The Chillest Paperweight in Tokyo

At the sound of Akio’s voice, both combatants froze mid-grapple. Four wide eyes swivelled to him. The man paused, still holding the bag overhead while Amaya hung off his back.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Amaya moved with the decision-making skills of a lightning bolt.

She executed a backwards handstand off the man’s back, in the process, her foot kicked the bag of chips right out of his hand, though Akio had no time to process this as Amaya immediately launched herself straight at him.

“Akiooo!” she shrieked joyfully with her arms outstretched.

“Wait—don’t—!”

Too late.

She slammed into him with full force, the impact knocking the breath clean out of him.

“Oof—!” Akio wheezed, staggering back as Amaya wrapped him in a flying hug, arms around his neck and legs briefly dangling before she dropped down to her feet. He might have regained his balance, if not for the additional surprise of a rain of potato chips that suddenly showered over them.

Akio felt the light pap-pap-pap of chips bouncing off his head and shoulders. A large crisp landed squarely atop his neatly combed black hair and clung there like a garnish. He stood stock-still, eyes wide in shock, arms pinned to his sides by Amaya’s hug attack, as chips settled around his feet.

Amaya pulled back just enough to inspect him and promptly burst into giggles. “Pfft—hahaha! You… you have a…” She reached up and plucked the potato chip from his hair, popping it into her mouth with a cheeky grin. “Welcome home!” she declared brightly.

Akio finally regained enough sense to put his hands on the small tornado of a woman and peel her off of him. “Wh- What is—Amaya, what is going on?!” he sputtered.

His heart was hammering, from the shock of nearly being bowled over, from the potato chip airstrike rain, and most unfairly, from the sudden closeness of her body pressed against his.

Still giggling, Amaya hopped back a step and gestured grandly toward the tall intruder. “Surprise! We have a guest!” she announced.

Guest?
Guest?!
Was that what we were calling human tanks now?

“Akio, meet Declan. Declan, Akio!”

The redheaded man, Declan apparently, had already scrambled to pick up the now-empty chip bag (which had sailed into the kitchen nook). He turned towards Akio with an apologetic smile. And my god, he was huge up close.

Akio, who was decently tall himself, found himself tilting his chin to meet the guy’s eyes. Declan had a mess of curly red-orange hair, a freckled face with laugh lines at the corners of his mouth, and his chest, good lord, looked like it had been built to block traffic.

He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe a few years older than Akio. Despite his intimidating size, there was nothing threatening about him. If anything, he had a soft, golden-retriever energy. His expression was open and boyish, especially as he gave a sheepish little bow.

“Eh, konbanwa! Good evening,” Declan greeted in slightly accented but cheerful Japanese. “You must be Akio. I’ve heard a lot about you, mate.” His golden eyes sparkled. “Sorry for the… uh… surprise.” He held up the crumpled chip bag as evidence and shrugged ruefully. “Things got a bit…competitive.”

Akio just stared for a moment, trying to gather his wits (and dignity). “I… see,” he managed, straightening his tie, which now had a dusty orange fingerprint—courtesy of Amaya’s cheesy chip fingers, no doubt. Great.

He levelled Declan with a squint that didn’t quite qualify as a glare but definitely had aspirations. “And… Declan, was it? Why exactly are you in my apartment wrestling my roommate for snacks?”

Amaya answered before Declan could. She cartwheeled back to the living area, starting to pick up fallen chips with zero shame about the mess.

“Declan’s an old friend from our circus troupe!” she chirped, flapping a hand excitedly. “We trained together back when we were kids. He’s in Tokyo for a short training program and he needed a place to crash. Sooooo… I offered our couch!” She tossed this out rather casually, as if inviting a giant stranger over without warning was perfectly acceptable.

Akio felt his eye twitch.

How silly of him to expect any sort of consultation about such things.

He shot her a flat, irritated look. “Our… couch. Right.” His voice dripped with weary sarcasm. “And it didn’t occur to you to maybe, I don’t know, mention to me that we’d be hosting a guest the size of Godzilla for the night?”

Amaya paused in the act of scooping chips into her palm and gave him a bright not at all sorry grin.

“I meant to text you, I swear! But then Declan showed up and we started catching up and—” she scrunched her nose, her tone turning teasing “—besides, you’re the one always telling me to stop texting you at work unless someone is dying. Were you dying for this info, hmm?”

Akio scowled. She had him there; he did have a very specific “no chaos updates while I’m at the office” rule, “unless it involved blood or fire." He huffed, deciding to drop that particular battle. Instead, he refocused on Declan, who was still standing politely, trying (and failing) not to step on crumbs with his enormous sneakered feet.

Akio forced a tight, polite smile and gave a shallow bow. “Hosonuma Akio. Nice to meet you.” Then, he added dryly, “Welcome to our humble abode. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Declan’s face lit up. “Cheers, mate! Thank you for having me. And sorry again about the short notice.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just for the night. The circus booked me accommodation, but I got here a day early. Hotels in Tokyo are insane, y’know? Amaya kindly insisted I crash here and save myself the trouble.”

