Sticky Fingers & Sticky Feelings

Akio woke just after dawn with a crick in his neck and a fuzzy blanket half-draped over his lap. It took him a disorienting moment to remember why he wasn’t in his bed. Right… Lately, he’s been falling asleep on the couch more often than he would’ve liked.

The soft weight of Amaya’s head had been on his thigh when he drifted off. Now she was gone, the blanket left behind in a heap. A thin ray of early sun peeked through the curtains, falling on an empty couch cushion where she’d been. Akio blinked sleep from his eyes, unsure if he was relieved or oddly disappointed that she’d untangled herself before morning.

He stretched gingerly. His back protested the night on the couch, and as he stood, a few bits of something fell from his shirt to the floor. 

What on earth? He pinched one between his fingers: a fleck of glitter. There was more, a sprinkling of fine sparkles clinging to his rumpled pants and even his forearms. Akio let out a low groan. It was as if he’d been dusted by a very sloppy fairy.

Memory trickled back: Amaya had been experimenting with some new stage makeup yesterday, right before dinner. The living room must still be littered with her “artistic residue.” Sure enough, as he scanned the room, he spotted her cosmetics bag sprawled open on the coffee table, various brushes and palettes strewn about. A couple of sequins winked from the rug.

Akio ran a hand through his hair and felt a grainy something near his scalp. Oh no. He trudged to the hallway mirror, confirming his suspicion: a constellation of glitter was smeared above his left ear. He pursed his lips, debating if it was worth a shower to remove it or if he could pass it off as unconventional hair gel. Not that it mattered right this minute, today was Sunday, no office to impress. Still, the sight of himself with sparkles in his messy hair and wrinkled shirt was... a little pathetic.

With a sigh, he shuffled toward the kitchen. Maybe coffee first. The apartment was quiet except for the creak of the floor under his steps. 

Amaya’s door was slightly ajar, but no sound came from inside. She was an infamously late sleeper when she could be; she’d no doubt crawled to her bed after slipping away from the couch. Akio tried not to picture her all curled up in her blankets. Focus. Coffee.

In the kitchen, a new annoyance greeted him. Last night’s dishes were still on the counter, crusted plates bearing smears of peanut butter and honey from the sandwiches Amaya had concocted. 

The jar of peanut butter stood uncapped, knife still inside. The local army of ambitious ants had not discovered it yet, thank goodness, but it wouldn’t be long. Akio’s eye twitched at the sticky mess on the counter.

He filled the kettle to boil water, then set about tidying up. He grabbed the peanut butter jar, his fingers stuck to the sides making him cringe. He washed his hands, then the dishes, scrubbing vigorously at the gooey residue. The clatter of plates must have been louder than he thought, because a moment later, Amaya’s door swung open.

A very groggy, very disgruntled Amaya shuffled out. Her hair was a wild white storm, half of it sticking up, half plastered to the side of her face. She wore an oversized pink t-shirt with mismatched socks, one striped, one polka dotted. Blinking at the light, she mumbled, “Wh’time ‘sit…?”

“Just past six,” Akio replied, keeping his voice low but not apologetic. He rinsed a plate noisily. “Good morning.”

Amaya winced, still half-asleep. “Six? That’s illegal on a weekend…” She yawned hugely, almost like a lion cub, and shuffled toward the kitchen. As she got closer, her nose wrinkled. “Ugh, why does it smell like a candy factory in here?”

Akio held up the sticky peanut butter jar in silent explanation, then pointed to the globs he’d scraped off the plates and into the sink strainer. “Courtesy of someone who didn’t clean up.”

Amaya leaned against the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “I was tired, Mr. Clean. We both passed out, remember? Besides, you love my special sandwiches, you even said it’s—”

“— ‘pretty good,’ yes,” he finished, placing the jar in the cupboard with a thud. “And pretty messy. I nearly glued my hand to the counter just now.”

