Anchor

Written by: RinoaDestiny

#11 – Dumplings

Two opened packages of dumpling skins, warmed to room temperature. Check.

A pot of filling – ground pork and chives – also ready. Check.

A bowl of water, cooled to room temperature. Check.

Chopsticks at the ready, lying on top of the pot of filling. Two, since Kyo was due to arrive shortly to help out. Check.

Iori rolled his sleeves back, folding the crisp fabric so that it wouldn't come loose. Taking a doughy dumpling skin – the pre-processed flour still on it – he started, finding the process calming. First, the meat filling. Then, the water around the edges of the circular skin. After, sealing the dough so that the filling was in a small self-contained edible pouch. His handiwork wasn't the neatest – he was better at taking things apart than putting them together – but as long as he didn't stress over how nice the dumplings looked, he managed.

There was a buzz over his apartment's intercom.

Placing the finished dumpling down on an empty plate on his dining table, Iori left the eat-in kitchen and went to the door. Checked through the peephole and unlatched the door. Opened it. "You're in time. Just got started." His hands were dusted with flour and bits of meat filling – would need a quick wash after this.

Kyo entered and removed his shoes and jacket. The shoes remained in the entranceway; the jacket was flung over the couch. Iori watched it land and turned his attention back to his lover, who was wind-swept (hair messy) and a bit more tan. Wherever Kyo was earlier, the sun followed. Unsurprising.

"Where are we –"

"The kitchen. Everything's set up."

Kyo followed him, the soft slap of his feet against the cool floor. "I don't usually do this, so…"

"Don't worry. If you can eat them, they'll be fine."

Upon returning to the kitchen, Iori turned to the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed his hands clean. Wiped it dry on a hand towel and put the towel aside on the countertop. Kyo already had his hands full, pinching his first dumpling shut. The shape wasn't perfect – somewhat lopsided – but Iori's wasn't much better and he knew it. Picking up his second dumpling skin from the package, he looked at Kyo and jerked his chin towards the sink.

The other man got his point and put his dumpling down.

Iori heard the sound of running water behind him. Finished his second dumpling and placed it next to Kyo's, which was drooping. While hot water and a bit of boiling should do it, a bad bout of food poisoning would spoil whatever appetite he had for dumplings. He still remembered the night he ate something bad – whatever it was – and how his guts seemed to turn inside-out. He'd cursed and sweated and was sick for a while. Even now, that place was off limits to him, since he didn't want a repeat experience.

The water turned off. The soft sound of the hand towel being tossed onto the countertop.

"How many are we making?"

"However much you can eat. We can make meatballs afterward, if there's filling left."

His fourth dumpling settled on the plate comfortably next to its fellows. If Kyo's drooped, then his slouched. Undeterred, Iori continued making his, glancing occasionally at Kyo's progress. He could tell Kyo wasn't experienced at it – did he ever make them with his family? – but the man persisted, adding to their growing number. They worked in silence for several minutes until the plate was full and Iori swapped in a new one.

Kyo's dumpling was the first to claim that plate.

"My mom usually makes these."

It explained his inexperience. "Do you help?"

"Sometimes. Not lately, though."

Iori added a few more to join Kyo's, each one packed with abundant filling. He liked meat – always had as a child. Meat gave him strength and it tasted good. He needed strength as a child when he had to prove himself to his father, so he had plenty at mealtimes. Even now with nothing to prove, he still made sure to have some form of protein on the table. It just wasn't fulfilling without some.

"What about you? How'd you learn, Yagami?"

He pinched a dumpling shut and added it to the plate. Picked up another dumpling skin.

"I left home early. Learned to fend for myself."

"You…lived alone? As a kid?"

"Was fifteen already. Learned stuff to survive."

"Like making dumplings?"

"Had to eat. One of my neighbors was an old woman. Took pity on me. Used to bring me food."

"Dumplings?" An incredulous tone in Kyo's voice.

"Some other stuff, too." Looking back, he must've been hungry and grateful, if the woman's pity didn't cause him to reject her goodwill. He was also in high school at the time and needed the food. "I learned later on…how to do this."

"But just enough to make it."

Kyo must've noticed the equally lousy shapes occupying his side of the plate. "It was edible." Laying another set of dumplings down, Iori peeled some of the caked flour and meat filling off his fingertips. "Come on. Let's finish this."

Two plates later, filled with terribly constructed yet sealed dumplings, they moved onto the next phase for dinner. Iori tossed the now-damp hand towel at Kyo, requesting him to wipe down the table and arrange the settings. They had four platefuls of dumplings to boil – he'd take care of that part.

"Soy sauce is in the fridge. Rice vinegar and mirin are in the lower cabinet. Yuzu paste is in the drawer to your left."

"Yuzu paste?"

"Gives the sauce some bite." Iori studied the water in the larger pot on the stove for bubbles. "The Chinese use chili paste, but it's too strong for me."

"Mom likes using mirin, soy sauce, and some shredded ginger."

"Don't have ginger, but do what you can."

"Okay."

While Kyo gathered the ingredients for the sauce to go with the dumplings, Iori gazed down at the water in the pot. Small bubbles began to form at the bottom, similar to the thoughts rising in his mind. Those early days when he was younger and angrier, but in need of necessities and often hungry. A woman who could've avoided him – he wasn't pleasant, but he was fifteen and still round of face – yet gave him provisions to last the day or the next few days. He'd been hungry enough to consider some things, but certain possibilities impinged on his honor and dignity and he refused to lower himself for small cash.

He was a fighter. Is a fighter. There are still some things he'd never do.

"Sauce is ready," Kyo said, interrupting his thoughts. The other man walked over and stood by his side. Looked down at the plates. "Think we can finish those?"

The bubbles are larger now. Starting to rise.

He waited. The water should be boiling, a disturbance at the top like a storm at sea. Memories again and he shut them down, forbidding them to shape his future. Who he is now was shaped by those – by those four years before he encountered Kyo in his very first tournament – but there are different influences at work now. He turned, facing the one guiding him forward – the main force in his life, circumstances completely changed.

"If you can't, there's always leftovers."

"Don't mind leftovers."

After some time, the water hit boiling peak and Iori dumped the first plate of dumplings in. Kyo, watching, handed him a clean plate for the first cooked batch. Assisted him as they went through boiling the next three platefuls, each one increasing their hunger. Four plates of cooked dumplings were on the table, sauces spooned or poured into ceramic bowls, and chopsticks wielded like weapons against those homemade morsels.

Iori took a bite. Was pleasantly surprised by the taste and the sauce. "Hmm…a bit less chives next time, but…" Dipped the dumpling into the dark sauce again, which was tart and slightly peppery from the yuzu paste. "You got it just right, Kyo."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

They ate in silence – appetites awakened and it was the dinner hour – and before they knew it, four plates were empty and they were full. Kyo put his chopsticks down on top of his bowl, leaned back, and exhaled. "That was good, Yagami. You're right – less chives. Dough's a bit chewy, though."

"You know a better brand?"

"I'll ask around. Mom probably knows."

Dinner was done and there were dishes to wash. Iori passed a hand over his eyes, satisfied yet tired. "Can you stay tonight?"

"Don't have any plans."

"That's good."

Jazz music in the main room and Kyo's company. He doesn't want anything else tonight and sometimes, nothing else was required. Iori left his chair, left the bowls, plates, and utensils on the table and headed for the main room. Kyo followed, the soft scraping of his chair marking his presence.

Enough, and all he needed right now.