From Gyoza to Grenades

After they’d finished clearing the dining table, the three of them collapsed into various stages of post-food recovery in the living room.

Akio in the armchair, slouched back with his phone in hand. Amaya sprawled upside-down on one end of the couch, her legs hanging over the backrest and head dangling off the seat cushion, braids dragging along the floor. The remaining ninety percent of the couch was occupied by Declan, who was chuckling at Amaya’s odd relaxing position.

“This girl, I swear,” Declan said, flicking one of Amaya’s loose braid tassels as it swayed near him. “Always upside down.”

“She even sleeps like that,” Akio explained dryly, not looking up from his phone. “Don’t ask me to justify it.”

“It’s comfortable!” Amaya insisted from her inverted state. She wiggled to get a better view of him. “You should try it, Akio. See the world from a new angle.”

“No, thank you. I prefer my blood to stay evenly distributed,” Akio replied. “Also, I like the floor not spinning when I stand up.”

Declan laughed again, low and easy, the room fell into a full-bellied, food-coma sort of silence where no one felt the need to fill it with noise.

But eventually, Declan broke it. His voice gentled, more careful. “So, Maya,” he began, using a nickname that made Akio’s ears perk. “Tell me… how’s the training program going? How are you doing with the… you know, the trapeze these days?”

The question came out casually enough, but in the quiet room it landed like a cymbal crash. Akio’s fingers paused mid-scroll. He lowered his phone, screen-down on the armrest.

Akio saw Amaya stiffen slightly. She rolled off the couch in that showy way she always did, landing upright, light on her feet. When she straightened, her smile had waned a touch.

“Oh, it’s uh… it’s going fine,” she said breezily, avoiding Declan’s eyes by busying herself with gathering a few fallen strands of hair and tucking them back into her braid. “Lots of practice in various stuff. They keep us busy.”

Declan wasn’t so easily put off. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “That’s good to hear. But I meant specifically, have you gotten back on the trapeze yet since your fall?”

Akio’s gaze flicked to Amaya. Her shoulders dipped, like it usually did when she was about to deflect with a joke or a cartwheel or both.

Her eyes darted to Akio briefly and then back to Declan.

“Um… no. Not exactly.” She waved a hand quickly as Declan opened his mouth. “It’s not a big deal. There’s a ton of other stuff to work on. I’ve been doing silks, hoop, balance work, some choreography drills… you saw the silks clip I sent you, right?” She snapped her fingers. “That one with the drop combo? I’ve been obsessed with nailing that.”

Declan nodded, but his brow stayed creased. “Your silks acts are beautiful. Truly. But—”

“But trapeze was always my favourite, I know.” Amaya finished for him, her tone sharpening just a bit.

She dropped down on the couch between where she’d been dangling earlier and where Declan sat, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. She mustered a smile. “I’ll get back to it eventually. Just… not yet.”

Akio could sense the fragility beneath her flippant words.

For someone like Amaya, fear probably felt like wearing shoes three sizes too small, tight, foreign, and impossible to move in.

He stayed quiet, not wanting to intrude, but his eyes remained fixed on her face.

Declan, eyes gentle, reached out and gave Amaya’s shoulder a squeeze. “It’s alright, love. I just wanted to check on you. I worry, you know.”

Akio tensed under the nickname. Amaya tensed under his hand, and after a second Declan withdrew it. Amaya didn’t look at him, she just hugged the pillow tighter. “I’m fine, Declan. Really.” Her voice was still friendly, but there was a sharp little edge now.

A silence fell. Declan exchanged a glance with Akio, as if trying to gauge if he should continue or drop it. Akio subtly shook his head, hoping Declan would take the hint.

But Declan had a thoughtful crease in his brow. Perhaps he felt this was his only opportunity. With a sigh, he decided to carefully press on. “Amaya… I know you say you’re fine. And I’m sure, physically, you are. But mentally—”

She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t go all armchair therapist on me.”

“I’m not trying to preach, honest,” Declan said, hands up in surrender. “I just… I’ve seen a lot of performers get hurt. Some bounce back, some struggle. It’s nothing to be ashamed of if it rattled you. That was a nasty fall.”