Her eyes narrowed at his tone. Fully awake now, Amaya crossed her arms. “Sorry for having a little late-night snack in our own home. Didn’t realize it was a crime.”

Akio exhaled slowly, trying to keep a grip on his patience that still felt fragile in the early hour. He set the clean plates in the drying rack with care instead of slamming them. “It’s not the snack; it’s leaving everything out. You know how the ants get in if we’re not careful. And I almost tripped over your handstand brick things in the living room last night—”

“This again,” Amaya groaned, rolling her head back dramatically. “So, I leave a few things around. Big deal. The place would be depressing without me; a little glitter and peanut butter gives it character.”

“Ants and stickiness does not give it ‘character’,” he retorted, gesturing to the evidence. “You promised to clean up after your practice sessions. And what about the glitter bomb you set off in the living room?”

She looked genuinely puzzled for a second, then glanced down at herself. A guilty grin tugged at her lips as she noticed the shimmer on her own arms. “Oops.”

“‘Oops’,” Akio echoed, feeling an incredulous laugh bubbling up. “You got glitter all over the couch. And me! I look like I went clubbing at a teenage fairy rave.”

Amaya bit her lip, and for a moment he thought she might laugh. But she caught herself at his frowning face. “Okay, okay, my bad. I was testing a new makeup routine for a kid’s show. I guess I fell asleep before cleaning it up.”

Akio rubbed his temple. The kettle clicked off, boiling. He busied himself preparing his coffee pour-over, focusing on the steady spiral of water, anything to keep from snapping. “This isn’t just about last night. It’s every day, Amaya. Your stuff is everywhere. I found your juggling balls in the shoe cabinet, your sequined leotard hanging on the bathroom door, and don’t get me started on nearly choking on a feather from your boa on Thursday.”

She snorted. “That feather was nowhere near your food, drama king. I saw it on the floor.”

“It somehow ended up in my toothbrush cup, explain that!” he fired back, turning to face her. “I’m trying, I really am, to live with… all this.” He waved a hand broadly, indicating the general chaos radius that perpetually surrounded her. “But I need some basic order. Is that too much to ask?”

Amaya’s face lost its sleepy softness, hardening into defensiveness. “You’re acting like I trash the place on purpose. I clean some things.”

“When was the last time you vacuumed or wiped the counters?” Akio challenged quietly.

“I…” She faltered, then jutted her chin out. “I take out the garbage.”

“After I remind you three times,” he replied.

“I water our plant!” she countered, with a little too much conviction.

Both of their eyes instinctively darted to the small potted ivy on the windowsill. The morning sun illuminated its leaves, several of which were looking alarmingly droopy. A pang of guilt went through Akio. He’d been meaning to water it yesterday.

Amaya noticed the wilt at the same time. Her bravado wavered. “Well, I meant to water it…”

Akio’s shoulders slumped. The ivy had been a joint promise, ‘Operation: Keep Ivy Alive’, she’d called it. Right now, it looked like ‘Operation: Barely Surviving’.

“We’re both at fault on that one,” he admitted gruffly. “I usually handle mornings, you do evenings… We dropped the ball.”

She shuffled over to the sink, filling a glass with water. As she gently poured it into the ivy’s soil, Amaya murmured, “Sorry, little guy.”

Akio watched in silence; arms folded. He hated that their neglect had hurt the one innocent party in this apartment. It was such a small thing to care for, and they hadn’t even managed that lately. A heavy silence hung between them for a moment, cooler than the morning air.

Amaya set the glass down. “Look, Akio. I know I’m not the easiest person to live with.” Her tone was still defensive, but underneath he heard a note of sincerity. “But you’re no picnic either. You wake up at ungodly hours and rattle around doing god-knows-what. Your alarm is like a war siren at 5 AM. And you vacuumed at seven the other day! Seven! Who does that?!”

His jaw tightened. “Someone who doesn’t want to wade through dust and popcorn kernels.”

