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Sometimes, life doesn’t really give you lemons. It wrings you dry, stomps on you, steals any shred of hope you had for a chance in this wretched world, and leaves you on the side of the road to die. Unfortunately, that accursed road was Suribachi City, and for the last year, Matsuri Yuan has been carrying out her sentence in seclusion.
Spring flutters about in Japan. The days are warming and the sun has begun to shine much more often in this hemisphere once more. This very Monday, in the humble town of Fujikawaguchiko, in the Yamanashi prefecture, life begins to blossom awake for the week.
A groggy sigh erupts from beneath suede blankets and a hand nervously darts out, shutting off the alarm before it could ring.
“I’m up, I’m up…”
The reluctant grumble of Matsui Yuan floats over the quaint space and ambiance of the quiet home she had been forcibly-located to. With a sharp inhale, she hoists herself up and begins her morning routine. The clean tatami beneath her creaks with the weight of her body shifting above it as she gazes out upon the snow capped mountains of Fuji,
Despite the soft bustle of the town waking from its slumber, Yuan found herself groggily getting around, her feet slapping lazily against the slabs of thin wood.
Yuan dawdles, stalling, each movement she makes staccato and lacking discipline: a quick shower, teeth brushed with little care, hair put up into its signature rosebud quarter-bun messily. Not even the birds have begun their song as Yuan finally made her way out of the traditional home.
“Matsuri-chan.”
A voice aged with the strife of life calls upward from below, garnering the girl’s attention.
“Breakfast awaits.”
A certain air settled about the room as Yuan made the hesitant journey down the steps, bracing herself for today’s social obligation. The meaty scent of noodles and broth wafts through the home, settling into the floorboards as Yuan steps into the sitting room. A woman sits, her wrinkled lips puckered, as she sips on her morning tea dutifully at the kotatsu in the middle of the cozy space. A rug remains perched beneath both the older woman with a disciplined and tight updo, her once-brown locks cascading only halfway down her chin.
With a hasty bow, Yuan daren’t meet the eyes of her host parents.
“Come eat with us, dear.”
“Yes, Miura-san.”
Yuan stalks over and gets comfortable within the warmth of the kotatsu as the sun peeks over the crest of the half-moon window above the sitting room. The pregnant silence is palpable, tense like the coils holding a baseball together in an eager pitcher’s palm.
“You’ve been stealing from the register again, haven’t you?”
Yuan jolts at the accusation, springing immediately onto the defense before her cup even hits the table, firing off words full of vitriol.
“Just because the shop you have me holed up in doesn’t meet your expectations doesn’t mean I stole anything!”
“It is our family shop and we count our coinbox every morning and every night.” Ms. Miura’s tone sharpens – a blade unsheathed and ready to pierce with the precision of a hawk’s eye.
“Matsuri-chan.”
The staunch man on the woman’s immediate right, across from Yuan herself, glanced at Yuan with a sad grimace, one that springs the young girl into action – her hand slams onto the hard table, shaking the teacups and fine china unceremoniously as the smell of hot boiled leaves fills the air.
“Five hundred yen was just enough to grab a snack from across the street, alright? It’s hardly stealing if I make that money back tenfold while working in that dingy place!”
The first shoe had dropped – the tea on the table jiggled unsteadily as Yuan’s open hand hit the table. Neither figure moved a muscle at her intimidation attempt, only serving to stoke the fires of her fury.
“It’s not like I asked to be here. I would’ve preferred prison to the fake freedom I have here!”
Enter the other shoe:
“Listen here, Matsuri-chan,” the older woman’s lips pressed together in a thin, tight line with a silent, taut frustration. “You will not speak to us in such a disrespectful manner. We’ve had this discussion countless times, young lady.”
“Chiyo, my love, let me handle this.”
The older woman tuts softly at her husband’s calm demeanor and waves him away, a silent permission granted for him to speak.
“Matsuri-chan.”
The older man’s tired yet ever-so-kind eyes wrinkled at the apex of his dimples, a mole pulling upward with the smoothness of his weathered skin. The absence of silvery hair served as a reminder of his age. Yuan met his eyes with a reproachful air, her hands tightening over her triceps.
