for @ugsohee, a kinda-sorta-prelude
It begins at a bar, as most great stories do.
He’s downing shots by the dozen, old men cheering all around, the way they would in a cockpit. More, more, more! their roars fill every nook and cranny, swollen to the brim, near overflowing. It’s an effective way to goad him on; he likes the attention.
Somebody taps him on the shoulder. A firm and gentle hand. He raises his head to look at what he assumes is a person, but he’s not entirely sure. They could have been an animal for all he knew; he sees only a faint blob with one...limb stretched toward him. Could very well be an octopus. He tries for a smile. “I’m not drunk,” the words ring clear in his head but they are liquid in his mouth. He thinks of guzzling them down along with the soju. “I swear I’m not drunk.”
“I think you’ve had enough, sir,” he thinks they say, vaguely concerned. He guffaws.
“Look, Mister—or Miss? Whatever—Octopus, I’m sober as a judge. So you can crawl back to the sea, or something, I don’t know. Just let me drink in peace.”
“Sir, I really think you should—”
Sickness rises fast as a flood. His lips have barely wrapped around a syllable when the vomit escapes, a great stream of broken-down rice and curry spouting out of his half-open mouth. The men are roaring still, this time with laughter, but he doesn’t feel bad. He’s right along with them despite the sting in his eyes and the burn in his throat, and he goes until his belly aches.
#
His morning starts in an apartment that isn’t his. Ryuu’s head aches with the force of a thousand beating drums, pounding all at once; he tries not to scream.
-
hello,
i’m sohee, the bartender from last night (though mr./ms. octopus might ring more bells).
there’s Advil and a glass of water on the table + my signature hangover cure in the fridge. you should try it! boss says hospitality is what keeps the customers coming—hopefully next time you don’t barf all over the counter.
have a nice day!
#
For lack of better word, Sohee’s cure tastes like shit. It takes all his willpower not to retch as he chugs it down, but by the time he finishes all traces of his hangover are gone and he feels like a goddamn champion. He wonders if that was the intended effect.
-
Hi,
My deepest apologies for imposing on you like this. I woke up smelling a bit like vomit, so I imagine it must have been a hard night for you. Again, my deepest apologies.
Please accept this token as a sign of my regret. I sincerely hope I never cause you so much trouble again.
Aoyama Ryuu
#
Ryuu swings by the bar a few weeks later.
The winter season warrants warm, heavily padded clothing, but he takes it up a notch, wearing enough layers to turn his walk into half-striding, half-waddling steps, looking more mascot than human. (He even wears black in an attempt to be less conspicuous; needless to say it doesn’t work as he’d hoped.) It’s no surprise Sohee looks about ready to call for help when she sees him approaching her in the back alley: a strange, slow-paced killer out to get her.
“Wait—no—it’s me!” He gasps as he emerges from the coats. Her face goes through a myriad of expressions: first surprise, then confusion, then recognition and relief. “Aoyama Ryuu?”
“You asking me?” She says, amused, and his ears flush with embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to make it up to you—I left some food last time, I didn’t know what you liked so I went with what I thought were safe choices—but I think that’s hardly enough, y’know, considering—”
“—Okay,” he could hear the laughter in her voice. “My shift’s over in ten. You mind waiting for a bit?”
He shakes his head. No, I don’t mind.
#
Their friendship comes all at once after that: late-night trips to the convenience store, warming hands and filling stomachs with steaming bowls of spicy ramyeon. Beer or soju or both after work, drinking themselves stupid, but not so much as to mistake her for a sea creature again. There’s a lot of that, too, the inside jokes, the meaningful glances (take-a-look-at-this-guy gets used nearly every night he hangs by the bar); a secret language shared between kindred spirits.
#
He’s drunken himself into a stupor once again; this time he comes down with a fever, and Sohee has him confined to her bed, worrying about like a mother hen.
“It’s because I drank too much,” he explains, and she glares in response. “Don’t look at me like that—it’s you I’m always drinking with!”
“But I know my limits,” she forces the spoon a little too hard, clinking against his teeth. She mutters an apology as he groans.
“You shouldn’t frown so much. You want to get wrinkles at twenty-three?” She snarls. I’m the same age as you! “I’m joking, I’m joking!”
Sohee whispers under her breath—something about him being an ungrateful bastard, it’s not like she tries to keep him from hearing—and he laughs around the next spoonful.
He does try to look sincere when he speaks. “I’m grateful, Sohee-yah.”
Her lips curl into the slightest smile, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. “Open up and eat, stupid.”
#
Omurice becomes a breakfast staple. He cooks it so often he worries she might get sick of all the damn eggs. But every time he asks—and he always, always asks—her eyes light up at the suggestion.
“You don’t get tired of omurice, Sohee-yah?” She shakes her head no, too busy inhaling the meal in front of her. Ryuu watches her eat the plate clean; not one grain of rice left unconsumed.
“What can I say, you’re a great cook,” Sohee brings a hand down to his head, but he dodges just in time, clicking his tongue. “You gonna finish that or what?”
“I will, I’m just—I can’t believe you like it that much.”
She snorts, as if the answer should come easy, obvious to anyone. “I like it because it’s from you,” she has her back turned to him as she speaks, but he can feel the gravity of her words, pressing down on his heart. (He likes the weight of it.) “I like it because you made it for me.”