“You’re so obsessed with order that one magazine out of place gives you hives,” she continued, eyes flashing. “Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a museum where I can’t touch anything without permission.”

Akio bristled. “This is my home too, Amaya. I have a right to some say in how it’s kept. When I moved here, I didn’t expect I’d find peanut butter on the light switches or glitter in my coffee mug.”

Her cheeks flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment or both. “I said I was sorry about the peanut butter!”

“Actually, you didn’t,” he interjected.

She threw up her hands. “Fine! Sorry! But you’re acting like I commit war crimes every time I don’t tuck a chair in.” She took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “And you know what? Maybe if you loosened up a little, you’d realize living with some spontaneity isn’t the end of the world. Not everything can be planned and polished, Akio!”

He matched her step, closing the distance in the tiny kitchen. “And maybe if you showed a shred of responsibility, I wouldn’t have to nag. Not everyone can live in a constant state of improvisation. Some of us have real jobs with real schedules.”

Amaya sucked in a breath, as if he’d slapped her. “Real jobs? Real schedules?”

Akio realized too late how it sounded. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Oh yes you did.” Her voice was ice. “My work isn’t a ‘real job’ to you, huh? I just swing around having fun while you slave away at something meaningful?”

“That’s not what I said,” he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The morning was rapidly derailing. “I only meant structured. You know…corporate life versus your life. They’re different.”

“Right. My life of chaos and childish play, is that it?” Her eyes shimmered with something hurt and hot. “I know what you think of the circus. Of me. A ‘freak,’ wasn’t it? I remember that from day one.”

Akio felt a sting of shame. He had called her that (albeit in his head, or had he muttered it aloud back then?). “I was wrong to say that,” he said quietly. “I don’t… think that now.”

She huffed, turning on her heel as if to pace, but the kitchen was too small. Instead, she ended up with her back to him, hands on the counter. “Whatever. You clearly just see me as a nuisance you have to clean up after.”

“That’s not true,” he said, though in the moment, with the frustration riding him, it did feel a little true. “You’re exaggerating what I—”

“Am I? You make it pretty clear how I mess up your precious routines.” She looked over her shoulder at him, white hair tumbling over one eye. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but still sharp. “You know, sometimes you make me feel like I’m just… in your way. Like you’d be happier if I wasn’t here at all.”

Akio opened his mouth to refute it, to say of course that wasn’t the case, but the words tangled. Would he be happier? Weeks ago, he would have sworn yes. Now… now things were complicated. Memories of her sleeping peaceful and warm against him, was still fresh in his mind. But the irritation of this morning was real too. He found himself floundering for an answer.

His hesitation must have been answer enough. Amaya’s face fell, her bravado finally cracking to reveal genuine hurt beneath. She nodded to herself, lips pressed thin. “Got it.”

Akio had never seen Amaya angry before. Honestly, he didn't think she could get angry, but before he could untangle his thoughts and respond, she was already brushing past him. “I’m… going out,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“Amaya—” He reached out as she headed for her bedroom, but she slipped from his grasp. Within seconds she reappeared, now wearing a zip-up hoodie over her t-shirt and carrying her duffel bag.

“Where are you going?” Akio demanded, alarmed by how final her departure looked with that bag in hand. The anger in him was rapidly deflating, leaving only an uncomfortable hollowness.

“Practice,” she said shortly. Her tone made it clear he was the last person she wanted to talk to about it. “And maybe I’ll crash at Naomi’s after. Give you and your ‘real job’ some space.” She hoisted the duffel strap onto her shoulder.

Akio’s stomach clenched. This was spiralling way beyond a simple spat over peanut butter. “Don’t be ridiculous. You live here,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “We’re just… having a disagreement.”

