Idiot

By seven that evening, the sky had gone completely dark.

Streetlights flickered on one after another, spreading orange halos over the streets of Sendai. Kenjaku walked along at a considerably lighter pace than he had that afternoon, his face showing a rare hint of ease.

His housewife duties were finally over for the moment. The vessel was pregnant, everyone who needed handling had been handled, and everyone who needed fooling had been fooled. Tonight, at least, he was free.

His destination was Kashimo's apartment.

It wasn't that he doubted the idiot could find his way home. A body retained its original owner's memories after incarnation; surely finding an address wouldn't be a problem. He just needed to check.

And keep him from starving to death while he was at it.

Kenjaku gave himself a reasonable excuse. After all, he wasn't sure whether this curse user's body had originally known how to cook. If Kashimo's four-hundred-year-old palate left him staring helplessly at a modern kitchen until he got hungry enough to gnaw on a table leg, Kenjaku would be the one embarrassed when word got out. He had spent so many years looking after him four hundred years ago, and four hundred years later, he still had to feed him. What a losing deal.

He turned into the alley beside the apartment building and climbed the outside stairs with practiced ease, his steps light and his mood decent.

Then he rounded the bend in the stairs and saw, outside the apartment he had rented-

A heap of shopping bags scattered across the ground.

Beside them, a tall man sat leaning against the door, his head tilted to one side. Turquoise hair hung over his forehead, his eyes were shut, and his breathing was steady. He was sound asleep.

This was Kashimo, who four hundred years ago had been aloof, arrogant, and insufferably full of himself in front of Kenjaku.

Now he was curled up outside his own front door like an abandoned oversized dog, sleeping with his mouth slightly open, utterly defenseless.

Kenjaku stopped.

He stood at the top of the stairs, still holding the ingredients he'd bought at the convenience store. His expression shifted from relaxed to confused, from confused to incredulous, before finally settling into an exceedingly peculiar blank stare.

He stared dumbly at the enormous figure curled up by the door, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Then it twitched again.

"...Are you an idiot?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it rang especially clearly in the empty corridor. Kashimo didn't wake. He merely shifted his head, turned it the other way, and kept sleeping, an indistinct mumble escaping his throat.

Kenjaku took a deep breath, then another, feeling his blood pressure rise at a practically visible rate.

He strode over and nudged Kashimo's shin with the tip of his shoe.

"Hey. Get up."

Kashimo didn't move.

He kicked him again, a little harder this time.

"Kashimo."

Still nothing. Four hundred years ago, this man had been so alert that he could sense murderous intent from a hundred meters away even in his sleep. Now he slept like a corpse. Apparently, the day's ordeal had genuinely worn him out.

Kenjaku looked down at him. A little dust clung to that handsome face, and his lashes cast small shadows beneath the light.

He was silent for three seconds.

Then he set the bag of ingredients on the ground, crouched, and took the key out of his pocket, reaching over Kashimo's shoulder to unlock the door. The sound of the key sliding into the lock finally woke him.

Kashimo's lashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes, his blue gaze still unfocused. He tilted his head up, saw Kenjaku's face right beside his own, and froze for a second before speaking hoarsely.

"...You're here."

Kenjaku turned the key without expression, and the lock clicked open. He lowered his eyes to Kashimo, who was still lounging on the ground, and spoke with an almost absurd calm.

"If I hadn't come, were you planning to sleep out here all night?"

Kashimo blinked, apparently giving the question some serious thought.

"...Maybe."

The corner of Kenjaku's mouth twitched.

"Where's your key?"

"You have it."

"...You didn't think to ask me for it?"

"Forgot."

Kenjaku closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his face plainly said, What the hell did I owe you in my last life?

He shoved the door open. With the support behind him suddenly gone, Kashimo toppled backward, the back of his head striking the floor with a dull thud.

"Ow-"

"Serves you right."

Kenjaku stepped over his long legs sprawled across the floor, entered the apartment, and switched on the light. Harsh white light instantly flooded the room. Kashimo lay on the floor and squinted, hearing Kenjaku's voice overhead, tinged with teeth-grinding exasperation.

"Get up. I'll make you dinner."

Lying on the floor, Kashimo gazed at the brilliant white ceiling light, and his lips slowly curved upward. He propped himself up on his arms and sat up unhurriedly, rubbing the back of his head. His voice was still rough with sleep.

"...What are you making?"

"Curry."

"Sure."

Kenjaku had already entered the cramped kitchen. He set the convenience store bag on the counter and began looking for cookware. His practiced movements made him seem less like a jujutsu sorcerer who had lived for over a thousand years and more like an actual housewife.

