Ramen and Cold Hand

“We’re here!” Sayuri-san declared brightly at the old but modest looking ramen place simply called Fuyuki Noodle Place, near Ryogoku station.

Her attire was surprisingly modest compared to the one he saw at her place. Black pullover sweater and long dark navy skirt. She also had some make up on. She was trying not to touch her mole, muttering, “I have a compact on.”

Ryuji let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t have the courage to remind Sayuri-san what they looked like on a late Sunday morning; a boy and a girl meet up at a station and going for a ramen.

A flimsy excuse for a date.

Once that idea took hold in Ryuji’s mind he couldn’t shake the idea off and every little interaction with her exacerbated him. The worst part was whenever he created a distance she closed in. He wished to be seen in Tokyo but during that hour of transit, he wished to be invisible. Imagine if they run into classmates, worse, a teacher?

Sayuri slid the entrance door; The ramen shop was a narrow rectangle—front entrance facing the street, kitchen in the middle, and a small back door leading to the alley.

“Welcome – Sayuri-chan, long time no see. Have a seat!” A broad lady with bandana and dark blue wave happi greeted them with thick accent. A rich broth smell welcomed the two followed by sound of muted sizzling and metal clanking from the kitchen.

“Hi Mrs. Fuyuki, is Ko-chan here?”

“He’s out for a run, should be back soon, have a seat.” Mrs. Fuyuki looks at oblivious Sayuri-san then her eyes were on Ryuji. He bowed then quickly shook his head; no, we are not dating. Mrs. Fuyuki gave him a wink and he wasn’t sure she meant.

Sayuri-san missed the que and Ryuji's ears started to burn.

“Hana-chan is coming also,” she chirped, “she’ll be late, and the usual please!”

“Tonkotsu ramen with extra chashu? And you, young man?”

“I’ll have the same, no extra please.”

Curling trails of cigarette smoke caught Ryuji’s attention. About half a dozen adults in suits, various in grey and beige were drinking beer and gyoza.

“Lady, more gyoza here.” Their curt manner didn’t sit well with Ryuji, especially the combination of alcohol and smoke bothered him. But didn’t look like it affected Sayuri-san at all.

The sliding door opened and Masaki in tracksuit with a towel around his neck entered.

“I’m back.” Masaki greeted casually towards the kitchen area.

“Ko-chan!” Sayuri-san exclaimed and he clicked tongue.

“You’re early, it’s not lunch time yet.”

“Have a seat, this is so nice to hang out away from school area on a Sunday. We should go to the market area for shopping?”

Masaki-san’s bitter smile didn’t last long as the men from the corner stood up and approached the table. The tap of their heels ticked like second hand of a clock counting down to something he did not want to face.

“Masaki, you’re here. Come to the back alley. We need to talk.” The man’s breath smelled like tabaco and alcohol. Ryuji noticed they had bruises and band-aids on their hands and their faces. Dirt scrapes on their jackets and pants.

“Yes, I’ll be right back.” Masaki-san answered as if it’s a routine thing. Sayuri-san frowned and looked away at the kitchen. Ryuji’s eyes followed hers, The Fuyukis averted their gaze and didn’t confront their own kid being called out.

Something was off.

Mrs. Fuyuki stood frozen with a tray of ramen; the clinging smoke smothered the ramen taste in the air. The air was heavy and he could see Fuyuki family’s mood paled.

“You two enjoy the lunch,” his eyes scanned at Sayuri-san then shifted to Ryuji.

“You can take of her, right?” Ryuji felt the pressure on his shoulders as if he’s asking something simple yet serious. He nodded slowly.

“You know them?”

“Of course we do, way back. Don’t make us wait. Masaki.” One with a heavy bandage on his left hand answered as he ambled off. To the rear entrance.

Masaki-san followed closely. Ryuji stood up, and the chair screeched against the floor. Masaki-san turned around and shook his head. Then he marched off. The door click echoed in the muted restaurant.

The ramen arrived but Sayuri-san and Ryuji’s eyes were glued to the closed door on the far end of the restaurant.

“Mrs. Fuyuki…”

“They are family friends, not the best but at least friends.” Her voice solemn, “It was his choice.” Muttered more but felt like regret or prayer.

