"He kept the body in his cellar for 3 years."
The flat was quiet except for the low drone of the true crime narrator on the TV and the occasional page-flick of Nozomi's manga.
Aiko was sprawled out on the couch, her legs stretched out on the side rest, sucking on a red lollipop, leaving her lips red and glossy. Her other hand was idly twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger, staring through squared eyes at the TV screen. On the screen, there was a grainy re-enactment of a 70s serial killer in a Troisine suburb. Aiko spoke without taking her eyes off the screen.
"Did you know he kept the shoes of the victims? You know, like, polished them and everything."
She sucked the lollipop; the sound of the pop as it left the vacuum seal of her lips caught the attention of Nozomi.
"It was some creepy trophy thing. Guy was a shoe salesman by day, how ironic."
Nozomi sat cross-legged on the floor, back pressed up against the couch. Every so often, he would shift his attention from the drawings on the page to the crime scene photos on the screen.
"Fascinating."
He murmured, voice soft.
"Although I suspect it was more of a compulsion than irony."
He flicked to the next page. Aiko grinned at him.
"You're no fun, Doc. Come on, isn't that just peak serial killer vibes?"
"Well, I prefer my serial killers to be fictional."
She giggled, low and playful, then stretched dramatically so her foot nudged his shoulder.
"It's cute when you pretend you're not interested."
Nozomi finally lifted his brown eyes, calm behind the faint reflection of the TV glow. One eyebrow arched just enough to show he was humouring her.
"And you're a pain in the ass when you're bored."
"You're damn right I am."
She sat herself up.
"But here I am, stuck with a medic too handsome to be this boring."
She threw her head back, arms stretched out on the back of the sofa, gently tapping Nozomi's arm with her feet.
"I mean, come on. You and me alone, and you don't even want, we could do anything."
She couldn't stop herself from giggling with each word.
Nozomi closed his manga gently, setting it on the coffee table.
"Anything?"
He said with a smile.
"Anything legal,"
She said with a wink.
"Your move, handsome."
Nozomi exhaled from his nose—a small nasal laugh.
"Flattery won't get you anywhere, unfortunately. But if you're bored, why don't we talk? How was the life of Aiko growing up?"
Aiko blinked. Her flirtatious smile faded before she became genuinely confused.
"What? Where'd that come from?"
Nozomi let out a little snicker.
"Well, how about instead of trying to fuck your flatmates out of boredom, you get to know them? Humour me."
She stared at him a second longer before shrugging and leaning back.
"Wow, I just thought you were clueless, but now I know you're just boring. But I'll tell you, cutie."
She stared at the ceiling, shifting the old memories in her mind to the forefront.
"I was born in some working-class pocket in Wansaka. Narrow streets, laundry strung between buildings, train tracks rumbling every ten minutes. My Dad was a train conductor—always smelled of metal and oil."
She smiled gently.
"Mum was a care worker and sewed for a bit of extra money, fixed uniforms, wedding dresses, etc. They both worked a lot and as a result of that I—as the oldest of three girls—had to look after my sisters when I got home."
Nozomi tilted his head slightly.
"I didn't expect you to be given responsibility for others."
"Well, I had to be, dick. My parents both worked long shifts to provide for us all. In return, I had to cook dinner, help with homework and break up fights. Kinda felt like I was half a mum at twelve. But there was this thing."
She closed her eyes and smiled.
"Every month, we'd have a massive cook-off. Even my sisters would work together making desert. We all got a day to prepare our ingredients; otherwise, it's whatever's in the fridge."
She laughed.
"I was ruthless. All that time cooking for my sisters made me unstoppable, especially when I started experimenting with other cuisines. But when I started baking... There was no competition."
Nozomi's mouth curved—sensing a challenge brewing.
"So, you're unbeaten in the kitchen?"
Aiko's eyes narrowed playfully.
"I'd smoke you, Doc."
He stood smoothly, brushing his thighs.
"Bold claim. Is that a challenge?"
"Damn right."
She stood up and grinned sharply, meeting his eyes—their gaze now locked.
"Challenge accepted."
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen was a warzone.
Aiko had claimed the stove, sleeves rolled up, ponytail swinging as she tossed vegetables in a steaming-hot wok. Nozomi worked the counter behind her, slicing onions with precise cuts.
"You're too slow."
Aiko teased, bumping Nozomi's hip with hers as she grabbed the soy sauce.
"You're too loud."
Nozomi clapped back, carefully sliding a perfectly seared salmon onto a plate without lifting his eyes.
The dining table was a tapestry of multi-coloured, multi-layered dishes: Her spicy garlic beef stir-fry with crispy edges, his delicate miso-glazed salmon over perfectly fluffed rice with a side of quick-pickled cucumber, surrounded by various side dishes. They slammed themselves onto the seats opposite at the same time. Once they were seated, they stared each other down like duelists—grabbing the chopsticks with supersonic speed, without breaking the deadlock.
Nozomi started. Picking up a piece of garlic beef between his chopsticks, placing it into his mouth and chewing. His calm expression cracked into genuine surprise.
Aiko stared at him, her expression changed—small—as he chewed the piece of flesh in his mouth. She then looked to the salmon. She stared for a moment, and the corners of her mouth tightened. She moved it out of the way and dug into the rice and vegetables.
Nozomi noticed, stopping halfway through his bite—a piece of beef hovering between the chopsticks, just off his lips.
"You alright?"
He asked, voice low.
She forced a grin, feeling the pressure of his stare—waiting for a response.