Amaya walked to the genkan and jammed her feet into her scuffed sneakers. “Call it whatever you want. I need to not be here right now.” She straightened, duffel bumping against her hip. Her eyes flickered up to him, those bright green eyes that normally sparkled with mischief now dulled with frustration and hurt. “I’ll see you later… Or something.”

It sounded painfully uncertain. Akio felt a spike of panic at the thought that she might actually not come back. This was still her home, for the year at least, wasn’t it? His pride waged war with concern; he didn’t want to beg her to stay in the heat of an argument, but the idea of the apartment without her made his chest ache.

“You can’t just walk away in the middle of—” he began, stepping forward.

She cut him off, hand on the doorknob already. “Watch me.”

And with that, Amaya yanked the door open and disappeared into the hall, pulling it shut in a decisive thud. The silence that followed was deafening.

Akio stood in the entryway, staring at the closed door. His heart thumped dully in his ears. The apartment felt instantly emptier, as if her energy had been physically holding up the walls and now everything drooped (including their poor ivy, he thought with a grimace).

He exhaled and noticed his hands were trembling just slightly. From anger? Or fear that she might not come back? He wasn’t sure.

Akio turned, seeing the evidence of their clash everywhere: the half-cleaned kitchen with its damp counters, the glitter on the couch cushions, the forlorn ivy plant now freshly watered but still sagging. His gaze fell on the blanket she’d left on the couch. He picked it up slowly. A strand of her white hair clung to the fabric.

He carefully folded the blanket, as if doing so could fold away the morning’s tension. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was impulsive and messy, yes, and he was particular and sometimes uptight, sure. Those differences had always been there, but lately… lately it felt like they’d been finding a rhythm. And now this?

Akio set the folded blanket on the arm of the couch and sank down beside it. He suddenly felt bone-tired. “Great job, Hosonuma,” he muttered to himself. “You handled that brilliantly.”

Running a hand through his hair, he stared at the floor, where a couple more pieces of glitter twinkled innocently. He’d just essentially told the one person who’d made his life more interesting (and yes, more chaotic) that she was a problem, and she’d left.

His eyes drifted to the little yellow ceramic pot by the window. A droplet of water clung to one ivy leaf, ready to fall.

“We really screwed up, didn’t we?” he said softly to the plant. The leaf quivered, then the droplet fell soundlessly into the soil.

Akio sighed. He would apologize, of course he would. As soon as she came back. Or maybe sooner; he could text her. But knowing Amaya, she’d ignore it until she’d cooled off. He’d have to give her some space for now.

They had both said things in anger. He didn’t truly want her gone, far from it. But how to convey that to someone who thrived on freedom and might bolt if she felt cornered? He rubbed his face.

For now, there was nothing to do but wait for Amaya to return when she was ready. And when she did, he’d try to talk, really talk. Maybe even listen better, something he realized he hadn’t done much of this morning.

Akio stood and looked around the messy living room and kitchen. It was going to bother him all day if he left it like this. So, like the “uptight neat freak” he apparently was, he got to work. He swept up the stray glitter and wiped down the counters again. He double-checked that the ivy’s soil was moist but not flooded. Small tasks to occupy his hands and ease his mind.

Yet, as he tidied, his anxiety persisted. Cleaning up the physical mess was easy; fixing the mess he’d made between them was another matter.

By the time the apartment was back in order, Akio’s coffee had gone cold on the counter, untouched. He poured it down the sink and sighed.

What an end to the weekend.

He caught sight of the clock. Still only 7:15 AM. Too early to do much else. Without Amaya around, the silence was heavy and uncomfortable, like the apartment had reverted to how it was before she burst into it, and he discovered he didn’t like that feeling at all.

Akio grabbed his running shoes by the door. Perhaps a run would clear his head. It was something normal, part of his routine that he could hold onto. And maybe, if he was being honest, a part of him hoped that by the time he got back, Amaya would have cooled off and returned too.

He gave the ivy one last glance, then stepped out into the crisp Tokyo morning for a long jog.