“I understand that you’re having trouble settling in here. It’s… the first time you’ve been away from home, isn’t it? Suribachi City, I mean.”
Suribachi City – home.
The carved settlement is only reachable by bus, given that it isn’t connected to any subway system. It was an anomaly created by disaster, inhabited by those unfit by society to live within Yokohama. With its rampant crime, lack of adequate healthcare, absence of amenities outside of those offered by the Earth itself… Yuan found home. A home she had been ripped away from without any regard for the lasting effects of that lingering decision based upon the circumstances that cursed any homeless child.
‘For the good of Japan’, the judge had said that fateful day of The Sheep’s sentencing.
No, it was never about Japan or Suribachi City or even The Sheep.
The act of casting away what they deemed unfixable trash, a plague on their own carefully curated society – was all for their own good.
“I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”
Yuan cannot stop the shiver in her vocal chords as she bites back something mixed between a sob and a scream. The man frowns with a gentle expression akin to that of empathy.
“I know you do. We want that for you one day, too. Chiyo and I were assigned to you specifically according to your needs.”
“I don’t have any needs–”
“You do, Matsuri-chan. You need warm food, a place to sleep, and work experience during your probation. The federal government tasked us with your safety and security.”
The soft tone he took on only seemed to infuriate Yuan further, her teeth gritting as she bit out what she could through her haze of emotion.
“The government has never once given a single shit about what I or any kid from The City wants or needs. They left us there to rot until we became a problem – a problem that they squashed without a single care in the world. If I’m such a burden and so broken, then why even bother with me? Just send me back to a cell. Let me live out my days cold and alone, somewhere where I can’t hurt or piss off anyone else! So why?”
“Because that’s what parents do.”
A flash of white-hot rage alights her magenta eyes, her nose wrinkling into a snarl as the next words come from the heart, storming away as she says them:
“You’re not my real parents.”
The palpable silence that fills the room after the young girl storms off, back upstairs toward her boarding room, is expected. Yuan however, rounds the corner and allows the tears to fall. Weakness can never be shown when you are in enemy territory.
“You’re far too soft, Masato.” Chiyo grumbles, her voice pinched and poised from Yuan’s vantage point at the base of the stairs. “You must show strength in the face of her instinct to do wrong.”
“She is a troubled young girl, my love.”
His soft timbre wafts up through the thin wood. Yuan tenses at his gentle demeanor, able to picture his brown eyes coaxing the tougher woman to yield.
“She has never had a stable life before. You saw everything in the public court documents, too. About that gang she was a part of, ever since she was small – even smaller than she is now! It will take patience and time for her to soften and acclimate to not needing to be in pure survival mode. The social workers said the same. She’s not our first host-child.”
Each word is a needle driving further into the pink-haired girl’s skin, causing her to grimace and grip her calloused hand into a fist. So what if she hadn’t ever been in a ‘loving’ home? Maybe she didn’t need one. Maybe jail truly would have been better than having her business out there, being speculated and observed under a damn microscope.
“And yet she is the most difficult host-child we’ve housed. I’ve been as understanding as I can possibly be, love. She steals anything she can get her hands on and if she isn’t working at our shop, she will wander around the city doing heaven-knows-what. Have we done the wrong thing? Bringing a tried-and-true delinquent into our home? She isn’t like the others, surely you can see that by now.”
That nearly brings Yuan to her knees with a rage that pulls her deeper and deeper into self-loathing. A delinquent. Those were the words that had been spoken all throughout the legal process after The Sheep’s sentencing. It had been hard enough, cooped up in little boxes of metal under lock-and-key, under watch of the scrutinizing city police and when handed over to federal law enforcement, it had only gotten worse. None of the Sheep members were allowed to speak to each other, much less see each other.
“What if they form a coup?”
But unlike other holdees, these kids had no other family to spend a phone call on. Not a soul existed to bail them out. There would be no letters, no love, no hope, no visits. Just a dark cell, three square meals per day, and a book if you were on good behavior.
‘What is the point?