Akio cast a withering side-glance at Amaya. I bet she did. Aloud, he maintained civility. “I see. Well, Tokyo is expensive,” he conceded. “And the couch… is certainly cheaper than a hotel.”

He sighed, deciding that what’s done is done. It was hard to stay fully mad in the face of Declan’s earnest gratitude and Amaya’s weaponized puppy-dog eyes.

She had sidled up next to Declan, nodding eagerly along with his every word, as if to subliminally coerce Akio into agreement. 

“Just for one night, promise!” Amaya added quickly, giving Akio a broad grin. She had a streak of cheese dust on her cheek, wayward chip flakes in her messy braids, and looked altogether too adorable for someone who’d just destroyed his living room. “You won’t even know he’s here. Declan’s super low-maintenance. We’ll be quiet as mice.”

Declan nodded solemnly and mimed zipping his lips. The gesture was rather comical coming from a man built like a bear. “Quiet, got it. Starting now,” he said, then in a loud whisper, “I’ll even shrink a few sizes.” He hunched his shoulders, as if trying to compress his large frame to fit the room better.

Akio couldn’t help the small snort of amusement that escaped him. He really wanted to dislike Declan, but he was making it really hard to.

Akio surveyed the damage to the apartment.

It could be worse, no broken lamps or limbs, just a lot of crumbs, a few empty cans and snack wrappers, and a slight rearrangement of the furniture. 

He loosened his tie completely. “Alright, well, now that I’ve survived my welcome home ambush…” he said, rolling up his sleeves, “let’s get this cleaned up.”

The three of them set to tidying, with Akio grumbling under his breath about certain people acting like unsupervised children. Amaya just responded by sticking her tongue out at him when his back was turned, which Declan found hilarious.

In short order, they swept up the scattered chips (Declan even lifting the couch one-handed to check underneath, impressing Akio despite himself).

Amaya righted the ivy’s yellow pot back to its pride of place, gently brushing a few crumbs off its leaves and cooing, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you involved in the battle.”

Once the living room was no longer a minefield of salty snacks, Akio finally felt he could breathe again. He realized he was still in his work clothes, feeling a bit sticky now, there were probably chip crumbs down his collar. Gross.

“I’m going to change,” he said, eyeing Amaya and Declan. “Can I trust you two to not destroy anything else while I’m gone? Or should I hide the groceries first?”

Declan flopped onto the now chip-free couch like a very large puppy, arms up in surrender.
“We’ll be good. Promise,” he said with a grin that made Akio suspicious on principle.

Akio narrowed his eyes. “Amaya, can you unpack the groceries, please? And we’ll just order food for tonight.”

He glanced at Declan. “I have no idea how much a person your size eats, and I didn’t buy groceries for a family of six.”

Amaya plopped down cross-legged on the rug, tugging a few more chips out from under the TV stand that they’d missed.

“Will do.” she chirped, then holding up two imaginary options in either hand she asked, “Sushi from that place down the street, or pizza delivery from the new Italian place?”

Akio pondered. His stomach answered with a soft grumble. He’d skipped lunch today, too many meetings, too many fires.

“Sushi’s fine,” he replied. He glanced at Declan, suddenly unsure if their guest could stomach raw fish. “Er, do you eat sushi, Declan?”

Declan gave him a thumbs-up. “Love it. Sushi sounds brilliant.”

At least that was one thing they could agree on.

“Alright. Sushi it is. Get whatever. I’ll get the bill.”

Amaya beamed. “Yay! I’ll order our usual favourites and some extras.” She was already grabbing her phone, rattling off an order of assorted nigiri, extra tuna rolls, and— “Oooh, gyoza too?”

“Gyoza’s not sushi,” Akio pointed out.

“Hush, let me spoil our guest!” Amaya shot back with a grin and continued ordering anyway.

Akio just sighed in defeat and headed to his room to change

As he changed out of his work shirt, he could hear the low rumble of conversation through the wall.

Amaya and Declan had resumed chatting a mile a minute, presumably picking up where they left off before he arrived. They laughed easily, like no time had passed.

Amaya hadn’t mentioned Declan before, at least not by name. Then again, she was always dropping stories with colourful characters, a fire eater named Nitro, twin clowns called Macaroni and Cheese…

Maybe Declan had been in there somewhere, just another name swirling in the circus soup. Still, something about it stung a little. Something about him stung.

Declan had seen versions of Amaya Akio never would.

What was she like when she was ten, cartwheeling down circus tents with too-big shoes and dreams even bigger?

What were her parents like? Her hometown? Her first time climbing aerial silks?

Declan had been there, for curtain calls, for train rides and tour vans, for cities and stages and all the in-between places.

He’d flown with her.
Onstage. In sync.
Part of the act. Part of her.

And Akio was just the guy who reminded her to buy toothpaste.
Who shut the fridge door when she left it open.
Who turned off the lights before bed.

Her world was music and motion, and he was just a paperweight.

He rubbed at his temple, shook the thoughts away, and pulled a clean T-shirt over his head with a little more force than necessary

Fine.
Whatever.
Let her have her reunion.

He could be chill.
He was chill.
He was the chillest paperweight in Tokyo.