AYAME
Ayame wiped down the counter for the third time, her cloth moving in slow, absent circles as she replayed the morning in her mind. Eishin-kun. Just thinking his name made her chest flutter. She called him Eishin-san, but in the privacy of her mind, it was Eishin-kun or just Eishin when she was all stressed and missing him and alone in her room.
He'd looked tired when he walked in with that loud green man with the bowl-cut hair, who was with him—Guy-san, she remembered—but his smile for her had been as warm as always. That lazy grin that made her feel like she was the only girl in the world, even when she knew better.
"Ayame-chan," he'd said, and oh, how she'd missed hearing her name in that voice. A whole month. A whole month of watching other customers, serving other people, pretending she wasn't counting the days since his last visit.
She'd made his usual ramen with extra care, adding a soft-boiled egg the way he liked it, making sure the noodles were perfect. When she'd set the bowl in front of him, their fingers had brushed—just barely, just enough to send that familiar warmth racing up her arm. He'd winked at her, that shameless, wonderful man, right in front of her father.
She needs to correct that. She thought with a pout. He needs to control himself, and earn her father's respect if they were to one day... That is not the time!
But then he'd mentioned the hospital so casually, like it was nothing. Hospital. The word had lodged itself in her throat like a stone. When she'd pressed him about it, he'd just waved it off with that infuriating habit of his, downplaying everything dangerous about his life. As if she wouldn't worry.
As if she didn't lie awake some nights wondering if one day he simply wouldn't come back.
Ayame bit her lip, remembering how her heart had clenched when Guy-san had clapped him on the shoulder, mentioning something about "recovery time." Eishin-kun had shot the other man a look—not angry, just tired—and changed the subject by complimenting her bandanna. Such a small thing, but it had made her blush.
This is it, she'd decided right then and there. This is my chance.
Ayame had waited long enough.
She'd spent too many months serving him ramen and stealing glances, too many nights replaying his teasing words and wondering what it would be like if he looked at her the way he looked at those other women. The ones who came and went like seasons, faceless and temporary.
Well, most of them were faceless. She thought with annoyance. That purple-haired snake woman, Anko, had been appearing far too consistently for Ayame's liking, with her loud laugh and bold personality. She pisses Ayame a bit too much.
But that was exactly why this mattered. Those women….. they were just distractions, entertainment for a man who'd never learned how to be still.
It was enough.
They couldn't give him what he really needed. A home, warmth, and someone who would cook for him a tasty meal. Someone who would worry about him when he didn't come back. Someone who would notice when he was hurt and actually care enough to do something about it.
The rest of the day dragged like lead. Orders came and went, steam rose and faded, bowls clinked against the counter.
Ayame found herself watching the clock, mentally preparing what she would say, how she would explain her presence at his door. A wellness visit, that was all. Perfectly innocent. The kind of thing any caring friend would do.
By evening, she'd worked up the courage to approach her father.
"Otou-san, I'm feeling a bit tired today. Would it be alright if I took the evening off?"
Father looked up from his prep work, concern creasing his weathered features. "Are you feeling unwell, Ayame? You've seemed distracted all day."
Because I am, she thought, but managed a reassuring smile instead. "I'm fine, just need some rest. The evening crowd is always light anyway."
Her father studied her face for a long moment, and Ayame fought the urge to fidget under his knowing gaze. Finally, he nodded. "Go on then. But make sure you eat something proper, not just the leftover ramen."
"I will," she promised, already mentally cataloging the ingredients she'd need.
The hardest part was preparing the food without arousing suspicion. She'd settled on making a portion of his favorite, the special miso ramen she'd perfected just for him, with extra chashu and the soft-boiled egg he always appreciated. When her father asked who it was for, she'd felt heat rise in her cheeks.
"For... for myself. I thought I'd try a new recipe."
Another lie. She was getting better at those, which should have worried her more than it did.
"Since when do you eat that much in one sitting?" Father had asked, but he'd been busy with the dinner rush and hadn't pressed further.
