Appetite: An OTP Short (1/2)

Matt and A’s House
Tokyo, Japan
April 2015

After a few years of living with his girlfriend, Matt wasn’t quite sure how A had been able to fend for herself. She had told him before that in the beginning, Touta would be there to do the cooking for her. He’d cooked a storm, stocking her fridge to the brim and telling her to just microwave the other dishes. His own homemade sushi could be eaten cold.

It had been that way for a few months, she explained to him over a dinner of delivered pizza and wine. Finally, A grew tired of having to rely on Touta and purchased a few cookbooks for her to try out. It took her a long time to reassure the older man, but he soon relented. The food stopped.

Her first cooking attempt was a disaster.

In other words, the dish she had made (katsudon) wasn’t exactly the most edible. The pork wasn’t cooked well, the egg wasn’t great, and the rice turned out to be overcooked. A had felt a pang of guilt when thinking of throwing it out and attempted to remedy it through cooking it again. However, that nearly caused the kitchen to burn down.

(The katsudon was burned to a crisp.)

Not wanting to be a burden to Touta, she instead drove to the nearest grocery store and bought foods ranging from cereals to packs of instant noodles. Bottles of water, cartons of milk, and different vegetables as well as salad dressings filled the shopping cart. A bottle or two of cheap wine was thrown in. Fruits joined the mix. She avoided looking the cashier in the eye upon paying.

With that, A lived on ridiculously simple meals. She would toss vegetables together and make her own salad. She would blend fruits together and create decent-tasting smoothies. Empty packs of instant meals filled the trash.

Somehow, she managed to survive.

When Matt moved in with her, A was surprised when she came home to an actual meal on the dining table. Matt was playing on his PS3 when she stumbled into the living room, clutching the plate of Hayashi rice. After telling her that it was his favorite dish to make, A weakly said that it was the first time she had consumed something homemade.

Matt then stood up, walked back to the kitchen, and cooked another pot while A demolished the plate in her hands. When he gave her another serving, he swore it was the most he had seen her eat.

Since then, Hayashi ice was her go-to comfort food.

* * * * *

That probably explained why having her refuse a plate of Hayashi rice came off as a shock to him. When he asked why she didn’t want any, A clammed up and returned to her laptop, muttering something like she’d eat some later.

He left a warm plate next to her.

When she stepped into the bathroom to bathe, Matt checked on the plate. He frowned upon seeing only half of the meal consumed with a lot of rice remaining. Assuming she would eat the rest, he merely left her a bottle of water and left. By the time he came back, A was halfway through the beverage but didn’t seem to touch the plate.

Matt honestly hoped it was because she was too consumed in work to eat.

As the days passed, he found himself in the wrong more than he’d like to think.

A ate less when she arrived home from HQ, opting for two slices of buttered bread, a fruit cup and a hot cup of coffee. The food Matt prepared went unnoticed. While Kenichi appreciated his friend bringing food to the office more often than usual, he too agreed that A’s lack of eating was something alarming.

After two weeks of watching A go from eating regularly to much less, Matt wouldn’t help himself anymore.

When A was out for an investigation, he went out to his favorite grocery and bought all the ingredients needed for the Hayashi rice she loved so much. All ingredients were fresh, the beef looked good, and the wine he bought was her favorite.

An hour later, the food was set. The rice was soft and hot. Two glasses of wine waited to be consumed. He had come out of the bathroom with damp hair and he heard the familiar sound of her motorcycle being parked.

The moment she stepped into the house and dropped her food into the glass bowl by the door, Matt took her hand and pulled her to the kitchen. Blinking in confusion, A tried asking what was wrong and kept doing so until the familiar scent of food hit her.

Instead of her mouth watering due to hunger, A felt a slap of nausea hit her. Her eyes swiveled to Matt, who was putting a generous amount of rice on her plate and then pouring stew over it. “Y-You didn’t have to do this,” she attempted. He gave her a harsh look and put it in front of her, putting the spoon and fork into her hands next.

The familiar pang of hunger hit her all of the sudden and before she knew it, she pushed the plate away and stood up. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Matt, but I can’t,” she refused flatly, walking out of the kitchen before he could stop her.

* * * * *

He kept trying.

He left different portions of food for her. Fruit cups were frequently finished, as were small bowls of salad. A consumed more wine than she previously had within the last weeks.

Another quirk he noticed was her touching her collarbones and frequently hugging herself. He prayed that it didn’t mean something worse.

Matt kept trying and trying, leaving out different foods when he got busy. When he would come home, plates would be in the drier with leftovers in the fridge. A wouldn’t budge when he asked her what was wrong.

“Is it the food? Tell me if my cooking sucks,” he joked one time, trying to get something out of her. A, who was feasting on yet another fruit cup, gave him a weak smile and swallowed a spoonful of peach.

“…it’s not.”

“Are you getting tired of Japanese cuisine? I used to do some cooking for Kenichi,” he hummed, sitting next to her on the couch. He noticed her flinch, yet pretended to be in deep thought. “Fancy fucker likes Italian. I can cook a mean English meal if you’d like, love, remind you of home.”

Her slender fingers held onto the cup tighter.

“You don’t have to.” She said quietly, rising from the seat. “I’ll work on a report in the study. You can have the TV if you want,” A continued, beginning to walk. Matt bit his lip and tried again.

“Do you want some Katsudon for dinner? I found a nice twist to it–”

“I’m okay with my fruit cup, love. Make some for Kenichi, though?”

“I…of course.”

* * * * *

Another week had passed, and he wanted to get to the truth.

He had just finished his session with a few friends over Xbox Live. A was upstairs, reading. The two had dinner. While Matt ate the pasta, A had a sandwich and was correcting a report submitted to her much earlier. When Matt helped himself to another serving, A quietly excused herself and left.

That was his breaking point.

Matt took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “I can do this,” he murmured. From the other side of the door, he could her shift on the bed.

Exhaling, Matt opened the door and stepped in.

A peeked up from her book and offered a shy smile. “Hi – finish your game?”

“I did.” He approached his side of the bed and sat down, A scooting back to her own. “Book any good?”

“Yeah. It’s my first good read in a while,” she admitted. A dog-eared the page and set it aside, Matt catching sight of the empty wrapper on the table. She noticed his eyes on it and flushed red, looking away almost immediately. “I – just a snack,” she defended weakly.

He found himself taking her hand.

“Sweetheart…can we talk?”