Akio noticed Amaya’s jaw tighten, the way her hands went still on the pillow. That was the signal. The “I’m smiling but I’m this close to flipping a table” signal.

She hated being spoken to as if she were fragile; he’d learned that much. He felt a pang of apprehension. He should say something. Steer the conversation. Crack a dumb joke. Anything.

But Declan wasn’t stopping. His voice was soft, sure, but it kept pushing forward, kind like a well-meaning bulldozer. “I also want to ask… what’s your plan after this, Maya? You’re here training now, which is great. But long term, do you have a plan? Your parents mentioned—”

“Ah. There it is.” Amaya said, in English now. Her entire posture snapped upright. Her smile was gone, replaced with the storm-cloud look Akio had come to fear. “I knew they put you up to this.”

Declan winced, reflectively switching to English too. “They care about you. They asked me to just check in—”

“Check in? Or check up? Big difference.” Her voice sliced through the leftover warmth in the room. “Let me guess. Mom and Dad asked you to come play the wise older brother figure, talk some sense into the rebellious daughter and convince me to quit performing and go back to school, or join the ‘real world’ or something, right?”

She tossed the pillow aside. “Did they promise you cookies? A sticker? A shiny ‘Good Job For Meddling’ medal?”

Akio’s heart sank. This was spiralling fast.

Declan looked like he’d just walked into a minefield wearing clown shoes.

He reached out again, pleadingly. “Amaya, c’mon. That’s not fair. They’re worried. I’m worried. Performing… it’s a risky career, you know that. One injury can end it all. And even if you’re lucky, it’s hard on the body. No one gets younger.”

He took a breath.

“They just want you to have something to fall back on.”

“Fall back on? Ha!” Amaya let out a sharp, bitter laugh as she shot to her feet. “That’s rich. So rich. Coming from them? From you?”

She paced a few steps away then spun around, her braids whipping with her.

“You’re all hypocrites!” she snapped, eyes blazing.

“My parents chose this life. They raised me in it, loved it, and now suddenly it’s not good enough for me? They're out there right now swinging from rigs and walking tightropes and somehow I’m the one who’s supposed to play it safe? And you, Declan, you’re out there touring, doing crazy stunts every night, and you dare sit there and tell me to go find stability?” Her voice pitched with emotion, her hands shaking at her sides.

“Should I go to university? Get a nice, safe desk job? Marry some boring guy who irons his socks and has strong opinions about tax brackets?” Amaya threw her hands in the air. “Is that what you all want for me? A life of beige carpets and regret?”

Akio shifted in his seat.

Okay, first of all, he thought bitterly, tax brackets are important. Someone has to care about fiscal policy.

Declan stood as well. He looked genuinely pained.

“We just want you to be happy. Safe, Maya,” he said gently. “That’s all. No one’s saying you have to give up performing—”

“Yes, you are!” she shot back. “That’s exactly what you’re saying, what they’re saying— ‘have a backup plan’, ‘get an education’, which is just code for ‘you can’t make it, you’ll fail eventually.’ You might as well be handing me a resignation letter and asking me to sign it.” Her voice cracked on that last word. She blinked rapidly, and Akio had a horrible feeling she was fighting off tears with all that fury.

“I don’t think you’ll fail,” Declan said softly. “You’re one of the most talented people I know. But talent isn’t a shield against life, Amaya. Things happen. And I just… I want you to be prepared. I don’t want to see you hurt again, physically or financially, down the line.”

Amaya’s chest rose and fell as she tried to steady her breathing. A few tense seconds passed. “This—” she gestured wildly, searching for words, “—this is exactly what I get from my parents every phone call. I didn’t expect it from you too, Declan.” Her voice was quieter now.

“I thought you understood. Performing is my life. It’s all I’ve ever known and it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can’t just switch gears and become someone else. I can’t—” her voice trembled, “I won’t just become someone else because it makes other people sleep better at night. Why can’t any of you just… just believe in me?”

The living room felt charged, like the air before a lightning strike.

Akio finally broke out of his frozen state. He couldn’t watch this continue; the distress on Amaya’s face was too much.

She was standing near the TV stand now, arms locked around herself like she was trying to hold her bones together. Declan was at a loss for words, looking like he wanted to disappear through the floor.

Okay. Time to stop this before the emotional furniture got flipped.

