Tofu

The next day, the rain stopped.

The clouds were still thick and grayish white. But sunlight spilled through the gaps in beams, falling on the sports field, the roof of the classroom building, and the distant mountain ridges.

When Suguru Geto woke, sunlight was squeezing through a gap in his curtains. Then he got up. Washed, changed, and went out.

The hallway lights had already been switched off. Light streamed through the windows, illuminating the whole corridor. He went to the cafeteria, ate breakfast, then stood at the school gates, looking up at the sky.

At ten in the morning, Satoru Gojo knocked on his door.

Suguru Geto opened it to find Satoru Gojo standing outside, holding a white plastic bag. There was something heavy inside, and damp patches marked the bottom.

"Tofu," Satoru Gojo said, lifting the bag in front of Suguru Geto.

Suguru Geto took it and looked inside. A block of soft tofu sat in a clear plastic container.

"When did you buy it?" Suguru Geto asked.

"Just now."

"At the convenience store down the mountain?"

"Yeah."

Suguru Geto looked at him. Today, Satoru Gojo wore a black T-shirt and dark blue jeans. His hair hung naturally, without any gel. Mud flecked his sneakers and the hems of his jeans, as if he had walked along a muddy path after the rain. He held another bag containing kelp, miso, scallions, and a block of firm tofu.

"Why did you buy two blocks?" Suguru Geto asked.

"One soft, one firm." Satoru Gojo walked past him into the room and set the bag on the table. "I didn't know which you liked."

Suguru Geto watched his back. Satoru Gojo was taking things out of the bag one by one, moving slowly. His fingers were long, his nails neatly trimmed, and there was an unconscious elegance to the way he handled things.

"I said soft yesterday," Suguru Geto said.

"Yeah." Satoru Gojo took the soft tofu out of the bag and set it on the table. "So the soft one's for you. I'll eat the firm one."

Suguru Geto stood in the doorway, watching Satoru Gojo work at the table. He took the kelp out of the bag, rinsed it under the tap, then found a bowl and put it in to soak. Next, he took out the scallions, laid them on the cutting board, looked them over, and picked up the knife. Satoru Gojo held the handle as if he were gripping a short sword, blade pointed down, fingers clenched tight. It looked a little comical.

"Satoru. Curl your fingers in when you cut the scallions," Suguru Geto reminded him.

Satoru Gojo looked at his hand, then at Suguru Geto.

"Curl them in?"

Suguru Geto walked over, stood beside him, and reached out to hold his knife hand. Satoru Gojo's hand was a little larger than his, with well-defined knuckles and a few faint blue veins on the back. Suguru Geto repositioned his fingers, wrapping his middle, ring, and little fingers around the handle and pinching the spine of the blade between his index finger and thumb. Then he bent the knuckles of the hand resting on the scallions, tucking the fingertips inward.

"This way, you won't cut yourself," Suguru Geto said.

Satoru Gojo looked down at their overlapping hands for a second, then raised his head to look at Suguru Geto. His eyes were close enough for Suguru Geto to make out the patterns in his pupils.

"Then teach me," Satoru Gojo said.

Suguru Geto let go and stepped back.

"Go ahead."

Satoru Gojo lowered his head and began cutting the scallions. He moved slowly and carefully, giving every cut his full attention. The scallions became short pieces of uneven sizes, some thick, some thin, some cut at an angle, but they were chopped in the end. He gathered them into a small dish, then turned to check the bowl of soaking kelp.

The kelp had softened. He lifted it out of the water, laid it on the cutting board, and sliced it into small strips. This went smoothly, and when he finished, he gathered the kelp into a dish as well.

Then came the tofu.

He picked up the container of soft tofu, peeled back the lid, and poured out the water. The tofu was so delicate that the draining water washed a small piece off one corner. It fell into the sink and broke into several fragments. He stared at the broken piece in silence for a second, then tipped the rest out of the container onto the cutting board.

"Soft tofu is hard to cut," Suguru Geto said.

