Peanut Butter Tears (Part 1)

When Akio finally unlocked the door of their apartment, he immediately sensed that something was off. It was entirely too quiet, and the lights were dim except for a glow spilling from the kitchen.

He stepped into the small kitchen and halted in the doorway. Amaya was perched on the kitchen counter, cross-legged and utterly dishevelled.

She wore nothing but one of his pale blue button-down shirts, he recognized it as the one he’d hung to dry two days ago, and her pair of fuzzy clown slippers on her feet, big red noses and all.

The shirt was mis-buttoned, sliding off one shoulder, and her eyes were puffy and red. In her lap rested a large jar of peanut butter with a spoon sticking out.

Her cheeks glistened with streaks of recent crying. Her dark eyelashes were clumped together, wet, and another tear was threatening to spill as she scooped a spoonful of peanut butter and shoved it into her mouth with a sniffle.

Akio’s heart dropped into his stomach. Crying? Again? A protective instinct roared to life in him so fast it almost winded him.

For a second, though, he just stood frozen. He had come in prepared to scold her about wearing his clothes (again) or making a mess (there were indeed sticky smears of peanut butter on the counter). In fact, he’d opened his mouth to launch into a lecture, but the words died in his throat when he fully registered her face.

“Amaya…?” he said softly.

She startled, looking up mid-spoon-lick. For a split second, panic flashed in her eyes as if she’d been caught doing something shameful. Then her shoulders sank, and she quickly swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand in a hasty attempt to hide the evidence. All it did was smear peanut butter under her eye.

“Oh. Hey,” she croaked. Her voice was hoarse and nasally. “You’re home early.”

Akio approached slowly, like one might approach a skittish cat. “Yeah, there was a... thing. Gala news.” He shook his head, dismissing it with a weak wave of his hand. None of that seemed remotely important now.

Instead, he gently took the jar from her lap and set it aside. “This, uh, doesn’t count as dinner, by the way.”

Amaya gave a half-hearted glare and tried to snatch the jar back, but Akio held it out of reach like he was dealing with an emotionally compromised raccoon. “Hey,” she protested weakly. “Peanut butter is protein.”

“It’s also half your daily calories in one scoop,” he replied, arching a brow. “And you’re double-dipping. That spoon has been in your mouth and on the counter, and now it’s just... living its worst life.” he replied, pointing at the sticky spoon she’d dropped on the counter.

He meant it lightly, trying to keep his tone normal and calm, but his mind was anything but. why was she crying? Did Declan do something? Was it her parents again? Had something happened at the circus school? A dozen possibilities buzzed in his head, but he didn’t want to bombard her.

Past experience told him that pushing Amaya too hard was like trying to grab a handful of jelly: the tighter you squeeze, the faster it oozes away.

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve (his shirt’s sleeve) leaving a small peanut-butter-and-snot smear near the cuff. Under any other circumstances, he’d have winced at that. Right now, he couldn’t care less. In fact, the sight of her drowning in his shirt, so small and vulnerable, made his chest ache.

“Amaya,” he said again, more gently now. He stepped closer and tentatively laid a hand on her knee, which peeked out from the oversized shirttail. She was warm to the touch, likely from the crying and a little sticky, definitely from the peanut butter. “What happened?”

She sucked in a breath and shook her head quickly, white hair swaying. “Nothing. I’m fine. It’s stupid.” Her eyes darted anywhere but at him, at the ceiling, the floor, the peanut butter jar, anywhere.

“You don’t look fine.” He kept his voice soft. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel cornered. “You look like…” He stopped short of saying like you’ve been crying your eyes out. Instead, he tried a tiny smile. “...Like you could use a tissue. And maybe a hug, if I’m not reading this wrong.”

That earned a teary chuckle from her, just a tiny one that sounded more like a hiccup. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Mr. Salaryman,” she muttered, but the fact that she said it through a wobbling smile was a good sign.

Akio exhaled in relief at that little laugh. She hadn’t retreated completely behind a wall of sarcasm. Progress.

Gently, he reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb just under her eye, catching a tear before it fell. Her breath hitched in surprise at the contact. Akio’s own heart skipped; he wasn’t usually the touchy-feely type, but something about seeing her cry so openly unlocked a part of him that acted on instinct.

Her eyes, green with that misty grey undertone, like clouds hovering over a forest. finally met his. They were glassy and confused, but she didn’t pull away.

“It’s really stupid,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t even know why I’m… I just… ugh.” She pressed her palms to her eyes, as if trying to physically push the emotions back in.

“I-I got some news today. And it should be fine. It’s a good thing, actually. But I panicked. And then I felt stupid for panicking. So, I cried. And now I feel stupid for crying.” She let out a frustrated laugh, half-rueful, half-miserable. “See? Full circle of stupid.”