Akio stood up abruptly, clapping his hands once. “Alright! Time out, both of you,” he said, tone forcibly casual even as his heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to break out and run. “No emotional sparring in my living room, thanks. We already covered the wrestling portion of the evening.”

He managed a wry smile, stepping between them just enough to draw their attention. Both of them turned to look at him, somewhat startled, as if they’d forgotten he was there.

Amaya quickly turned her face away, but not quick enough. He still caught the motion of her hand swiping at the corner of her eyes. Yep, tears. She frantically paced a few steps to compose herself. Declan ran a hand through his curls, visibly kicking himself.

Akio folded his arms. “Look,” he said, “we already cleaned up one mess tonight. If you’re going to fling emotional daggers at each other, at least do it somewhere with easier cleanup. Like, I don’t know, a boxing ring or a padded room.”

Declan cracked a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Amaya, still facing away, glanced back at Akio over her shoulder. Her eyes were rimmed red, lips pressed in a tight line. “This isn’t funny, Akio,” she muttered in Japanese.

“I know,” he said gently. He took a cautious step towards her. “But also, it doesn’t have to turn into a huge blow-up right now.” He shot Declan a meaningful look.

Declan nodded slowly, remorse on his face. “You’re right,” he said, switching back to Japanese too. “I’m sorry, Maya. I really didn’t mean to upset you. I just—” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “I probably should’ve kept my big mouth shut.”

Amaya sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Hmph,” Amaya replied, still facing away. It was her way of saying you’re not forgiven, but I acknowledge your pathetic attempt.

Akio’s eyes softened. Tentatively, he reached out and placed a hand on Amaya’s head.

“Hey,” he said. She stiffened under his hand… but didn’t pull away. He took that as a win.

“He means well. And so do your parents. I know it feels like they’re ganging up on you, but…they’re not trying to clip your wings.” He could feel her shaking slightly under his palm. “No one’s saying you can’t achieve your dreams. They’re just… scared. I am too, you know.”

She turned around at that, surprise breaking through her anger. “You… you are?”

Akio gave a lopsided, rueful smile. It was rare for him to bare feelings, but if ever there was a time…

“Of course I am. You think I enjoy sitting at work, wondering if you’ve fallen off the roof or set yourself on fire or, I don’t know, flipped into the ceiling fan?”

To his relief, that earned the tiniest ghost of a smile from her.

He continued, gently squeezing her shoulder. “But I also know it’s your life. Your passion. I don’t think you should give that up.” He glanced back at Declan, making sure he listened too. “And I don’t think that’s what Declan was trying to say either. He’s just… worried about your future, like any friend would be.”

Declan stepped closer, nodding earnestly. “I wouldn’t be here lecturing like an old man if I didn’t care. I’m not telling you to quit, Maya. I’m saying maybe have a safety net.” He smiled sadly. “We always train with one, yeah? To keep from splattering on the ground. Think of education or other skills as your life’s safety net. You might never need it, hopefully not. But if you ever do… it’d be there.”

Amaya’s lips pulled into a thin line. She looked between Declan and Akio, the fight gone out of her posture, now just looking tired and a bit raw. “I… I hear you,” she said at last, voice low. “I just… not tonight, okay? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not tonight.”

Her eyes pleaded for that much, and both men nodded.

“Of course,” Declan agreed softly. “I’m sorry I sprung it on you.”

Immediately, Amaya’s arms snapped back around herself, folded tight like a shield. Like she needed a hug but wouldn’t ask for one.

Akio had the sudden, stupid urge to just pull her into one anyway.

But Amaya’s pride was still out like a guard dog.

And Akio wasn’t suicidal.

An awkward silence settled in.

Amaya shifted her weight, then turned away. “I’m… gonna hit the shower,” she muttered. “Long day.”

She was clearly emotionally exhausted and done talking to humans.

Nobody stopped her.

They watched her disappear down the hallway. She didn’t slam her bedroom door (thankfully), but it did close with a firm click. A few seconds later, the bathroom door closed too.

Akio let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and raked a hand through his hair, which somehow felt more ruffled than usual. 

Well, that could have gone better, but it also could have gone much worse. At least no permanent bridges were burned, he hoped.