“Well… let’s eat.” Sayuri said with unease in her voice.

“Yea…” Ryuji agreed. The chopsticks felt heavy and his appetite was marred. Both were eying at the door more than the bowl in front of them. She was fidgeting and fiddling the chopsticks, stirring the noodles.

“Sayuri-san, that’s not right.”

“Oh sorry, my manners.” She stopped stirring the bowl. “He should be alright, right?”

Mrs. Fuyuki went behind the counter to clean the dishes.

Neither of them touched their bowl and the oil on the surface started to cuddle, and the door at the back still kept shut and silent.

A silhouette of vehicle loomed over the tinted glass and soft thuds of the car door drew Ryuji’s attention to the store front. Three figures opened the sliding door. Yukiharu-san in floral yukata with two men in suit entered the place. A cool summer breeze blew away the lingering peppery smoke from Ryuji’s table. Sayuri-san’s face lightened up.

Mrs. Fuyuki rushed to the entrance and bowed at Yukiharu-san. Why is she bowing so deeply to her?

“Ojo-san, long time no see.” Mrs. Fuyuki greeted.

Yukiharu-san scanned the place and saw Ryuji and Sayuri-san with cold ramen. She smiled, but Ryuji sense see she’s forcing it.

“Auntie, long time no see. I was in Kyoto yesterday and brough some gifts over. Hope you and uncle like them.” One of the men passed over a large paper bag. “Where’s Masaki?”

Ryuji stood up, “He’s at the back, but something is wrong.” He added before Sayuri’s lips parted. Her eyes sharpened. She glided over to the back entrance. Ryuji followed.

There was muffled thud with cheering coming from the dim back alley when Ryuji and Yukiharu-san exited the building. A sharp pungent stench struck Ryuji’s nose before he saw group of men encircling Masaki and the man with a bandage on his hand.

“Give us some pointers, sensei.” One of them threw a jab at Masaki-san. He hunched and took the brunt with arms like a boxer. He did not counter.

“We need some special training from you so we don’t get our asses kicked the next time those damned Wanyudo-gumi scurrying our turf.”

Ryuji tried to gauge the timing - maybe he could distract them long enough for Masaki to throw one of them. Yukiharu-san had a different idea. Her geta clacked onward as if she’s announcing her presence. She held her head high.

“What are you doing to Masaki?” Her voice cut through the air

Ryuji didn’t think it would work.

But it did.

“Ojo...” one of them muttered.

One man’s face drained of color. He straightened at once, and the others scrambled to follow.

“Hanako… it’s nothing, I was giving them some pointers.” Masaki answered.

“Don’t you dare speak her name so casually!” One of them raised his hand to strike.

“Enough,” She ordered and they obeyed. “Minato-san, can you help Masaki back to the store? I’ll talk with them.”

Masaki-san avoided her eyes and walked by with shoulders curled inward. She didn’t even acknowledge him, her eyes fixed on the six drunken men in broad daylight.

Ryuji stepped in to offer his shoulder. He clenched his jaws and brushed Ryuji’s hand off. “I’m fine.” He sounds defeated, walked past Ryuji.

Ryuji couldn’t understand why Yukiharu-san was acting like this.

She stood with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the men—not on Masaki-san, who was clearly hurting.

Then he noticed it: a thin crust of frost forming over a puddle near her feet.

His stomach tightened.

It was her. His muscles tensed up. He could imagine how she would look like to the men, primal fury he glimpsed from time to time must be in full gage.

Whatever she was holding back was leaking out.

She cares about Masaki-san – that much was obvious.

So why was she forcing herself to stand there like she didn’t?

Ryuji stepped past Masaki-san before he could think better of it.

He reached out and gently cupped Yukiharu-san’s hand.

It was ice-cold.

She might lash out at him, the frost might hurt him, but he couldn't let her stay that way. He wanted to tell her him and Masaki-san are here for her.

She flinched.

Did he reach her?

Her eyes snapped to his—sharp, frozen—and then, slowly, he saw the frost in them melt.

Her shoulders loosened.

Her lips parted, as if she meant to speak but couldn’t.

She’s angry. Hurt. She was holding everything in.

Ryuji forced a small, shaky smile and gave a tiny nod. Silence. He noticed the frost around her melted.

