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The first pale light of dawn crept through the kitchen window, casting long soft shadows on the countertops. A faint hum of the city waking up filtered in, but inside this small apartment, the morning ritual was just beginning — albeit reluctantly.
Jouno sat heavily at the worn wooden kitchen table, his fingers tracing the familiar grain as if grounding himself. His blindness meant mornings were often a sensory assault, not just from the sudden noises or smells, but from the heightened awareness of every small disturbance. The sound of the kettle boiling, the faint scent of coffee brewing, the sharp tang of citrus cleaning spray Tecchou had used yesterday — it all bombarded him.
He let out a grumble that was part complaint, part habit, as he heard the soft clatter of the cupboard opening.
“Grumbling again, I see,” Tecchou’s voice chimed in from behind him, the usual playful undertone present.
“Is it grumbling if it’s a matter of survival?” Jouno replied, his voice low but edged with polite sarcasm. Despite his blindness, or maybe because of it, his words were precise — he had learned to wield them carefully. It was a kind of humour unique to him: sharp but never cruel. Most of the time, Tecchou didn’t quite catch the irony, which only encouraged Jouno more.
“Survival of the fittest, huh?” Tecchou chuckled, pulling a chair to sit opposite him, clutching a small packet with a grin that betrayed no small amount of mischief.
Jouno sighed deeply, hearing Tecchou’s footsteps move to the counter where something was sizzling lightly.
“Alright, what crazy thing are you cooking up today?” Jouno asked, already anticipating displeasure.
A few moments passed in silence except for the faint sizzling and the occasional clink of utensils. Then, Jouno smelled it — an overpowering, bizarre mixture that triggered an immediate crinkle of his nose.
“And I told you,” Jouno broke the silence, voice raised just enough to express clear disapproval, “No strange food combinations in my kitchen.”
Tecchou tilted his head, confusion clear even in his voice. “But it’s not strange.”
“Oh, really?” Jouno bit back, sarcasm threading through his words like a fine needle. “Then why do I smell crab, liquorice, and durian?”
There was a brief pause. Then Tecchou explained cheerfully, “Because I’m melting liquorice to put it on the king crab mixed with durian. It’s not that bad, is it?”
“No, it’s not bad… OF COURSE IT’S BAD, YOU IDIOT!” Jouno snapped, trying to keep his voice low but failing as he ranted in frustration. “Durian is the stinkiest fruit, and crab is seafood which already stinks — ugh, this is why sometimes I hate having heightened senses!”
A small laugh came from Tecchou. “I’m just trying to make breakfast interesting.”
“Interesting? It’s an assault on my nostrils, thank you very much.”
Jouno’s fingers flexed on the table, tension clear despite his calm voice. The smell alone was unbearable, mixing the creamy, pungent durian with the sharp seafood tang and the oddly sweet and medicinal liquorice. Every nerve in his nose screamed for relief.
But then, the usual soft chuckle from Tecchou and a light hand on Jouno’s shoulder broke through his irritation.
“You’ll get used to it eventually. Or I’ll just make the coffee really strong so you don’t notice.”
Jouno gave a dry laugh, a rare break in his morning scowl. “Don’t push your luck.”
The two sat in companionable silence, the strange breakfast experiment sizzling quietly on the stove. Jouno took a careful sip of his coffee, the bitter warmth grounding him in the stillness.
Despite the smell, the weird combo, and the early hour, there was comfort here. Maybe mornings weren’t so bad after all — not with Tecchou around.