December hit, and the landlord, blinded by a windfall, jetted off with family to ring in the New Year abroad. The demolition crew had already cordoned off the building.
Takizawa sold or tossed some furniture, lugging the rest in bags slung over his shoulders or clutched in his hands.
He hadn't found a new place yet. Options were crashing with his poker-faced mom or squatting under a bridge with vagrants, playing cards. A net café wasn't bad—pricey, but with private rooms, beds, hot water, and staff on call, cheaper than a hostel.
If not for a friend's help, he'd be camping in a café, ready to log off life.
"It's been a while since I cleaned, so it's a bit messy. Hope you don't mind," Matsuoka said, hoisting a suitcase and unlocking the door, flicking on the light.
"Small place, but there's room for one more. The water heater's old, needs a head start for showers. It's late, so let's do a big clean tomorrow," Matsuoka said, welcoming. "Since you're here, let's have a nice dinner. Uh, let me check the fridge—"
Takizawa set down two heavy bags, flexing his sore arms, sizing up the one-room apartment with a bathroom. The kitchen, like his old place, was tucked in a corner to save space.
For a single guy's pad, it was crisp and tidy—no trash heaps or clothes strewn about. The walls had faded green patches, but the yellowed tiles were spotless. Knickknacks on the coffee table were neatly arranged, reflecting the owner's meticulous nature.
A vision chart hung opposite the sofa, alongside a kana table and tongue-twister sheet, likely for Matsuoka to glance at while watching TV, practicing enunciation.
"Just some chicken, eggplant, and lettuce left. Wanna eat out?" Matsuoka said, rummaging through the fridge.
"Let's make do," Takizawa said. "No need to splurge."
"There's curry powder. How about steamed rice and mabo nasu?" Matsuoka suggested.
"You cook?" Takizawa said, surprised.
"Didn't used to, but eating out every meal—even just ramen—gets pricey. So I studied recipes and gave it a shot," Matsuoka said with a shy smile. "Bear with me if it's bad."
"No way, I'm already lucky," Takizawa said, rubbing his shoulder. "I'll grab some drinks."
"Cool."
Minutes later, Takizawa returned with a plastic bag. Matsuoka had sleeves rolled up, rinsing rice, chopping green onions, and simmering curry sauce on the stove—a whirlwind of efficiency.
"Watch some TV. Dinner's almost ready," Matsuoka said, multitasking.
"You're a pro at this," Takizawa said.
"Picked up tricks from restaurant gigs. First time cooking for a guest, though," Matsuoka said, a bit excited. "Kinda thrilling."
"Alright, Chef Matsuoka, show me what you've got!" Takizawa cheered.
"Yo!" Matsuoka fired back, pumped.
Prime-time TV blared a national variety show, cameras capturing life's quirks, hosts and guests laughing and roasting in a corner window.
Matsuoka's mabo nasu came out steaming, orange-red chunks swimming in spicy sauce. For the final touch, he sprinkled green onions and spices, infusing soul. The glossy broth seeped between eggplant pieces, pepper and herbs adding vibrant red and green to the fiery dish.
Rice was served, topped with curry chicken sauce and a scoop of mouthwatering mabo nasu.
Takizawa ate, lips slick with oil, gasping from the heat. "Spicy!"
"Sorry, I like it hot and forgot," Matsuoka said, grabbing a glass. "I'll get water."
Takizawa swallowed, face flushed. "—Its okay!"
"Huh?" Matsuoka stared seeing Takizawa's "moved to tears" look, beamed, proud of his self-taught cooking triumph.
Takizawa grabbed the plastic bag, tossed Matsuoka a beer, and cracked one open, gulping.
"You're underage…" Matsuoka hesitated.
"Almost of age in a few days. No need to sweat the small stuff," Takizawa said, grinning.
"New Year's coming fast," Matsuoka said, popping his can, sipping thoughtfully.
"You heading back to Hokkaido for it?" Takizawa asked, shoveling food.
"Probably not. Haven't been home since coming to Tokyo years ago. Just call to check in," Matsuoka said softly. "I'm not an only kid, so my parents have my siblings. They're not lonely."
"I didn't want to bug my mom's perfect family either. If we hadn't chatted about this, and you didn't offer a place to crash, I'd be ringing in the New Year at a net café," Takizawa said, grateful. "Thanks, Matsuoka."
"We're friends. Helping's what friends do," Matsuoka said, serious.
"Friends…" Takizawa paused, then smiled. "Guess I'm imposing a few days, then. Year's ending soon. Wanna form a Tokyo single-worker squad, watch the Kohaku New Year's show, and welcome 2010 together?"
"Sounds good," Matsuoka said, his joy unmasked.
"Let's play a game. We'll read those tongue-twisters off the chart. Mess up, take a sip," Takizawa suggested.
"I won't lose easily," Matsuoka said, a rare confident glint in his eye, setting down his spoon. "I'll go—Namamugi nama mame nama tamago (raw wheat, raw beans, raw eggs)." (Japanese tongue twister game, where the challenge is to say it as fast as possible without mistakes, is often used at drinking parties, on TV variety shows, or simply as fun among friends.)
He nailed it, fast and steady, clearly no stranger to tongue torture.
"Kotsusoshosho soshosho soso (osteoporosis lawsuit won)," Takizawa said, eyeing the chart, tapping his body's trained precision, gliding through smoothly.
"Tokyo tokkyo kyoka kyoku kyokucho (Tokyo Patent Office Director)," Matsuoka fired back, lightning-quick.
"Aka makigami, ao makigami, ki makigami (red wrapping paper, blue wrapping paper, yellow wrapping paper)," Takizawa said, gripping his beer can.
"Bozu ga byobu ni jozu ni bozu no e o kaita (the monk skillfully painted a monk on the screen)," Matsuoka countered.
"Kisha no kisha ga kisha… ugh, flubbed it," Takizawa said, taking a big swig, wiping his mouth. "Again, again."
They faced off across the table, a flurry of verbal sparring.
…
All eight cans were drained. The game's curse: the more you drink, the more you slip, the more you drink. Matsuoka's skills were sharp, but his tolerance was weak.
Takizawa eyed his colleague, slumped on the coffee table. Scratching his head, he cleared the dishes, set up a floor mat, tucked Matsuoka in with a blanket.
"Thanks again. Your kindness means a lot," Takizawa said, crouching, sighing.
"Urgh, s'okay, s'what friends do," Matsuoka slurred, tongue tangled. "Since… comin' to Tokyo, you're… the first to say stuff like that. Been a while… eatin' and playin' games with a friend."
"Haha, alright, sleep tight," Takizawa said.
He flicked off the light, flopping onto the sofa.
Damn lucky… to meet a friend with such a pure heart.
"Good dreams~" Takizawa said, closing his eyes, stretching.
"G'night," Matsuoka mumbled back.
***
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