"Yeah. Totally. Your fish is just... Aggressively perfect. It's insulting, really."
Nozomi didn't smile back. Instead, he slowly lowered his chopsticks onto the table—not even the click as wood hit wood escaped his care.
"Aiko."
She shrugged, picking at the salmon with unnecessary focus.
"What?"
"You're looking at the meat like you're about to vomit. Your hands are shaking."
She looked at her hand in shock; she hadn't even noticed the small tremors in her fingers or the way her knees were buckling under the table.
"Your body is clearly reacting with the meat, and you were fine until recently. Did something happen in the last op that you're not telling us?"
"It's nothing."
She quickly threw the words out, but her struggle to maintain eye contact told a different story.
"It's just... I had a big lunch."
"You haven't eaten anything all day."
She grit her teeth—subtly chattering—before huffing a laugh that didn't reach her eyes.
"Doc, come on."
Her voice was shaky.
"Not everything needs to be a diagnosis."
"I'm not diagnosing, I'm asking."
His tone stayed quiet, and gentle but assertive—he wanted to get to the bottom of what had her so unstable.
"You flinch at the sound of chewing, you refuse to eat meat, you haven't been eating in general, and you're shaking at the mere contact of meat. I know what memories can do to people, tell me, please."
She grabbed the chopsticks tightly, staring at the table for a while. Her breathing was ragged as it pierced through tight gaps in her teeth. She started to make subtle sounds; first a whimper, then sniffles, before she snapped.
"The rat..."
She whispered, to faint for Nozomi to hear.
"I can't hear you, you need to speak up
"The rat—it had me. Jaws…"
She paused for a second, voice cracked and shaky.
"I could smell it. Rot. Blood. Every time I see meat now, I just—" She swallowed hard. "I see the teeth again."
Her voice faded into a high-pitched whisper; her eyes were covered in a glossy layer. Nozomi stared in shock; he wanted to grab her tightly in an embrace, but couldn't move—just biting his lip in frustration.
"Every night I see them in my dreams... Feel their breath on me—the smell of rotting meat in its mouth. Surrounded by layers and layers of teeth, slowly closing in on me."
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
His voice was gentle but slightly shaky at the edges.
"Because I thought it was stupid. I'm supposed to be a special operations agent, and I'm shaking over meat."
"Of course it's not stupid."
Nozomi reached his hand out palm upwards. He wasn't forcing her to do anything, just displaying the option.
"No matter how strong your body becomes, your brain remembers trauma and starts to associate anything remotely related to the experience as a threat."
She stared at his hand for a second before—hesitantly—sliding her fingers into it. He closed his fingers around hers.
She sniffled before giggling as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"God, I think you might've bored the trauma out of me."
She squeezed his hand teasingly before pulling away.
"Let's call this a draw."
"deal."
Nozomi smiled before taking the hand that was once wrapped in Aiko's and used it to pick up his plate of scrap noodles and beef. He raised himself but froze once he felt a kick to his shin.
"Where do you think you're going. You asked me earlier what my life was like growing up, but didn't tell me about yourself, so talk."
Nozomi laughed nasally.
"There's not much to say, really."
He said as he carried his plate to the kitchen, scraping the scraps of food into the bin with his chopsticks.
"I was born in the city of Kizoto to a long, prestigious line of doctors and scholars. From University lecturers to the emperor's personal doctor."
"Sounds like quite a lot to say if you ask me."
Aiko grumbled, just loud enough for Nozomi to hear.
"My whole family line is just one big one-up contest. I was raised to be perfect, and you could say that I was. I went to one of the prestigious schools in the country—aced it. I went to one of the most prestigious medical schools in the country—aced it."
Nozomi stared through the plate in front of him. Aiko turned to face him over her shoulder rested over the top of the chair.
"Wow. Show-off."
Her voice was blank; even the sharp sarcasm made Nozomi's face tense up.
"I hated it."
Aiko's face dropped.
"My life felt enclosed. My life was planned out, each step I took methodically planned from generations of the same cycle of studying and studying."
He tapped the counter with his middle finger repeatedly.
"Then the attack on Rengappon happened. My campus was infested with aliens, bodies sprawled along the corridors. People were dying in the streets. I was supposed to be training to save lives, but the people who occupied the positions I was studying to occupy were hiding. Then MEI was created, and I saw an opportunity to actually help people."
Aiko watched him steadily, no teasing this time.
"So you dropped a comfortable life of riches and luxury to run towards the fire?"
"I guess you could say that."
He walked around the corner. Picking up other dishes. He placed his hand on the one in front of Aiko—salmon untouched—asking if she was finished without saying; she waved her hand, allowing Nozomi to take the plate.
"But I did not think that I would come across giant rats."
He instantly remembered the conversation earlier, feeling like an idiot.
"Sorry, erm, mutant sewer animals."
She snorted.
"Yeah, hopefully we never see those again."
Nozomi peeked his head back around the corner.
"By the way. Next time. Vegetarian dishes only."
He pulled his head back into the kitchen. Aiko's lips curved into a warm smile.
"Deal. But you're losing the rematch."
"Bring it on, Reaper."
He shouted from the kitchen.
Outside, the Groissaint dusk settled in—lights flickered on, and the nightlife woke up. The trauma didn't leave Aiko, but that night, she slept peacefully.
But in another part of the city, during Aiko and Nozomi's cook-off, Kaoru brought Himiko to the lab to show her his invention. An invention that could change the future of humanity.