn suitcase and be off to the next city, the next adventure, while he remained, perhaps a little lonelier than before. The sensible thing would be to keep his distance, maintain the boundaries that had already been thoroughly smeared by paint, glitter, and snake scales.

And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Not tonight, at least. The day had been too warm, too pleasant to ruin with overthinking. So he allowed himself this one indulgence of closeness.

The episode ended and another began, but Amaya didn’t stir. Finally, during a commercial break, Akio stood and stretched. He approached her side of the couch quietly. Usually, this was the part in movies where the guy does something cheesy like carry the girl to bed. But Akio knew better than to attempt that with her, she’d never let him live it down if she woke up mid-transit. Instead, he carefully draped the loose end of her blanket more snugly around her shoulders.

As he did, Amaya shifted and murmured something in her sleep. He froze, watching her face scrunch then relax again. Just as he thought he was safe, she suddenly slumped sideways, right into him. With a small oof, Akio found himself half-sitting on the couch arm, half holding a very sleepy Amaya who had unconsciously latched onto the nearest warm object (which, unfortunately for him, was Akio’s midsection). Her head rested against his ribcage, and one of her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt.

Akio’s breath hitched. He remained utterly still, not sure if he should ease her back to the cushions or just… let her be. His hesitation was answered when Amaya nuzzled closer, a soft sigh escaping her.

“Akio…” she mumbled almost inaudibly. He wasn’t even sure she was actually saying his name or if it was some dream gibberish. But hearing it, his name spoken so softly, without her usual playful sass, did something odd to his heart. It thudded, once, hard enough that he was momentarily afraid she might feel it against her cheek.

He gave in. To hell with it. Carefully, he slid down onto the couch, settling next to her so that her head could rest on his lap instead of the awkward angle it had been at. She curled up instinctively, her legs drawing in under the blanket as she made a pillow of his thighs. Akio swallowed, willing himself to relax. This was fine. This was just him being a considerate roommate, making sure she didn’t wake up with a crick in her neck. Completely altruistic.

That’s what he told himself as he gently brushed a few strands of hair off her face. Her hair was incredibly soft. Amaya smiled faintly in her sleep, and he wondered what on earth she was dreaming about. Probably something ridiculous, like tightrope walking over a shark tank while singing karaoke. The thought made him smile, too.

The room was quiet, the TV now muted and forgotten. Akio leaned his head back against the couch and let the events of the day wash over him. Who would have thought? A few weeks ago he would have bet good money that living with Amaya would be an unbearable nightmare. Instead, she’d turned his life upside down in the loudest, brightest, and strangely most fulfilling way.

He knew challenges lay ahead. This fragile peace between them would inevitably be tested, by her impulsiveness or his stubbornness, by the worlds they came from, maybe even by that ticking clock counting down her days in Tokyo.

But those were problems for another time. For now, Akio allowed himself to appreciate the moment: a quiet night, a warm living room filled with the comforting scent of home-cooked food and a hint of Amaya’s cotton candy shampoo, and the weight of a friend (was that the right word?) resting trustfully against him.

In the dim light, Akio murmured the thought aloud, so softly it barely disturbed the air: “Maybe this isn’t so bad.” The only response was Amaya’s gentle, sleeping breath and the distant buzz of traffic outside.

He knew she couldn’t hear him, and perhaps that’s why he felt safe enough to continue in a whisper only the ivy plant might catch. “You’re a menace,” he said, “but… you’re not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Amaya shifted slightly, as if in reply, and her hand, still clutching his shirt, gave a tiny squeeze. Akio chuckled under his breath. Even unconscious, she’s cheeky, he thought.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded quietly, resting a hand on her blanketed shoulder in a tentative half-embrace. “I’ll shut up now.”

He let silence settle again, his eyes drifting shut as well, matching his breaths to the slow rise and fall of hers. Somewhere deep down, Akio knew this day had changed something between them. It was subtle, just a series of small moments, adding up to a shift he couldn’t quite name. A crack in the walls he kept so firmly in place. A seed of trust, or something like it, taking root.

Whatever it was, it scared and comforted him in equal measure.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, likely a return to bickering or new chaos (he was sure the washing machine might never be the same). But tonight, Akio decided to let things be.

He sat there as the chaos god on his lap slept soundly. In that peaceful interlude, the orderly salaryman and the chaotic circus nomad found a quiet equilibrium, fleeting, perhaps, and fragile, but real. And as the night deepened, both of them, twisted lives, clashing cultures, stubborn hearts and all, unconsciously held on to each other, neither one quite ready to let go.