The point, whatever it is, eludes Yuan as she stews on the modest windowsill in her boarding room. The wooden palace was one of the nicer amenities of this humble home with a view of Mount Fuji directly peeking over the tips of the other homes further down on the hill that Fujikawaguchiko nests upon. Millions from all over the world come through this city just to get a glimpse of the view she gets to wake up next to every morning, and yet she felt even more trapped than she did behind bars.
Yuan is many things, prideful at the forefront of each descriptor, but apologetic was never one of them. She said what she meant and she meant what she said – a side-effect from growing up with inherent rejection due to being dumped on the streets by those entities that others call family. She never felt regret for anything. Not stealing, not hurting others, not even doing her damndest to survive by any means necessary.
So why, pray tell, did she feel so damn guilty right now? Now, of all times – her hands gripped her knees almost uncomfortably tightly as she grounded herself. Her host-parents were prodding into things that were none of their damn business.
They were the ones who overstepped. They were the ones who tried so hard to fix a broken person. Their misery is of their own making. But the guilt had begun to chip away at her. The guilt and the shame of being some charity case, some girl off of the streets that would be nothing but a cautionary tale for anyone she meets.
“Matsuri-chan?”
Yuan jumps at Masato’s soft voice from outside of the door. She’d been in such deep thought that she hadn’t even noticed his presence, much less heard him walk up the stairs.
“Just Y-Yuan is fine. What?”
“Can I come in? I just want to talk.”
The pink-haired girl grips her knees tightly, biting back a “hell no, get lost” that rested on her tongue. The crescents of her nails imprint onto her skin as she hisses:
“Fine.”
With a breath of fresh air, Miura Masato opens the door and leaves it ajar as he steps into her room with her permission. His eyes remain gentle and he puts extra pressure on one leg from a long-healed injury from several decades ago. He sighs gently, pulling up the chair from her desk to sit in.
“You know. Chiyo and I just want the best for you. I know she is a bit of… a stickler for the rules.”
Yuan snorted a little without meeting his eyes, only keeping her eyes forward at the wooden border of the window she sat beside in a quiet show of defiance.
“Tch. No kidding.”
Masato chuckles with that, humming gently as he chooses his next words carefully:
“I know we’re not your real parents, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like we were trying to take that place in your heart. I…”
He trails off for a moment, almost goading Yuan into sliding her eyes toward him to discern what went on behind his kind gaze, but he continued onward.
“...Chiyo and I lost our daughter when she was around your age. I think… I think it clouds our judgement when we are faced with realizing that she is still gone, even after all this time.”
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not the kid you were hoping for.”
Her sarcasm smarts Masato with its cruel teeth, and the older gentleman shakes his head almost desperately, prompting Yuan’s brief glimpse into the hardly-masked grief on his face.
“That’s not what I meant. We chose you, Yuan. Out of every host-family in Japan, we interviewed for the chance to meet you, we signed agreements for you, we met you and we made our decision that we wanted to open our home to you. Not because of our late daughter, but because we knew we’d be able to provide a space for you to grow and flourish the same way that we did for her.”
His voice shakes as he takes a deep, decisive breath, his hand combing through what is left of his thin silvery locks as his almond-shaped eyes pinch closed with restrained passion.
“We want to help you secure your future. We want to be an adult presence in your life – a stable and trustworthy one. We want to sponsor you to turn your life around. If you want to go to school, we’ll help with that. If you have a dream job, we want to help you get onto that track to achieve that dream. The both of us want see you thrive and prosper… because the things that we read in your files, dear, they were–”
“I don’t need your damn pity!”
Masato watches helplessly as Yuan rejects him immediately. It isn’t unexpected, but it is hurtful nonetheless. The pink-haired girl’s fury stems from a lifelong aversion to help, evident from the horrors in her court documents. The Sheep, despite the criminality of its existence, was undoubtedly the best thing that had ever happened to her – it was all she’d ever known.
“Your pride and drive are admirable, Yuan.” Masato acknowledges kindly. “We just want to help you get where you’re going. We just need to know what direction you need and we’ll make it happen. You just need to trust us, okay? Can you at least promise that you’ll try?”