Akio shook his head. He carefully wrapped his hands around her wrists and coaxed her hands down from her face. “Not stupid,” he murmured.

He fished for his handkerchief from his pocket (only slightly wrinkled from a day of stressful notetaking) and dabbed it gently at the peanut-buttery tear streak she’d smeared across her cheek.

“You’ve seen me freak out over far less, remember? I nearly flatlined when you spilled glitter on my keyboard—”

That drew a more substantial laugh from her, a breathy giggle. “Oh yeah.” she murmured, a ghost of her usual mischievous grin appearing. “Your face that day, wow…” She sniffed, and a final tear teetering on her chin finally dropped onto her shirt. Akio wiped that one away too, pretending not to notice how his hand trembled slightly.

“I’m just saying, if that warranted my meltdown, whatever’s upsetting you must be significant. So, out with it. What news got you so worked up?”

Amaya bit her lip. Some of her hesitation seemed to ebb now that he had her laughing a little. She took a deep breath. “Juliya. She, um, she told me this morning I’ve been assigned a solo trapeze act for an upcoming gig.”

Akio’s stomach quietly performed its own acrobatic routine. Trapeze... He kept his face neutral.

 “Okay. Like a performance? That sounds like a good opportunity, doesn’t it? You’ve done performances a million times.” He paused. “Is it… by any chance… at a lakeside corporate gala next month?”

Amaya’s eyes widened. “Y-yeah. Wait, how did you—?”

“We got the announcement at work today. Company’s throwing a fancy gala. There’s a circus act booked.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I had a hunch.” Akio managed a small smile. “So, you and I are going to the same fancy party, it seems.”

She groaned and covered her face with her hands again, though this time it was more out of mortification than despair. 

“Oh God. Kill me now.” Her words were muffled behind her palms. “It’s not enough that I’ll embarrass myself in front of a thousand stuffed-shirt, business people… you’ll be there to witness it too! And all your coworkers and bosses and, and Mr. Snuffles!”

Akio blinked. “How do you know about Mr. Snuffles?”

Amaya peeked between her fingers, a tiny smirk forming despite herself. “Naomi might have texted me a play-by-play of one of Shinji’s phone calls. She was eavesdropping on him while babysitting Hana-chan. Mr. Snuffles is practically an A-list celebrity in your office, apparently.”

Akio sighed, but it came with a defeated sort of smile. “Figures.”

He gently pulled Amaya’s hands down again. “Okay. Forget about Mr. Snuffles and the entire kingdom of overdressed office drones. Just tell me why this trapeze gig’s got you so freaked out.”

She frowned, pulling her legs up a little closer to her chest, her voice turning quieter. “You already know why.”

Akio nodded. He did. He remembered every detail she’d let slip about that fall

“I know,” he said softly. “But I want you to tell me.”

Amaya hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… not my thing anymore, okay? I mean, technically, yeah, I can still do it. I’ve trained on it for years. But a solo trapeze act?” She laughed, but it was hollow. “I haven’t done one since I messed up. Not really. Not like that. And now it’s at some fancy event with judgmental rich people and shareholders and a string quartet playing off-key in the background or whatever.”

She rubbed at her arm, avoiding his eyes. “My pride is still wounded.” Her voice wavered, humiliation from that memory clearly still fresh. “Ever since, I’ve stuck to other apparatus. Juliya knows that. But she said I’m the only one light enough and available for this gig and she trusts me to handle it.” Her voice cracked a little on that last part.

Amaya’s hands started to shake, and Akio instinctively held them. 

She continued in a rush, “I should handle it. I should be excited. It’s a solo. It’s a big gig. I should be proud or pumped or something. But all I feel… is terror. Like, cold sweat, stomach in knots, can’t breathe kind of terror. And I hate that I feel that way! It makes me feel weak and cowardly.” Her voice cracked as she looked down at their joined hands.

“I tried to just, I don’t know, power through it, but all morning I was a wreck. I nearly fell off the practice bar. Naomi found me hiding in the supply closet basically having a panic attack. I’m a circus performer, Akio. I’ve been doing this since I had baby teeth. I’m not supposed to get stage fright, right?” She laughed bitterly. “Ugh, I’m pathetic.”

Akio’s heart twisted. To him, Amaya always seemed fearless to the point of insanity. But, she was still human. And performing in front of a sea of suits, at a venue far from the familiar sawdust and spotlights of a circus ring… he could imagine how alien and daunting that might feel to her.

“You’re not pathetic,” he said firmly, squeezing her hands. “And stage fright can hit anyone. Even a daredevil who… what was it Naomi said? Once walked a tightrope over a pool of jellyfish for a YouTube stunt?”