Kashimo got up off the floor, dragged the heap of shopping bags inside, and tossed them into a corner. Standing in the kitchen doorway, he watched Kenjaku's back and suddenly spoke.

"Where's the Thunder Ring?"

Kenjaku's hands paused, but he didn't turn around.

"I'll get it tomorrow."

"Your husband agreed to give it back?"

"...Stay out of it."

Kashimo said, "Oh," leaned against the doorframe, and fell silent. The sound of chopping came from the kitchen, the curry block wrapper was torn open, and the water in the pot began to bubble.

Warm light filled the little apartment as the comforting bustle of cooking slowly took over.

Before long, the scent of curry filled the cramped apartment.

By the time Kenjaku brought two plates of curry to the table, Kashimo was already seated at the little low table, his eyes tracking the plates like a starving wolf that had stalked its prey all day. Steam rose from the curry, golden sauce draped over the rice, with a few chunks of tender stewed potato and carrot nestled alongside it. It wasn't an elegant presentation, but to someone who hadn't eaten all day, it was the finest meal on earth.

Kashimo grabbed a spoon and dug in without a word.

He ate fast and furiously, scooping up a huge mouthful of curry rice and stuffing it into his mouth. His cheeks bulged, and before he'd finished chewing, he was already reaching for another spoonful. Sauce smeared the corner of his mouth, and grains of rice fell from the edge of his spoon back onto the plate. Oblivious, he kept his head down and shoveled food into his mouth.

Kenjaku sat across from him with his chin in both hands, watching in embarrassment.

He had been just like this four hundred years ago. Every time he came back from a fight, he ate like someone was about to steal his food. A different body, four hundred years later, and not a thing had changed.

"Slow down," Kenjaku sighed, sounding both disdainful and resigned. "Nobody's going to steal it."

Kashimo ignored him and stuffed another huge bite into his mouth, chewing away. Kenjaku stared at him for two seconds, then gave up talking and watched him eat with his chin in his hands. His gaze drifted from that curry-smeared face to the heap of shopping bags in the corner, then back again.

"You really are an idiot," he said suddenly, his voice languid. "Didn't it occur to you to buy a phone? Didn't I give you some money?"

He remembered handing him several bills that afternoon. He might have called him a freeloader, but he couldn't actually let the guy wander the streets bare-assed. It had certainly been enough to buy a phone. Surely he wasn't incapable of making a simple call.

Kashimo suddenly stopped.

He lifted his head, his mouth still packed with curry rice and his cheeks bulging like a squirrel hoarding nuts. His blue eyes looked straight at Kenjaku, and his lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but the wad of rice blocked every word.

"Mmph, mmph, mmph."

He made a string of muffled sounds, even adding an earnest hand gesture.

Kenjaku stared at him expressionlessly for three seconds.

"...Swallow first."

Kashimo's Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped down the food in his mouth. He licked the sauce from the corner of his lips, put down his spoon, and assumed an expression so serious he might have been about to make an important declaration.

"I forgot."

Utterly unapologetic.

So unapologetic that Kenjaku couldn't react for a moment. He simply sat there with his chin in his hands, staring at Kashimo's face, which plainly said, I forgot. What do you want me to do about it? The corner of his eye twitched.

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

"Forgot?" he repeated faintly, as though making sure he'd heard correctly.

"Yeah." Kashimo nodded, perfectly unbothered. "You were rushing me when we left, so I forgot."

"...You forgot because I rushed you? Is your brain just for decoration?"

"Haven't used it in four hundred years. It's rusty."

Kenjaku took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling as though the day's fluctuations in his blood pressure could already form a topographic map of an entire mountain range. He opened his eyes and looked at the man across from him, who had already picked up his spoon and resumed shoveling in food. His mouth opened, but there were so many insults to choose from that he didn't know where to start.

In the end, he merely lowered his hands from beneath his chin, leaned back against his chair, and watched expressionlessly as Kashimo stuffed a second enormous mouthful of curry into his mouth.

"...You really are an idiot."

His voice was much quieter now.

Kashimo paid him no attention and kept eating with his head down. The scent of curry still lingered in the air, and the spoon clinked against the plate in a crisp, steady rhythm. In that little apartment, the sound was oddly reassuring.

After watching for a while, Kenjaku sighed and reached out to push his own untouched plate of curry toward him.

"Eat more. Don't starve to death and make me come collect your corpse."

Kashimo raised his head, curry sauce still smeared at the corner of his mouth, and glanced at him before pulling that plate over without the slightest hesitation.

"Thanks."

"...Shut up and eat."

P.S. I'm starting to enjoy writing everyday life.