Yuan tunes Masato out with ease, allowing him to sit in silence with bated breath for her response. Trust? Yeah, right. There was no space for mere trust in her world, no matter what anyone said. Especially not someone who was receiving government money to house her.
“Whatever.”
Masato stands, pushing in her desk chair with a pitiful expression in his knitted eyebrows and his downturned gaze, apparent that he felt her rejection far deeper than she felt his support. He turned and opened his mouth a little as if to speak, but he instead politely bows and shuffles out of the door, leaving Yuan in a silent void.
The pink-haired girl continues her stony indifference into the depths of midsummer, though she hasn’t stolen anything since. The tourist season is in full-swing and there is hardly a chance to blink throughout her busy schedule, much less cause issues with her host parents.
Yuan grits her teeth as she sweeps the floor of Natsujikan Noodles. The sun peeks through the covered windows as Yuan bends over to pick up the dust pan. She had been, predictably, put onto double-duty with both cleaning and working the register for her transgression of stealing not too long ago, and Chiyo remained in the back, in the kitchen, tending to the homemade broth. The woman had always been prickly, Yuan noticed, but an odd thought began to occur to her: Chiyo and herself were quite alike in their standoffish personas. She hated to admit that, as she had come to loathe that older woman and her penchant for rules and order, but there was something about the way Chiyo carried herself that gave Yuan a little pause.
‘I’ve never met anyone that I didn’t like who… just reminded me of myself.’
Chiyo’s practiced hand beckons Yuan closer, as if she had sensed the girl was watching. The broom taps against the wall as Yuan quickly rinses her hands and begins to stir the broth as instructed.
“A little bit of this and that here and there,”
Chiyo chirps, a certain youthful light illuminating behind her eyes.
“This recipe was passed down to me through my mother, and to her from her mother.”
Family tradition – the closest thing Yuan had gotten to something like that was watching the Christmas lights turn on in nearby Yokohama at the best vantage point in Suribachi City, way up high. The sour bile of jealousy wafts into Yuan’s throat as she nods, taking over stirring the broth as instructed. Their exchanges were always terse – there were very little words spoken and even fewer experiences to bond over.
“Matsuri-chan, you need to make the decision to better your life. I cannot make it for you.”
And that was exactly why.
“Like what? Want me to go to school like a well-adjusted teenager?”
“Your tone is not appreciated, but I think a goal would suit you, whether it is school or work. What are you passionate about, Matsuri-chan?”
Ah, there’s the mental probing that she hated more than the bloodcurdling lilt of Chiyo’s voice alone.
“Only thing I know how to do is sweep floors and bus tables. And lockpick.”
Chiyo clicks her tongue disapprovingly and murmurs, almost under her breath:
“Isn’t there anything you want to do?”
Yuan pauses a little in stirring the milky broth, staring down into the simmering greens within. Is honesty truly the best policy?
“...I guess a quiet life like the one you two have isn’t terrible.”
“A quiet life…”
Chiyo paused her cleaning to look over the pink-haired girl’s shoulder, instructing with a firm hand to her wrist to stir a little quicker.
“...while manning the restaurant?”
“...”
The familiar sting of the older woman’s judgement is reason enough for Yuan to bite her tongue.
“...Yeah, I… yeah. Maybe.”
Silence buds between both women as the broth simmers. Spices and a slight tang fill the air, cushioning the thought and tense atmosphere, before Chiyo sighs and turns, hand-rolling noodles without turning back to glance at her host-child.
“If you stay on the straightened arrow and prove that you’ve decided to work toward that, I will consider it.”
The summer months have begun to wane, with Yuan at the forefront of it all. The autumn wind nips at the heels of all who grace Fujikawaguchiko, prompting the tourist season to wane with the resuming of global schooling at this time of year. This brings a predictable decline in the customer base – the only diners in Natsujikan Noodles this sun-bleached morning are locals. A rare feat, as it is a destination-spot near the oldest shrine in the prefecture. Their Hōtō Noodles bring visitors from far and wide all over Japan, and now that the summer is beginning to pass, Chiyo tends to the famous broth. The elder had essentially safeguarded the recipe from Yuan: an understandable yet infuriating feat!
