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Dazai sits slouched at the kitchen counter, legs dangling. Tall for his age, but not quite enough height for his feet to reach the wooden bar of the chair. He rests his chin in the palms of his hands, an altar from which a barrage of questions is tumbling out.
“What are you cooking?”
Odasaku is opposite him, standing as he’s chopping carrots and potatoes into gracious chunks. He got home a little bit ago, and has been starving since he crossed the threshold. “Chicken curry.”
It’s early evening, and the sun is starting to set. About time they ate something of substance.
“Why?”
Granted, Dazai hasn’t known him that long, but to his knowledge, cooking such a hearty meal as that is not usual for his... friend.
Friend.
Huh, Dazai hasn’t had one of those before.
“Don’t you usually order curry from the restaurant?”
‘I eat chicken on Christmas’ is how Odasaku answers the question, quietly transferring the vegetables to a colander before giving them a quick wash. “The restaurant I like is closed for the holiday.”
Another ‘why?’ from Dazai.
“Tradition, I suppose.”
Odasaku doesn’t seem to mind the interrogation, which Dazai intends to (and does) take full advantage of. “Is that why you eat chicken on Christmas then? Tradition?”
“I guess so.”
“Every year?”
“Yeah, every year.”
The water comes to a boil on the stove, bubbling as it waits. Soon the ingredients are added to the pot, tossed in along with some herbs and spices before being covered with the lid.
“How long have you been doing it?”
“Since I was younger than you are.” Which is pretty damn young, Odasaku thinks. In his eyes, Dazai is still that pitiful blob he’d found on his steps. Far too small to be leading the life he does, with the worries he has.
Far too soon to be battling the demons we call life (and then some).
“Is that all you do to celebrate?”
When Odasaku sighs, it’s not because he’s irritated. No, he’s just thinking about how unfortunate it is to admit to the poor kid that he has no plans other than to sit around the house doing nothing.
A tiny bit pathetic, but the truth.
“Usually.” Odsaku ponders for another moment. “Maybe read for a bit, go for a walk.” Just like any other day off really.
Dazai’s voice is flat when he responds, and that draws a glance over from Odasaku. “I’ve never celebrated Christmas.”
A pang of pity zips through Odasaku. Has this kid ever felt joy?
Being involved with the Port Mafia, the answer is likely a resounding ‘no’.
Shameful, all around.
“Sorry your first is so boring then.”
“I’m having fun,” Dazai replies, toying idly with a stray grain of rice.
Odasaku, busy rinsing the rest of the rice under the stream of the tap, is taken aback. “...I’m glad.”
Comfortable silence blankets the kitchen, interrupted only by the sounds of cooking and transferring and stirring. It’s a nice change of pace, spending time without the stress of an assignment breathing down their necks. Even for one day, the world is calm, and in their world that is worth tenfold its weight in gold.
Thankfully for both their appetites, the preparation doesn’t take too much longer. Before they know it, Odasaku places a bowl of steaming hot curry in front of Dazai, then turns back around to attend to the dishes in the sink. There aren’t many, and he doesn’t have to do them now, but he knows Dazai hates the feeling of being watched.
Neither of them speak, but when Odasaku hears the clink of metal against ceramic a minute or two later, he cracks a smile.
“Merry Christmas, kid.”
* * *
Outside on the streets of Yokohama, rain beats down on the tarmac. Pitter-pattering on windows soothes the break of dusk, and streetlamps burst to life amidst the falling droplets.
Inside an apartment, two souls share a meal in each other’s presence.
For the first time in a long time, neither are spending a holiday alone. The loneliness is traded for a simple sort of company, not particularly lively, but pleasant regardless.
In the end, isn’t that all that matters anyway?