Seafood and Temperature Differences

Inviting a stranger to your house is a mistake.
Inviting a suicidal person to your house is also a mistake.
I did both.

The walk home felt impossibly quick, even though we were on foot. Despite the rain, neither of us seemed interested in avoiding getting wetter.
For my part, dying from some illness caused by being soaked didn’t seem so bad, and if I’d stood in the rain on purpose, it technically counted as suicide.
As for her, I’d say the same, but I didn’t know her, so I’d rather not assume.

Actually, that first part’s a lie.
I don’t want to die. Not as much as before, at least.

“So… this is where you live,” she said as we stepped from the garden to the entrance, eyeing the walls, their paint long faded, and the wooden edges of the roof, half-eaten by dampness. It felt like she was mentally mapping the place. “I’d say you’re into the rustic style.”

“Not particularly.”

“So you’re just poor?”

“That’s a terrible way to put it. The house is a family inheritance.”

“Hmm…”

“What?” I asked before opening the door. I wasn’t annoyed, just that something about her personality clashed with mine—probably the similarities, though I’d say she was worse than me in some ways.

“It’s one of the few houses in town that keeps a traditional style. So either you don’t have money for repairs, you’re planning to move, or…”

“Or…?”

“Or you don’t plan on sticking around long,” she concluded, tilting her head.

“That’s basically the same as moving.”

“No. I meant not sticking around in this world, not the town,” she said, adjusting her glasses while looking at me like I was an idiot for not getting it.

“Let me say it again—you’re annoying. Like, really annoying,” I sighed and opened the door. “I’m grabbing a couple of towels. I don’t want this place turning into an aquarium,” I said, heading to the bathroom to the right of the stairs. “By the way, though you’re annoying, you’re right—I don’t plan on staying long.”

“I’ve got a good eye,” she said with a smile, then started inspecting the ceiling beams, the worn-out wooden floor, the lights. I could see her fingers moving behind her back—she probably enjoyed analyzing things like this.

“Here, you’re about to turn into a kurage.” I said, tossing a towel over her head.

“I’m still moving,” her voice came muffled through the towel before she loosened her hair and started drying it.

“So do jellyfish, and that doesn’t mean they’re alive.”

“So you’re comparing me to seafood?”

“Considering how we met, I’d say it’s a fitting comparison.”

“Nothing to argue there,” she said, laughing. “Where do I put this?” she asked, pointing to her light blue raincoat and the towel. She was wearing a T-shirt from some band I couldn’t name, for reasons that probably involve a lawsuit.

“In the basket behind the stairs,” I replied, showing her the spot before heading to the kitchen.

“It’s been a while since I cooked anything. I basically live off microwave meals, but I feel like making an exception.”

“Am I a test subject?”

“I’m actually good at cooking. I just stopped doing it a while ago.”

Though I spoke, she seemed lost in her own world. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me. Her eyes wandered from the ceiling to the furniture, then to the smallest of cups.

“I’d bet you spend a lot of time here, don’t you? Probably the only part of the house that’s taken care of.”

“Are you an architect or something?”

“Serial observer.”

“We should’ve gone to your place then. Here, the ceiling might collapse on you,” I replied, practically dripping sarcasm.

“No chance of that. My parents think I’m at a friend’s house.”

“If you’d told me that earlier, I’d have walked you to their place.”

“Impossible.”

“Why?” I asked, honestly getting a bit tired.

“I don’t have friends, but I’m good at pretending I do. So if you’d walked me, we’d probably have ended up wandering nowhere.”

“Wouldn’t have minded much, to be honest,” I said, placing a couple of bowls on the kitchen counter, a cutting board, and a small set of knives.

For a moment, I felt her weight on my back, peering over my shoulder.

“Need help, chef?” she asked, laughing as if, for a second, nothing existed but this moment.

“No, thanks. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a couple of days…”

“I see… so you’re doing this for the occasion, not for me.”

“Anything wrong with that? Just seizing the moment you know.”

“Not at all,” she said, sitting lightly on the chair, her chin resting on her palm as she watched my movements. “Who were you planning to cook for?”

I pretended not to hear and kept sorting ingredients. I chopped the garlic first, then the cucumbers, and separated them into bowls.

“No answer, so it must not be important, I guess. By the way, what’s your name, chef?” she asked, standing up and inspecting the small bottle of sesame oil. “So you actually made the joke a reality.”

“I just had the ingredients on hand.”

“And your name got lost among them or what?”

“I don’t see the point of my name. What’s the difference between you knowing it or not?” I asked, soaking the seaweed and starting on the dressing.

“If we don’t know each other’s names, we’d still be strangers even if we talked all night,” she said, handing me the soy sauce and some ginger. “Besides, don’t you think I should know the name of the guy who stopped me from jumping off the bridge?”

“I already told you, you wouldn’t have jumped even if you wanted to,” I replied, mixing the rice vinegar with the soy sauce.

“Don’t dodge my question.”

I’d never really cared about names, but what she said made sense.
I remembered when Aranara asked me to give her a name. Was it the same? A way to break the barrier of strangers.
But since the day I left the hospital, we’d been living together day after day—didn’t that make us more than strangers?
Maybe my way of seeing things was the first problem.

“Eiji.”

“Sayo. Kanzai Sayo,” she replied.

“Kanzai… like the supermarket chain?”

“Correct. My dad’s the owner, actually.”

“So I’m talking to the future heiress of a company. This feels like a soap opera.”

She didn’t respond, but it was obvious she didn’t like being seen that way. She went back to the chair and kept watching me cook.

Two plates, two portions.
One for me, one for someone more than a stranger.

The silence stretched as we ate. The rain, at least, gave something to focus on, but I still felt there was plenty left to talk about.

“How do you know Aranara?”

“How do you know Death?”

We both asked at the same time.

“I asked first,” I said, pointing at her with my fork.

“You actually took a second longer than me to finish the question,” she countered, pulling her chair closer to the table.

“God, are you a kid or what?”

We both laughed at each other. Like I said, she reminded me a bit of myself—a strange mix of who I am and who I used to be.

“Yesterday was my first attempt… I had to drag myself to the shore. That’s why I brought the bag of rocks today. I wanted… to make sure I didn’t fail this time,” she said while eating. I immediately noticed the tremor in her hands never stopped.

It wasn’t nerves, and I’d already ruled out the cold. Something else was behind it, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

“And that’s where I come in to ruin your plan, right?”

“Correct.”

“I’m not apologizing, just so you know.”

She just turned her face to the window, lost for a moment in the rain behind the glass. The drops seemed to race each other to the bottom—some on their own, others getting so close they merged into a bigger one.

“I wouldn’t want you to…” she said, finishing her plate. “Eiji.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I… stay until the rain stops?”

“It’s probably gonna rain all night.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t…” she replied, barely glancing at me, like she couldn’t look me in the eye.

“No problem. You’ll probably have a blast listing all the structural flaws in this place.”

“If I do that, I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Hey, it’s not like this place is falling apart,” I said, faking annoyance as I cleared the plates. “My room’s at the end of the hall, up the stairs. Try to get some rest.”

She stood up quietly and walked toward the stairs. I could tell she was still a bit embarrassed, but she was doing something about it.

“Sorry, we ended up not talking about anything…”

“Don't worry. We’ve got time for that. It can’t rain forever,” I replied, tidying up the kitchen as she finally went upstairs.

Like I said, the drops on the glass fought to reach the bottom first, but some—the ones that touched—seemed to decide not to sink at all.