The pink-haired girl is behind the counter once again, her mind swimming with the conversation she had with the woman months ago. It never left her mind – it lingered and lapsed as the moon does. A direction in life had never been a luxury she had the opportunity nor the freedom to afford. Until now, Yuan’s existence had been fighting tooth-and-nail for the right to live. Now that she had a roof over her head and people who seemingly wanted to give her the world with the only request in return being that they want her to find a purpose… it is almost as if a part of her died with The Sheep’s disbanding.
If she isn’t fighting… then what else is there? A life of nothing but looking over her shoulder, wondering when she’ll be cast out next?
A reason to continue, did it even exist? Is that luxury something only granted to good children?
“Make way.”
The air thickens as a man’s authoritative voice booms through the humble walls of the establishment, settling in the old rafters above the pink-haired girl’s head. Several men pad through the front door of the restaurant – they have suede suits on and sunglasses indoors. Yuan stiffens, her shoulders pinching upward instinctively.
Despite her gang days being two years ago, the sense of a looming potential danger is second-nature: she’d know the look of the Port Mafia anywhere. Their reach was unfathomable, and to know that they could show up in a tourist-y town like this one… her fist tightens around the neck of the broom she holds, forcing herself to stay put and not panic.
‘If they’re here for me , they can take me and leave these people alone. It was only a matter of time.’
Several men part and lone footsteps remain as one man pads through the humble opening in all his glory. His features are bright with youth yet tinged with seriousness. A hat sits upon his fiery curls, a budding lovelock cascading down his shoulder. His suit remains slightly larger than his smaller person.
Yuan could place the swagger and confidence this man walked with anywhere and all she could see was the boy who watched over all of them back then:
Nakahara Chuuya.
Her composure shattered in mere seconds in the wake of this unexpected turn. Her pink head immediately ducks down, pretending to pick up something that she dropped behind the counter, her fingers stretching in her act with a panicked fervor.
‘ He can’t see me here. I know what he’s capable of… and he’s with The Port Mafia after all!’
A single glance upward and Yuan watches Chuuya motion to all of the men to make themselves scarce with a single miniscule nod of his head as his gloved hands sit in his oversized pockets.
Of course he doesn’t need protection.
The Port Mafia grunts all file out of the establishment one-by-one, likely standing guard outside of the perimeter. Chuuya saunters up to the register with a painfully-slow gait and surveys the available menu in silence. His hands, adorned in simplistic black latex gloves, tighten together as he bites his lip, looking upward at the overhanging menu.
Yuan almost breathed a sigh of relief when her host-mother headed to the register before taking in his attire and Yuan pitifully ducking beneath the register as if she was searching for something.
“You may serve this one, dear.”
“But–”
Chiyo shoots her a sharp look before gesturing once again to the register.
“I trust you to take his order with poise. It’s one of your responsibilities. Don’t keep this nice gentleman waiting.”
A knowing little smile appears on her face while Yuan fights the urge to panic. There’s no getting out of this one. She scrambles up and takes a soft breath. She hadn’t been prepared to see him again. Not ever. He betrayed her and everyone else that he supposedly loved, so why did she feel guilt?
The memory of his eyes, wide and scared, as he opposed every member of his makeshift family, stared down by guns and a stab wound beneath his rib.
It crossed her mind now and then:
Would someone who had every intent to turn rogue look at them like that ?
Yuan gulped softly, keeping her eyes low as she stood upright at the register.
‘Thankfully, my bandana is covering my hair! Not sure he knows many more people with pink hair…’
“HowmayIhelpyou?”
Yuan stumbles over her words, muttering them down into the counter. Her eyes focus hard on the old-fashioned cash register before her, not daring to look up to him and see those eyes boring into hers again.
“I’ll take two separate servings of hot soba noodles. One serving with chicken, carrots, and soy sauce. The other serving should just have tempura and cucumber.”
