In December, the landlord—blinded by a sudden windfall—had packed up the whole family and boarded a plane for a New Year's world tour. The demolition crew had already begun sealing off the building.
Yin Ze had either sold or tossed most of his furniture ahead of time. What was left, he now lugged around in bags strapped to his shoulders and arms.
Truthfully, he hadn't even found a new place to live yet. His options were: show up unannounced at his estranged mother's doorstep, or share a cardboard box under a bridge with some gamblers. Technically, net cafés were a viable alternative—Japan's were pricey, but the single rooms had beds, hot water, and attentive staff. Way cheaper than a proper hotel.
…So really, if someone hadn't offered to help, he'd be two beers deep in a 48-hour gaming session by now.
"It's been a while since I cleaned, so it's a bit messy—hope you don't mind."
Matsuoka Yoshitsugu helped carry one of his suitcases, unlocking the front door and flicking on the light.
"The place is small, but there's enough room for another person. If you want a shower, give the water heater a head start—it's old. It's late today, so let's save the cleaning for tomorrow," he said warmly. "Since you're here, let's eat something nice tonight! Uh… let me check what's in the fridge—"
Yin Ze dropped two large bags and rolled his sore shoulders, glancing around the one-bedroom flat. Like his old place, the kitchen was tucked into a corner to save space.
For a bachelor's pad, it was surprisingly clean—no mountains of garbage bags, no dirty laundry crawling across the floor. The walls were a little faded, the tiles slightly yellowed, but everything had been scrubbed. The coffee table had its odds and ends neatly arranged.
A vision test chart hung on the wall opposite the sofa, alongside a kana chart and tongue-twister posters—probably for some light articulation drills while watching TV.
"There's only some chicken, tofu, and lettuce left. Wanna just eat out?" Matsuoka said, poking around in the fridge.
"I'm fine with whatever," Yin Ze replied. "Don't go to any trouble."
"There's curry powder too—how about I steam some rice and make mapo tofu?" Matsuoka mused aloud.
"You can cook?" Yin Ze blinked.
"Wasn't always the case. But eating out every day—even if it's just ramen—is expensive. So I bit the bullet and started watching tutorials." Matsuoka gave a sheepish smile. "If it tastes awful, bear with me."
"Come on, I'm already lucky enough." Yin Ze rubbed his shoulder. "I'll go grab some drinks downstairs."
"Sounds good."
When he returned with a plastic bag a few minutes later, Matsuoka already had his sleeves rolled up and was washing rice. Scallions had been finely chopped on the cutting board, and the stove was simmering with curry sauce. His efficiency was no joke.
"Watch some TV while you wait—dinner'll be ready soon," Matsuoka called out.
"You're pretty slick with the knife."
"I used to work part-time at a restaurant. Picked up a few things. Plus, this is my first time cooking for a guest." Matsuoka beamed. "Honestly? Kinda excited."
"Oho, then I'll be judging you like a true food critic, Chef Matsuoka!"
"Hah! Bring it on!" he laughed.
Prime-time variety shows were already airing. The camera crews roamed the streets filming slice-of-life montages, while the hosts and guests in the corner window cracked jokes nonstop.
Matsuoka finished strong with a steaming plate of mapo tofu. The glossy red tofu cubes sat bathed in spicy sauce. He tossed a handful of scallions and spices over the top as the finishing touch—green and red accents decorating the sizzling dish.
He scooped rice, drizzled curry sauce over it, and added a generous helping of the mapo tofu.
Yin Ze dug in, mouth full of oil, face flushed. "Hot—!"
"Ah, sorry! I like it spicy—guess I overdid it. Let me get you some water!"
Yin Ze swallowed the rice, sweating. "—Not spicy enough!"
"...Huh?" Matsuoka blinked at the fire-red bowl. "You sure? This is pretty intense."
Yin Ze couldn't reply right away.
His soul was Sichuan-born—he craved spice like air. Back home, people didn't drink booze to lose at drinking games—they chugged hotpot broth. But this body was Japanese, raised on light, mild food. The sudden heat felt like a personal attack on his tongue.
His heart was elated; his body was suffering. Pure joy, pure pain. Bliss and torment in one.
Matsuoka saw Yin Ze's teary-eyed bliss and grinned—clearly the flavor was a hit. A triumph for his homemade cuisine.
Yin Ze tossed over a beer can from the bag. "Cheers."
"Wait—aren't you underage…?" Matsuoka hesitated.
"I'm turning legal in a few days. Close enough, right?" Yin Ze grinned.
"Time really flies. Can't believe it's almost New Year." Matsuoka cracked his can open, sighing as he took a sip.
"You heading back to Hokkaido for the holidays?" Yin Ze asked between bites.
"Probably not. I haven't been back since I moved to Tokyo. I call home, but I'm not an only child—my parents have others to keep them company."
"I didn't want to barge into my 'mom's' perfect household either. If you hadn't offered me a place to crash, I'd be spending New Year's Eve in a net café," Yin Ze said gratefully. "Seriously, thank you, Matsuoka."
"We're friends. That's what friends do," Matsuoka said solemnly.
"Friends…" Yin Ze paused, then smiled. "Alright, I'll crash for a few days. How about we form the Tokyo Lonely Workers Squad and ring in the new year together watching the Red & White Song Festival?"
"I'm in!" Matsuoka said, genuinely happy.
"Let's play a game! Tongue-twister duel—whoever messes up takes a sip." Yin Ze suggested.
"I won't go down easy." Matsuoka's eyes lit up as he set down his spoon. "I'll start—namamugi namamame namatamago."
He fired it off fast and clean. Clearly, his tongue had seen some practice.
"Kotsusoshōshō soshōshōsō." Yin Ze nailed his round too, borrowing his predecessor's hard-earned articulation.
"Tōkyō tokkyo kyoka kyoku kyokuchō." Matsuoka didn't miss a beat.
"Akamakigami, aomakigami, kimakigami." Yin Ze gripped his beer can, focused.
"Bōzu ga byōbu ni jōzu ni bōzu no e o kaita."
"Kisha no kisha ga kisha… ah damn it." Yin Ze took a big swig. "Again, again!"
They traded blows, one phrase after another. Tongues twisting, spirits high.
…Eight beers later, all the cans were empty. And like any drinking game, the more you drank, the more you messed up—and the more you drank.
Matsuoka had great articulation, but he couldn't hold his liquor.
Yin Ze looked over at the poor guy, now collapsed on the coffee table. He scratched his head, cleaned up the dishes, then laid out the futon and gently tucked Matsuoka in.
"Seriously… thanks for everything, man," he murmured.
"Yehh… 's only nat'ral…" Matsuoka mumbled, barely coherent. "Y'know… since movin' to To'kyo, you're… you're the only one… to say those kinda things. Been so long… since I had dinner with a buddy…"
"Haha, alright. Get some sleep."
Yin Ze turned off the lights and flopped onto the couch.
He really was lucky… to have met someone this kind, this sincere.
"Sweet dreams," he murmured, stretching with a yawn.
"Shwee drems…" Matsuoka echoed.