Peanut Butter Tears (Part 2)

The apartment went still. Amaya stared at him, eyes wide and shimmering.

Akio realized what he’d just said and felt every alarm in his brain start wailing Too far, too far!

His face grew hot, and he scrambled to cover up the confession with a joke. “I mean, because you’re my roommate and if you’re miserable, you’ll keep me up all night playing sad German metal music or something. It’ll ruin my sleep cycle.”

She saw right through him; he could tell by the smile tugging at her lips. But she let him off the hook, not pushing further. Instead, she opened her arms slightly, in the manner of a child asking for a hug. “I…could still use that hug, actually,” she said in a small voice.

Akio didn’t need to be asked twice. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a close embrace. Amaya’s legs hung off the counter on either side of him, and she leaned forward to bury her face against his chest.

Her arms wound around his back, fingers clutching the fabric of his work shirt. She trembled once, a hiccupping sob escaping as the last of her tears finally found release on his shoulder.

He held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re okay.” He could feel the damp warmth of her cheeks through his shirt, but he didn’t mind at all. Shirts could be washed. Spreadsheets, meetings, even mystery jam on cuffs, he could handle all of that.

But seeing her like this, allowing herself to be vulnerable, trusting him to see her in pieces, he found it both heartbreaking and oddly heartwarming. Heartbreaking that she was hurting, heartwarming that she trusted him enough to show it.

They stayed like that for a long moment, her seated on the counter clinging to him, and him standing between her knees, supporting her literally and figuratively. He tried not to notice the way her breath tickled his collar or how her scent was now completely tangled in his thoughts.

Eventually, her breathing evened out. She released a deep sigh against his neck that gave him goosebumps. Embarrassingly, Akio noted his heart was pounding in his chest, and he prayed she wouldn’t notice.

Amaya pulled back slightly, and he loosened his arms but didn’t let go entirely. Her face was inches from his, close enough for him to see the tear tracks drying on her cheeks. Her eyes, though red-rimmed, looked clearer now. “Thanks,” she whispered. “For putting me back together a little.”

Akio brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead, only for it to bounce right back. “Anytime.” He forced a light tone, though his voice came out a bit huskier than intended. “Though I do charge an hourly rate for therapy sessions. Payment accepted in the form of not destroying anything for at least forty-eight hours.”

She laughed, a soft, tired laugh. “No promises. But seriously… thank you, Akio. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her sincere gratitude shone so openly that Akio suddenly had to look away, lest he melt into a puddle on the spot. It felt like he’d accidentally looked straight at the sun.

Needing something to break the intensity, his eyes fell on the peanut butter jar. He released her gently and picked up the jar and spoon. “Well, for starters, you’d be either severely malnourished or comatose from sugar overload,” he said holding the jar up accusingly. “This was your dinner plan?”

Amaya hopped down from the counter with a soft honk from her ridiculous clown slippers, steadying herself by gripping his arm as she landed. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll have you know,” she said, eyes narrowing. “This was merely a pre-dinner snack. I was going to order pizza. Eventually.”

She hesitated, then added with a shrug, “I thought you’d be working late tonight. Didn’t expect you to show up before the crust-choice debate with myself even started.”

She wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt again, and noticing the smear she left, made a face. “Oops. I’ll wash this, I swear.”

“You better. That’s one of my favourites,” he said, pretending to scowl. He grabbed a paper towel, wet it under the faucet, and handed it to her. “Here. You’ve got peanut butter… kind of everywhere, honestly.” He motioned to her chin and the corner of her mouth.

She began dabbing at her face. “Did I get it?” There was something endearingly childlike about her plaintive question, face tilted up for inspection as she wiped.

Akio bit back a smile. “Almost,” he said.

A smudge of peanut butter still clung stubbornly near her nose. He gently took the towel from her. “Hold still.” Carefully, he cleaned the remaining spot. Her nose scrunched cutely as he did so. It took all his willpower not to plant a tiny kiss on that same spot once it was clean. Easy, tiger. One crisis at a time.

Once she was more or less peanut-butter-free (barring the shirt, which was a lost cause until a wash), Akio set the jar aside on the counter with its lid firmly reattached, no one needed round two.