His voice is weathered, much more mature than it had been two years ago. She almost felt proud of that: the Chuuya she’d seen stumbling and unsure what bread was, growing to the point of not stuttering when he–
Wait, tempura and cucumber?
Before she could speak up, Chuuya continues:
“I had a childhood friend who really liked that combination. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Yuan’s face is drawn upward to him and their eyes connect like magnets. Those blue eyes are more worn than she remembers, though they still have the same fierce kindness housed inside of his irises.
“Hey, Yuan.” Chuuya says, his voice lowering. His mouth had been downturned, but it quickly morphed into a shy little smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
A breath slithered between her slightly-parted lips as she watched him become that boy she looked up to a lifetime ago.
“...Chuuya…”
Her host-mother had practically shooed her away, allowing her to sit toward the back with Chuuya. He takes his jacket off, draping it over the back of his chair with his hat. Yuan catches herself staring and she quickly averts her eyes. How could someone be so different and yet so familiar? It’d only been a year and he had already matured from that responsible and dutiful boy she’d known before.
“You really ordered me some food?”
Yuan’s voice is timid and unsure in the wake of Chuuya’s presence. Truth be told, she had no idea what she would say to him if they ever met again. Hell, she had no idea if he was even alive, though that wasn’t particularly surprising with his raw power. The redhead chuckled, seating her before himself as he sat up straight, almost unnaturally poised. It was clear he had had some work done on his posture since they had last spoken.
“Of course I ordered a bowl for you. I’d like to catch up if you’re allowed to do so.”
Chiyo hadn’t given her much other choice, wanting her to speak with this boy even moreso after realizing that they shared a history. Perhaps in the back of her mind, she was still wondering if Yuan was prone to do misdeeds with someone that clearly was no stranger to it…
“S-so, um–”
Yuan starts awkwardly, still avoiding his gaze. What could she even say? Why was he so happy to see her, after… everything? Was he here with the Port Mafia to ‘clean up,’ like their organization was known to do?
“I’m not mad at you, you know.” Chuuya interjects into the berth of silence. “If anything, I’m mostly just happy to know you’re doing okay. You were one of the ones I worried the most about.”
What? How could that be? She met his gaze finally, desperately searching for that answer wordlessly. A plea in her own magenta eyes that is met with a blink of surprise and an infuriatingly gentle smile from the boy.
“You had always been one of the weaker ones in The Sh–... our group.” The gang name does not even roll off of Chuuya’s lips as he continues with conviction. “You got sick easily and I remember despite your attitude, we’d always be sure to bundle you up first to be sure you’d be protected in the winter.”
The sadness in his expression pricks at her chest cavity enough to elicit a hasty response:
“I didn’t ask to be protected, you know.”
Chuuya blinks three times in quick succession, his downturned eyes flicking up to her once again as a humble little smile crests over his face.
“You’re still as proud as ever. You haven’t changed.”
That was enough for her, she decided, as she slammed her hands flat onto the table before them, gearing to stand up and walk off as she usually did.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Chuuya does not startle, even leaning forward in a wordless dare to continue her outburst. Taking the bait, as always, Yuan starts up:
“Like you’re looking down on me. I hate that stupid look on your face. Just because you were able to get away with everything doesn’t make you better than me.”
The noise prompts a quick clipped response from the front of the restaurant, beyond the door. Two of the suited-up Port Mafia grunts poke their heads and the tips of their guns into the establishment, to which Chuuya lackadaisically waved them away without giving them much more mind.
“I’m not looking down on you, okay?
Chiyo saunters over with two bowls of hot soba noodles, placing the one with tempura and cucumber in front of Yuan with a pinched smile and a foreign twinkle in her eye; the meddling smirk of a smug all-knowing older woman. Her presence halts the tense conversation where it stands with bated breath, and the gentle clanging of china against wood fills the small space. Yuan stews, piecing together every thing she really wanted to say to him:
You’re a fool.
You don’t know anything about me – then OR now.
You abandoned me.
You abandoned us.
Chuuya’s stare is unwavering, commanding even, as Chiyo weaves her way through the tense field of animosity that Yuan had laid bare before the likes of the former Sheep King. A lentil beacon appears before the both of them as the older woman smiles politely.