As the sun began to set, painting the village in warm orange hues, Ayame carefully packed the ramen in a thermal container. Her hands were trembling slightly. From nerves or anticipation, she couldn't tell. This was so far outside anything she'd ever done before. Good girls didn't show up at men's apartments uninvited. Good girls didn't lie to their fathers or make elaborate plans to spend time alone with notorious womanizers.
But good girls also didn't get the boy, did they?
The walk to his apartment felt both endless and far too short. She'd figured out where he lived months ago. Not like she was scooping, of course! She wasn't some sneaky shinobi, heavens no. Just… curious. That was all. A normal girl, and she liked it that way, thank you very much!
And a normal girl had her ways, too. Listening, being attentive, something like that. Someone had to be, since he clearly had no one else.
It was a modest place in a decent part of the village, nothing fancy. That was so like him, to live simply despite being such a skilled and amazing shinobi.
When she reached his building, Ayami's heart was hammering so hard she was afraid it would attract attention. The container of ramen felt heavy in her hands, warm against her chest. She climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, rehearsing what she'd say when he opened the door.
I heard you were hurt, so I brought you something to help you feel better. No, too forward. I was in the neighborhood and thought you might be hungry. Too obvious a lie. I...
She knocked before she could lose her nerve.
She waited.
Nothing.
Ayame waited a little bit more, counting to ten, then knocked again. Still nothing. A cold knot began forming in her stomach. What if he wasn't home? What if he was... entertaining someone? The thought made her grip the container tighter.
She knocked a third time, more insistently. "Eishin-san?" she called softly. "It's Ayame."
Silence.
He was clearly not home. Great Ayame, this is just your luck...
Deflated, she sank down onto the steps, cradling the still-warm container in her lap. Maybe he was at the hospital still. Maybe he'd gone to see one of those women. Maybe—
"Excuse me."
Ayame looked up to find a young woman about her own age standing at the foot of the stairs. She was beautiful in that effortless way that made Ayame immediately self-conscious. Long purple hair that caught the evening light, pale skin that had never seen a day of manual labor, and brown eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.
One of them, Ayame, realized with a sinking heart. One of the women who drifted in and out of Eishin-kun's life like expensive perfume. She had never seen her, but… the red lipstick alone was telling enough.
"Are you waiting for Eishin?" the woman asked, and something about the casual way she used his name—without honorifics, like she had every right to it—made Ayame's smile feel brittle.
"Yes," Ayame managed, keeping her voice pleasant. "I brought him some food. He mentioned he'd been unwell."
The purple-haired woman tilted her head, studying Ayame with an expression that might have been pity. "Oh, you don't know, do you? He moved out yesterday. This place has been empty since then."
The words hit Ayame like a physical blow. "That... that can't be right."
"I'm sorry," the woman said, though she didn't sound particularly sorry. "I helped him with some of his things. He's living somewhere else now."
Ayame clutched the container tighter, her knuckles going white. This woman—this interloper—had helped him move? Had been in his apartment, touching his belongings, sharing in the intimate task of packing up his life? The jealousy was so sharp it made her breathless.
"I see," Ayame said, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended. "Well, I'll just wait a bit longer. In case he comes back for something he forgot."
The other woman's eyebrows rose slightly. "He won't be coming back. Trust me."
Trust you? Ayame wanted to snap. Trust some random woman who's probably trying to keep me away from him? But instead, she arranged her features into the same polite smile she used for difficult customers.
"That's alright. I don't mind waiting."
For a long moment, they stared at each other. Then the purple-haired woman sighed.
"Look, if it's really important, I could tell you where he's staying now. But it's pretty far from here, and..." She glanced at the container in Ayame's lap. "Are you sure this isn't something that could wait?"
Every instinct screamed at Ayame not to trust this woman, not to accept help from someone who so obviously belonged in Eishin-kun's world in ways she never could. But the alternative was going home empty-handed, admitting defeat before she'd even tried.