He then took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the small kitchen table where their potted ivy plant sat in its ceramic pot. “Alright. Here’s the plan. I’m going to make us a proper dinner. Something with vegetables, perhaps even a vitamin or two.”

She made a dramatic gagging noise, which he ignored. He went on, “While I do that, I have a very important mission for you.”

Amaya narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What mission?”

He pointed to the ivy plant that was trailing lazily out of its pot in need of a trim. A few of its leaves were turning a touch yellow. “Operation: Hydrate Pickles.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Pickles? Did… did you just call the plant Pickles?”

Akio cleared his throat. “I, uh, well you did keep insisting we name it something, and you kept calling it Ivy McIvyFace, which was not okay. I couldn’t live like that. It was suffering. I was suffering. So…yeah. I might have decided on a name. Quietly. Respectfully.”

A grin slowly spread on Amaya’s face, the first real, bright grin he’d seen from her today. “You secretly named our plant and didn’t tell me? Akiooo…” she drawled, eyes twinkling. “You softy.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Pickles the ivy. I love it.” With a gentle touch, she stroked one of the vine’s leaves. “Hear that, Pickles? Papa Akio finally gave you a name. Your identity crisis is over.”

Akio groaned, face flushing. “Please never call me that again.”

Ignoring him entirely, Amaya reached out with grabby hands. “Hand me the watering can, Papa. I have a mission to complete.”

He placed a watering can (shaped like a pink elephant, courtesy of Amaya’s eccentric taste) into her hands. “Just water the darn thing. It’s looking a bit sad. Room temperature water, not ice-cold, and not too much, just until the soil’s moist.” He said it half to tease her, half because he truly worried she’d drown the poor plant with her enthusiasm.

“Yes, yes, I remember the lecture,” Amaya replied with a sigh. “Not too much, not too little, pour in a circle, blah blah. I promise I will not waterboard Pickles.” She gave him a salute, far more like her usual cheeky self.

“Good.” Akio allowed himself a relieved smile. The storm had passed, at least for now. She was teasing him, and he was almost back to lecturing her about mundane things. It was amazing how normalcy could be so comforting after an emotional rollercoaster.

He rolled up his sleeves and moved about the kitchen, gathering ingredients. As he did, he cast furtive glances at Amaya. She was diligently pouring water into the ivy’s pot, tongue peeking out at the corner of her mouth in concentration as she measured the right amount. She looked oddly serene in that moment. Adorably serious and dangerously adorable.

The tail of his shirt skimmed her bare thighs; only now did he fully register, perhaps because his panic for her had subsided, just how attractive she looked wearing his clothes. It awakened a flutter in his stomach that he quickly tried to quell. Focus, man. Knife, vegetables, chop.

He turned his attention to chopping scallions with a practiced rhythm. A simple miso soup and some stir-fried veggies with tofu would do. Comforting, light, and quick. As he sliced tofu into neat cubes, Amaya finished her task and plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs with a sigh.

“Mission accomplished. Pickles is happily drunk on water,” she declared. She set the elephant watering can down and propped her chin in her hands, watching him work.

For a minute or two, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the sizzle of oil in the pan and the scrape-scrape of Akio’s spatula as he tossed the veggies. The quiet between them felt easy, not awkward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amaya fiddling with the hem of the shirt she wore, a thoughtful look on her face.

“You know,” she said softly, breaking the silence, "I walked past the park on the way back from circus school today, and the trees are already turning. Like, actually changing colour. And I realized... I don’t think I’ve stayed anywhere long enough to notice the seasons change since I was a kid."

Akio turned down the heat on the stove. He remembered her late-night confession about never unpacking her suitcase. It clicked now in a deeper way.

He set down the spatula and moved to lean on the counter facing her, arms crossed loosely. “For what it’s worth, you do belong here. Not just in Tokyo—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “—but… here. With, uh, people who care about you. With me and Naomi and Shinji and…and Pickles, I guess.” He tried a wry smile, though his heart thudded at including himself in that list so plainly.