“Enjoy.”
Yuan swallows a retort as the older woman takes her leave after placing each individual dish filled with sides for the both of them to put into their sobu noodles. Chuuya watches Chiyo without saying a word, his arms crossed as he tastes the idea.
“She’s your placement, right? For your sentencing.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Does she treat you well?”
Chuuya’s voice is even as he asks, his hand tightening over his bicep as he refuses to eat yet. His blue eyes are unforgiving – hard with the same flint of protectiveness that they had been back then. Long gone are the days that the redhead had spent herding her and the smaller, ability-less Sheep kids around. He’d shouldered so much back then to make sure that everyone was warm, safe, fed, and alive. He’d sleep in torn cloth and eat scraps to make sure the smaller, younger Sheep were satiated.
And in this moment, it was as if he would do it all over again if he had to.
Yuan hated that. She hated that with her whole being, accompanied with a guilt that could very well swallow her whole.
“She… and her husband, they, uh… yeah. Yeah, I guess she does treat me okay.”
“...She better.”
Chuuya resolved, his hand flexing again before he began to serve himself, placing his carrots and chicken into the broth to soften with his meal. A simple gesture made so meaningful by the memory of not even knowing how to use chopsticks and throwing them away when given food by strangers. Together, they both learned how to exist the wrong way – the way that no one deserved. Apart, he became a functioning human being. And she…
“...She’s trying to push me to go to school, y’know.”
Yuan admits before she can stop herself. What the hell is talking to him about my life going to do? Nothing, of course… but the possibility of everything floated in the back of her mind.
“You gonna take her up on that? You should. You always had a knack for reading. You used to read circles around all of us. You were just about the only one who could.”
Chuuya’s bitter laughter is short-lived when Yuan shakes her head, letting him close enough for a peek into her new life.
“No. That kind of place isn’t for someone like me. You know that better than anyone.”
A lump in her throat had formed on that final word and she averted her eyes away from him, picking up her chopsticks and gently stirring her noodles, placing her sliced cucumber inside of it to begin eating.
“To hell with that.”
With a soft snarl, Chuuya let go of his chopsticks and he turned his entire attention to her, leaving his food untouched.
“Look, we were dealt a shit hand from the very beginning. I know that, you know that, and everyone in Suribachi City knew that. And these people… they’re trying to give you a second chance, Yuan.”
“I don’t–”
“And don’t even start with me about how you don’t need their help. I don’t care if your ego hurts. There is another way to live. I know it’s scary, okay? It’s scary as hell going into territory you’ve never been in. It’s scary letting others help you because you’re spending your life wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. That was life in Suribachi City. This isn’t Suribachi City.”
Yuan gulped, ready to give him what-for for assuming anything of her or her situation when all he had to do was serve everyone who gave a single shit about him up to their worst enemies and have them torn away from everything they had ever known, good or bad, but when she took that sharp inhale and met his eye, she could only see a deep pool of sorrow.
“...All I want is for you to be safe and happy. That’ll never change. Suribachi City didn’t give any of us those opportunities, even if it was all we knew. But now, you’ve got a chance at life. You have a support system, a place to sleep, a stable income, a roof over your head… and I… I’m so happy you’re alive and that you’re not suffering on the streets anymore. And I know–”
She watches the unthinkable as Chuuya breaks off, his own voice peaking as he suppressed a soft sob, though he steeled himself to continue despite the tears licking at the edges of his eyes.
“And I know it’s hard and scary as hell. Having no one who gets it to talk to. I know. Fuck, it’s just… I can’t see you throw your life away after finding out you finally got the chance to live the way we used to dream of.”
Yuan’s breath hitches as she suppresses a soft sob – one that had been stuck in her throat for years now. She hadn’t been able to cry after the day she and the Sheep opposed Chuuya with the G.S.S. and that had been okay with her. The less emotion, the better. But this – this connection she had with her past in Chuuya, who was so heartbreakingly alive and whom she should hate with every atom that made up her body – it felt good.
“So you think that going to school is a… it’s something I could do?”