He let go.

Ryuji turned around and returned to the restaurant with Masaki-san.

Ryuji’s head was spinning from everything and stared at the ramen. The steam was long gone and Sayuri-san’s noodle wasn’t touched either.

“Ko-chan, are you alright? Here’s Hana-chan?” She came to check on both, her hand gently on Masaki-san’s arm. He flinched, shrugged Sayuri-san’s hand and looked at the cold meal and walked over to the kitchen.

“Sayuri-san why are people calling her ojo?”

“Well… her family’s really known and respected in the area. So, many older people, knows her since she was young and calls her by that. Even the… um… scary people also respect her.”

He didn’t fully agree with that explanation. It wasn’t respect she wielded; it was authority. The more he learned about Yukiharu-san the less he knew about her. Then what was that frosting near her and icy hand? He didn’t notice any binding. At least he was glad she calmed down by him.

He looked at his hand, the cold lingered on his finger tip. Maybe it was fear she wielded.

Masaki-san returned to the table with two new bowls and placed them in front of the two, taking the cold ones towards him and started eating. “Your meal got cold.”

Ryuji noticed Masaki-san's distraction. He kept his gaze on the noodles, refusing to look at Ryuji or Sayuri-san. He was handling his own emotions on his own way. He was dealing with them alone.

The three ate the ramen in awkward silence when the back door opened and Yukiharu-san returned with six others following behind her. They quickly cleaned up their table, paid at the counter and came to their table. Yukiharu-san was supervising them in silence.

“Fuyuki-kun, we apologize for our unruly behavior earlier. The alcohol and work stress got the best of us.” The six bowed deeply at Masaki-san and he bolted up and bowed back in silence.

“Thank you ojo and we will be off out way.” The six bowed and left the venue.

Yukiharu-san sat beside and observed the extra bowl, cold, and picked up her chopstick in front and dug in. Masaki opened his mouth with noodles dangling.

“This is for me right? Sorry for keep you all waiting.” She fixed her sleeves.

The awkward silence stretched.

“Hana-chan, what do you think about my get up?” Sayuri broke the ice with her question and getting up from the table to show her full get up. Yukiharu-san scanned the clothing then she looked at Ryuji’s matching black t-shirt.

“Looks like you dressed for a date.” She said casually and returned to her meal.

He felt his stomach drop. She's the last person to acknowledge and say it bluntly to Sayuri-san. His ears were lit on fire with embarrassment. hotter and brighter than before.

Sayuri-san’s face flushed pink and finger shot to her mole. Masaki raised an eye brow and eyes swung between the two like a pendulum. He felt her words were deliberate. It stung.

“Silly, Hana-chan! N-no way! We’re here for the ramen, remember?” she nervously laughed and elbowed Ryuji.

Sayuri-san’s words stabbed his chest like knives. If Sayuri-san bluntly refused it wouldn't felt this way.

Then there was a beeping. Yukiharu-san turned around without missing a beat and excused herself to outside. A perfect excuse to flee the scene she created.

“Minachi, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she shrilled, half-panicked.

“I tried to!” He blurted out, he should have been as blunt as Yukiharu-san did.

Yukiharu-san returned with a small box and placed it on the table.

“Happy early birthday Masaki. Sorry I have to go, family matters.” Her words were quick and motions silent. She hardly made any eye contact with anyone before stepping away.

The word couple struck another blow to Ryuji and Sayuri.

“O- Hanako, I’ll go with you.” He pushed the table down to stand up. He flicked his gaze at Ryuji for a split second before returning to the gift box.

“You stay here with the ‘couple’.” She answered without looking. Masaki-san's eyes returned to Ryuji for a solid beat before nodding in silence.

Yukiharu-san lingered at the threshold, eyes sweeping over the three of them—awkward, silent, unsure. Then she shut the door softly, and the silhouette of the car faded from the window.

“What’s inside?” Sayuri asked, trying to redirect the tension.

Masaki’s hand moved immediately, covering the box with his palm before she could reach for it. His fingers tightened around the lid.

Ryuji didn’t look at the box.

He stared at the closed sliding door instead. Yukiharu-san took something when she left. It hurt more than expected.