Amaya’s cheeks tinged pink (or maybe it was leftover blotchiness from crying, but Akio fancied it might be a blush). “You sound very sure of that, engineer boy. How can you be so sure where I belong?” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were soft, seeking reassurance.

He held her gaze, surprised at his own steadiness. “Because I’ve seen what life is like around you. How you brighten every room…even if sometimes it’s by setting something on fire,” he joked. 

“And I’ve seen how you’ve… brightened me. I know that’s selfish,” he rushed on, cheeks warming, “I mean, saying you belong here because it makes my life better… but it’s true. And I think your friends would agree. We like having you around, Amaya. You don’t have to keep running.”

A silence fell. For a moment, he worried he’d gone too sentimental. But Amaya just gave him that gentle, genuine smile he loved seeing, the one with no walls, no jokes, just honest feeling. “I… like being around, too,” she admitted quietly. “More than I thought I would.”

Akio’s chest squeezed tight in the best way. He cleared his throat and turned back to the stove to hide the stupidly huge smile on his face. “Good. That’s… good.” He busied himself ladling soup into two bowls and plating the simple stir-fry over rice. He set the meal on the table. “Dinner is served.”

Amaya laughed and stood up to join him at the table. “It smells amazing.” As they settled in to eat, side by side at the small table, she nudged his shoulder with hers. “You know, for a guy who claims to dislike ‘messy entanglements’, you’re awfully good at handling mine.”

Akio pretended to think deeply as he picked up his chopsticks. “Hmm, yes. I’ve developed a high tolerance for chaos. Must be all those video game boss battles preparing me for real-life hard mode with you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then began to eat eagerly. They fell into an easy chatter between bites, Amaya praising his cooking exaggeratedly (“Is that a hint of ginger? Such depth of flavour, chef!”), and Akio replying dryly that she thought everything tasted good after surviving circus trailer food.

After dinner, Akio insisted on doing the dishes, shooing Amaya off to take a hot shower and properly unwind. “Hot water’s good for sore muscles,” he lectured when she pouted that she could help clean up. “Go. That’s an order.”

She gave a mocking salute. “Yes, sir.” She paused at the hallway, turning back with a playful grin. “You know, if you ever get tired of coding, you’d make an excellent life coach or chef or…hmm, househusband. You’re really leaning into those domestic skills, Aki~o.” She sing-songed his name teasingly.

Akio, caught off-guard by the word househusband, nearly dropped a plate. “I—just go shower!” he spluttered, cheeks blazing as her laughter rang like bells down the hall.

He finished cleaning up with a bemused smile stuck on his face. As he wiped down the counter, he glanced at Pickles the ivy, now perky with its refreshed drink. “What a day, huh?” he murmured to the plant. The plant offered no comment, but the apartment felt at peace.

In the other room, he heard Amaya’s slightly off-key humming. The earlier tears and fears weren’t gone, but they’d been soothed.

Akio dried his hands and allowed himself a moment to lean against the doorway of the kitchen, eyes closed, absorbing the quiet. Warmth filled the space, warm steam from the bathroom, the warmth of full bellies and calmer hearts, the warmth of hope that things might actually turn out alright.

When Amaya emerged later, hair damp and clad in cozy mismatched pyjamas (thankfully her own clothes now), she looked tired but at ease. 

They curled up on the couch with mugs of herbal tea and watched some silly late-night game show, where contestants in neon bodysuits flung themselves across inflatable obstacles with varying degrees of success. 

They made bets on who would fall into the foam pit first. Amaya picked based on bad haircuts. Akio judged purely on physics. And for that night, at least, they put talk of trapezes and corporate galas aside.

Later, as he shuffled into the kitchen to refill the kettle, he caught her mid-heist: spoon halfway into the peanut butter jar, eyes wide like a raccoon in headlights. 

She froze, spoon in mouth, when he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a stern look. They stared each other down for a hilarious five seconds before both burst out laughing.

“Old habits,” she shrugged, licking the spoon clean defiantly.

Akio shook his head in mock disapproval but couldn’t hide his grin. “Just leave some for breakfast, alright?”

She gave him a cheeky smile that made his heart do that flippy thing again. “Will do.”