Chuuya furiously wiped his eye with the edge of his glove at the cusp of his wrist before giving her a sad, blotchy smile.
“Of course, if that’ll make you happy.”
The two former Sheep members decide against reminiscing while they finally relax enough to eat their noodles and instead they briefly discuss the future – her future. It was an odd concept to say the least. It was not at all something that she saw herself ever thinking about in any serious capacity. School, a job, a home, a dream, a love life… maybe even a family one day. Chuuya was attentive, helping her through every question:
What did she want out of school?
What did she see herself doing for a living?
Where did she want to live after she earned her credits?
The conversation took place over the duration of their entire meal and as Yuan reached her conclusion with the rough plan she had shared with her former friend, she realized her bowl was empty. She had been so engrossed in speaking to him that she had eaten with her guard down.
Chuuya had also finished his noodles and he nodded to her, the serious air about his demeanor now as he stands, his hand curling into a familiar fist.
“I have to go now. They… they know where you are, you know. The Port Mafia. But I…”
He pauses, his gaze shadowed by the brim of his hat as he readjusts it atop of his head.
“I’m doing everything I can to be sure they leave you and everyone else alone. I promise they’ll never have any reason to destroy your life again. You have my word, Yuan.”
“Okay. And… Chuuya, I… I’m really sorry.”
Yuan begins to apologize for that day, but Chuuya holds up a hand with a soft shake of his head.
“It wasn’t your fault. I forgive you.”
I forgive you.
Those were words that were foreign to her – words that she did not deserve to hear from him or from anyone from any point of her life. And yet, Chuuya spoke them with so much conviction and seriousness that it finally broke the levees in her heart, spilling those liquified emotions down her cheeks memory by memory. The redhead gave her a brief smile, one pinched with a certain pain at his dimples, and he whispered:
“Goodbye, Yuan. Don’t ever forget what we talked about, okay? Keep… keep chasing life, no matter how hard it gets and how scary it gets. I’m entrusting you to your host parents and if you need me, you know what city to head to. I swear I’ll be there for you this time.”
Chuuya stands to his full height before tipping the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes once more before reassuming his stoic mask. He pays for both of their meals with a practiced haste before his voice raises when he makes his way out of the restaurant:
“Let’s go.”
Yuan sat in silence as the footsteps of every member of the Port Mafia faded, marching down the street behind Chuuya and leaving her and her family alone. A tightness in her chest is released and she gains the ability to breathe clearly for the first time in… ever. Even though she knew deep down that she and Chuuya would never cross paths with each other by chance again, she felt as though she were as light as a feather.
Is this what closure feels like?
The desire to figure things out and actually live the life you were given is so fragile to her, like an origami crane after a rainstorm, tearing at the seams.
Chiyo’s heavy-handed rhythmic stirring of the broth is interrupted by Yuan who steps back into the back of the restaurant.
“He seemed like a good gentleman.”
The woman muses as she glances up, stopping in her tracks as she makes eye contact with Yuan, who did not look downtrodden nor furious like she had ever since she landed in her and Masato’s care. Those amethyst eyes are alight with a deep, passionate fire.
“I… I think I want to go to cooking school, y’know, so that I can help you out.”
Yuan couldn’t even wait to say that and she gently lowers her head – the first time she has shown respect in this household.
“I’ll pay you both back. I promise I will once I get my own job.”
Chiyo’s silence unnerves the pink-haired girl, who simply clutches her apron tightly.
“Is… is that okay?”
The older woman hums a little, the broth entirely forgotten, as she comes close and extends her arms in an offering; one that Yuan takes readily. She has never run into anyone’s arms before, but it was as instinctual as taking a breath after emerging from beneath the water.
“And as for this family recipe, Yuan,” Chiyo’s mouth bends to an unlikely smile as she holds her close, one that warms Yuan from the inside in that barren crevice that must contain a heart. “I think you’re finally ready.”
More often than lemons, life gives away peaches – that which ripen and spoil at the drop of a hat.
For once a person finally catches their late summer bloom , they are able to grow and mature, just as the fruit in their palm.