"Where is he?" she asked quietly.
The woman gave her an address on the outskirts of the village, in a part Ayame had never visited. "It's quite a walk," she warned. "And the area is... well, you'll see."
After the woman left, with a backwards glance that Ayame couldn't quite interpret, she sat alone on the steps for several more minutes, turning the new address over in her mind. She should go home. She should accept that this had been a foolish plan from the start and pretend none of it had happened.
Instead, she stood up, adjusted her grip on the container, and began walking.
The sun had fully set by the time she reached the outskirts of the village. The address led her to what looked like a compound of some kind—a collection of buildings behind a low wall, all done in traditional architecture that spoke of money and status. But something about it felt wrong. The buildings were too perfect, too pristine, yet old at the same time. No laundry hung from windows, no lights glowed warmly behind shutters. It looked like a stage set waiting for actors.
Ayame's steps slowed as she made her way deeper into the compound. This couldn't be right. Eishin-kun lived simply, and she loved that about him. What would he be doing in a place like this?
Maybe that woman was lying, she thought dreadfully. Maybe this is all some elaborate joke or a trap.
But the address matched, and when she found the specific building, she swallowed thickly. The place was big. Too big. The roof curved all fancy, the kind of style clans like the Hyuuga used, all proper and important. It didn't look like somewhere Eishin-kun would live at all. He wasn't that kind of man. He didn't need heavy beams and sweeping roofs and wide porches; he needed warmth. A home. Not this showy sort of house.
Not where a kind, simple man would choose to live, she told herself firmly. There has to be some mistake.
She knocked anyway, because she'd come this far and the container was still warm and maybe, just maybe, she'd find him inside with a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.
The door opened to reveal yet another woman.
This one was blonde, with large glasses that seemed too big for her face, and was wearing what looked like a laboratory coat over civilian clothes. She looked younger than Ayame had expected, maybe even younger than herself. Eishin-kin's age, Ayame wanted to grind her teeth. She didn't.
The blonde girl was fair in that unhealthy way, skin like she hadn't seen sunlight in weeks. A book girl, Ayame decided, as if the lab coat was not telling enough.
"Oh! Um, can I help you?" the woman asked, blinking rapidly behind her glasses. There was something almost eager about her expression, like she didn't get many visitors.
"I'm... I'm looking for Eishin-san," Ayame managed, feeling suddenly awkward under the intense stare. "I was told he lives here now?"
The blonde woman's entire demeanor shifted, lighting up. It made Ayame's stomach twist with unpleasant recognition. Another one. "Eishin! Yes, yes, he's here! Oh, you must be—wait, are you one of his friends? I'm Shiho!"
Again! No honorifics. Ayame wanted to break something.
"I'm Ayame," she said carefully, watching the other woman's excited expression. "I brought him some food since he mentioned being in the hospital—"
The enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. "He mentioned the hospital—oh, you're so sweet to worry about him! I was there with him the whole time, you know, making sure he was eating properly and taking his medicine and—"
The whole time. The words hit Ayame like a slap. While she'd been worrying and wondering, this woman had been by his side, caring for him. This pissed Ayame more than anything the snake bitc—woman said or did.
"I brought him some ramen," Ayame said quietly, holding up the container that suddenly felt pathetic in her hands.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Shiho practically bounced on her toes. "He'll love that! Please, please come in! Oh, this is so exciting, I hardly ever get to meet his other friends!"
Something about the way Shiho said 'other friends', like she was cataloging Ayame alongside all the rest, made her chest tighten with a familiar, poisonous feeling. But the younger woman was already ushering her inside with an enthusiasm that felt almost unsettling.
As the door closed behind them, Ayame felt her carefully maintained smile growing forced. This wasn't like the others, the shallow, temporary women she could dismiss.
This one, Ayame senses tingled, would be trouble if she were to fix him up properly.
— — — — — — — —
You can read up to 8 chapters ahead at patreon.com/vizem