Amaya managed a weak grin. “They were moon jellies,” she mumbled. “Barely venomous.”

“That’s not reassuring at all.” He shook his head in amused disbelief. Only Amaya.

“My point is, fear doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes the things that scare us aren’t the obvious ones.” Gently, he released one of her hands and placed his palm against her cheek, tilting her face up. His thumb brushed just under her eye, wiping the dampness there. 

“You’re allowed to be scared. It doesn’t make you any less brave. Honestly… if I were told I had to swing from a trapeze in front of a bunch of bigwigs, I’d probably be catatonic under the nearest desk. Possibly hyperventilating into a company-branded paper bag.”

That earned a small snort from her. “You and heights aren’t exactly BFFs,” she conceded, leaning slightly, just a little, into his hand.

“I’ll never forget your face in the Ferris wheel gondola,” she continued with a teasing glint in her eye. “You looked like you were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Akio groaned softly. “You rocked it on purpose.”

“And took a selfie mid-rock,” she said proudly, “which is still my wallpaper, by the way.”

She giggled properly this time, and Akio felt an irrational surge of pride at hearing that sound again. Her eyes were still red but crinkled now with honest amusement. It felt like watching storm clouds finally break to let sunlight through.

Akio realized his hand was still on her cheek, and hers had come up to rest atop it lightly. The intimacy of it suddenly registered in both of their minds. He felt heat creep up his neck. He had gotten this close to her before but it never failed to send his heart into overdrive.

He cleared his throat softly and, with great reluctance, let his hand drop. “So,” he said, striving for a steady tone, “Juliya expects you to perform trapeze. You’re terrified. Your solution so far has been to hide and, evidently, to stress-eat my entire peanut butter supply while half-naked in the kitchen.” He gave her a crooked smile to show he wasn’t mad. “Have I summarized that correctly?”

Amaya feigned an affronted gasp. “Firstly, I am not half-naked. I am appropriately attired in haute couture loungewear.” She plucked at the sleeve of his button-down, which on her was so big it slipped off her shoulder again. “Secondly, it’s our peanut butter, roommate, and it’s basically medicinal.”

“Right, doctor’s orders?” he teased. “Take two spoonfuls and call me in the morning?”

“Exactly.” She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. The puffiness and redness couldn’t hide the warm sparkle that was so essentially Amaya. Then the smile faltered, and she looked down.

“I… I really am sorry, though. You shouldn’t have to come home to… all this.” Her hand gestured vaguely at the counter, the peanut butter jar, and presumably her soggy self. “I wanted to keep it together. I even thought, ‘Hey, maybe I’ll surprise Akio and cook dinner to take my mind off it.’ But then I remembered what happened last time I tried to cook unsupervised—”

Akio immediately recoiled with mock horror. “Don’t you dare summon the ghost of the Omelette Incident.”

Amaya groaned into her sleeve. “The fire alarm was so judgy.”

“The apartment still smells faintly of burnt egg,” he deadpanned. “If you sniff just right.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Point is, I’m a mess. And you don’t deserve dumping it all over your tidy, alphabetized life.” Her voice dipped, a hint of that fragile fear leaking through. “Maybe Juliya’s right to push me. If I can’t handle this, maybe I really am just a scared little—”

“Stop. Right there.” Akio didn’t like to use a commanding tone with her, but this needed nipping in the bud.

He stepped between her knees so he could look her squarely in the eye. “Don’t finish that sentence. You are not a coward or a failure or whatever insult you’re about to hurl at yourself. You’re human, Amaya. A ridiculously talented, passionate human who sometimes, surprise, feels pressure.”

She blinked rapidly, tears welling again. But this time they looked more like tears of relief than despair, as if hearing him say that was a release valve.

“You’ve been brave enough to chase this crazy circus dream all over the world,” Akio went on, gentler now but still firm. 

“You’ve faced down more challenges than I can imagine. You’ve performed through jetlag and thunderstorms. Remember when you told me about that time in Macau you had to perform in the middle of a typhoon warning? Or that show where the safety harness snapped and you hung on by pure grip strength until help came? Hell, basically couch-surfed your way through half of Europe with nothing but that duffel bag. And you’re still here, still swinging.”

Amaya’s lips parted in surprise. “You… you remember all that?” she asked softly. “I didn’t think you were really listening when I told you those stories. Half the time I was just... rambling.”

She had told him some of those stories in bits and pieces, late-night rambles when neither could sleep, or offhand comments followed by a quick subject change. He had wondered if she thought he didn’t care.

“Of course I remember,” he said, almost offended by the idea he wouldn’t. “I might act like a sleep-deprived office zombie sometimes, but I do listen.” He softened his tone. “I care, Amaya. I care about what you’ve been through. And I care that you’re feeling scared now.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “I just… care about you. Period.”