Aya awoke to the enticing smell of hot oil and frying egg. She rolled over in the small bed and sighed, her stomach prodding at her to wake up already. There was food to be had, and she hadn't eaten a single bite yesterday.
Yesterday...
Her eyes slid open slowly as she stared at the far wall. It was clearly morning because light slanted in from her left. Coherency in the morning wasn't something she was generally good at, but her mind did make the effort now, spurred on by a certain sense of...anxiety.
Yet another emotion she wasn't good at.
Her stomach didn't care about mental or emotional trauma, it prodded at her insistently. She hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. The idea of needing food hadn't even occurred to her yesterday.
Aki is cooking breakfast.
Statement of fact.
I bet he didn't eat yesterday either.
And she drew up short at that, having realized something she couldn't before.
Aki is probably just as upset as I am.
Just as scared...
Why couldn't I remember that yesterday? Why couldn't I see anything from his side?
The truth is, I couldn't see anything yesterday, beyond my own emotions.
I don't know why he feels this way about me, but it's not like he chose to...
So...so, we can talk about this.
We can move on...
She wasn't sure if she really believed that, but she knew she couldn't avoid him forever.
So they were going to talk, okay. Over breakfast would probably be best. As soon as possible. Now it was just a matter of forcing herself to get up. Her arms and legs felt like led, her hair like chains weighing her head down. She knew she had slept a good twelve hours, but she was still so tired. She felt like she had been running from dream to dream, without any pause in between.
She frowned as she realized that her fear was yet again sabotaging her. She forcefully slid her hand across the bed, then pushed up. Her hair hung in kinks and curls, as it tended to do when she slept on it wet. With a habitual flick of her head, she knocked it back from her face and yawned, bringing a tear to the corner of her eye.
Rubbing at her eyes, she slowly got her feet under and sat on the edge of the messy bed. All that was left was turning. All that was left was being 'Aya', and not whoever the hell she was yesterday.
She still half-felt like her...
She slid her feet into her slippers and got up, then padded silently across the floor. He was occupied at the small stove, so his back was toward her when she reached the table. Purposefully she looked past him and noted that he was rolling fried egg in a square pan. There was already rice and soup on the table, and her mouth fairly watered.
"I didn't know you knew how to make tamagoyaki," a plaintive statement, her voice slightly rough from disuse.
He started, swinging around, and she was treated to the unique sight of her brother's surprise. More surprise than a simple 'start'.
"Good morning," he said slowly, then tilted his head. "And I didn't know how. Not until ten minutes ago anyway," he glanced pointedly at the open cookbook on the narrow counter. Then his eyes returned just as quickly to her, his gold brows slanting in clear question. They seemed to be saying, 'You're actually talking to me...?'
She sighed, took a seat at the small table and placed her hands clasped between her knees. She squeezed down on them.
Without looking he reached back and turned off the burner, his eyes never leaving hers, or letting up on their curiosity. The egg continued to sizzle in the silence between them. Then his look gentled, brightened, but oddly enough, grew more wary as well.
"I knew the food would bribe you into talking to me." A slightly teasing tone. He didn't really sound like anything other than her brother. And yet, maybe she couldn't recognize a difference from before because there really wasn't one.
How far had things changed?
And how much was exactly the same as it had always been?
She frowned. "It's not like that, Aki. We need to talk."
Another moment of silence.
This carefulness was only to be expected.
"Serious words," he said softly.
She couldn't tell if he was mocking her. There was something mocking about the words themselves, but his tone was so quiet.
"This is a very serious matter," she returned. She couldn't read his true mood, and she couldn't figure why.
( ) *
It never even occurred to her that he was also trying to read her mood. Watching and waiting to see what she would do. What argument she would use. Only then would he decide how to act.
"It's only as serious as we want to make it, Aya." A plain statement, just forceful enough to maybe push her into saying the words she was clearly holding on the tip of her tongue. He watched her knees squeeze tighter against the backs of her hands, her knuckles paling at the process of blood-loss and numbness. He wanted to tell her to stop that. He wanted to reach out and take her hands in his, soothe away her fists with sweet touches.
He wanted her to let him love her.
"How can you say that, Aki," she whispered, not accusing, but obviously confused. He understood her confusion, but the only touch of it he felt was vicariously. He could empathize, but he could not relent.
"I can say it because it's true," he said, turning back to the stove, but catching out of the corner of his eye the slow lift of her head as she stared at him.
Transferring the rolled omelet to a plate and placing the pan in the sink, he decided she looked adorable, all sleep-tousled and confused. He sliced the roll into eighths, and figured it looked vaguely enough like the image in the book.
It was no accident that tamagoyaki was one of Aya's favourite breakfasts. No doubt she was just as hungry today as he was.
He set a plate of fried omelet on either side of the table, between a bowl of white rice and thin soup. He wanted to linger at her side and give her a more direct look, but he forced himself to his own side of the table.
And still she didn't answer him. Still she stared at him.
"Thank you," she finally whispered, but it was a habitual pleasantry outside of their actual conversation. Despite how stalled it was.
He understood that and nodded accordingly. He picked up his chopsticks and she followed soon after. He said no more, eventually she would answer him, though he hadn't really asked a question. No, she would answer the subtle challenge in his voice. Probably without even realizing it.
"True of not," she muttered, lifting a quarter of her portion of the omelet to her mouth and sniffing delicately, "It changes things."
She placed the bite in her mouth and closed her eyes, clearly savoring the simple flavours of sweetness and soy sauce. It wasn't the first time he had watched her eat, but he consciously made his observation more subtle, wanting nothing more than to ask her if it tasted right, and slightly amused that he felt anxious for her to enjoy it. In the midst of everything, this is where his anxiety lay? Really?
But she took a soft breath and opened her eyes, continued on with their strange dual-conversation. "It's very good," she complimented, and his shoulders eased. "Maybe you should cook all our meals from now on?"
"Thank you," he smiled, "and I so don't think so. Half and half, Aya. That's what we agreed on."
There was an insinuation there, if she chose to look.
She acknowledged his double-meaning with a slight shake of her head. She reached for her rice next, clearly wanting to move on and leave their conversations separated.
"All that has changed is that you're aware now." He let that statement lie, before he added his next. The addendum was far more important after all. "And so am I."
She met his eyes at that, and he saw a strangely conscious try at not understanding. She had initiated this conversation, but it clearly still wasn't something she wanted to be having right now.
He could commiserate, but he wasn't going to relent. He instead methodically picked through his small meal and waited.
Good or not, he hardly noticed. For the moment it was just a means to end the angry grumbling of his stomach.
A few more bites on her side of the table, then she hesitated, and he observed the always unique sight of Aya consciously gathering her thoughts together. She always started it this way: by shaking her head slightly, as if there was an irritating voice whispering in her ear and she was trying to dislodge it...
tbc...