"I know," Satoru Gojo said, picking up the knife and beginning to cut.

His movements were even slower and more careful than when he had cut the scallions. When the blade touched the tofu, it stayed firmly in place without crumbling. He made the first cut. The tofu parted cleanly, without breaking. He made a second cut, a third, a fourth. After four cuts, the tofu lay in five pieces, roughly equal in size and shape.

"Done," Satoru Gojo said, a faint, almost imperceptible satisfaction in his voice.

Suguru Geto looked at the five pieces of tofu. They sat in a neat row on the cutting board, white and tender, like five newborn things. Satoru Gojo had fished the broken corner out of the sink and placed it beside the last piece, as if afraid Suguru Geto would notice some was missing.

"You cook it," Suguru Geto said, stepping away from the stove.

Satoru Gojo's dorm room had no stove, which was why he had come to Suguru Geto's room. Suguru Geto had a tiny kitchen corner with a sink, an induction burner, and a pot. He hardly ever used it, except to cook instant noodles or warm milk now and then. The pot was new and had only been used twice. Its bottom was still shiny, without any blackening.

Satoru Gojo placed the pot on the induction burner, poured in two bowls of water, and switched it on. The water began to heat. Slowly, tiny bubbles formed at the bottom, rising like strings of pearls. He added the kelp, put on the lid, and waited for the water to boil.

When it boiled, he lifted the lid and added the miso. It came in a tub, and he scooped out a generous spoonful, dropped it into the soup, and stirred with chopsticks. The miso dissolved, turning the broth milky white. The fragrance of kelp rose, mingling with the savory scent of miso and filling the room.

"Add the tofu," Suguru Geto said.

Using the chopsticks, Satoru Gojo eased the tofu off the cutting board and into the pot one piece at a time. It slipped into the soup, sank, then floated back up, appearing and disappearing in the milky broth. Last, he added the little broken corner.

"The scallions," Suguru Geto said.

Satoru Gojo scattered the chopped scallions into the pot. The green pieces landed on the milky soup like tiny patches of duckweed. He gently nudged them with a spoon to spread them out, then switched off the heat.

"Done," he said.

Suguru Geto took two bowls and two spoons from the cupboard and set them on the table. Satoru Gojo ladled the soup into the bowls, dividing the kelp, tofu, and scallions evenly between them. He scooped the small broken piece of tofu into his own bowl, moving quickly, afraid Suguru Geto would see.

They sat down in front of the two bowls of miso soup.

The soup was still steaming. White vapor rose from the rims, slowly dispersing beneath the light. Suguru Geto lifted his bowl, blew on it, and took a sip. Hot, salty, savory, sweet. The savoriness of kelp, the saltiness of miso, the tenderness of tofu, the fragrance of scallions. All the flavors mingled, slowly spreading through his mouth before flowing down his throat and warming his stomach.

It was different from yesterday's instant soup.

This bowl held the warmth of a pair of hands, the time someone had spent, the care of having made it for him.

"How is it?" Satoru Gojo asked.

Suguru Geto kept holding the bowl.

"It's good," he said.

Satoru Gojo lifted his own bowl, took a sip, chewed some kelp, and swallowed.

"Not bad," he said, but Suguru Geto noticed the corners of his mouth curve slightly, like a child who had been praised.

They finished the whole pot of soup. Satoru Gojo had two bowls, and Suguru Geto had two. The pot was empty. Satoru Gojo carried it to the sink, turned on the tap, and began washing up. His movements were awkward. He squeezed out too much dish soap, and suds overflowed from the pot, spilling onto his hands, into the sink, and across the stovetop. He wiped the stovetop with a cloth, then washed the bowls clean and set them on the drying rack.

Suguru Geto leaned against the window frame, watching him wash the dishes.

Satoru Gojo's figure stood out clearly in the afternoon light. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow. He washed the dishes with concentration, never looking around or stopping to think about something else. When he finished, he wiped his hands with a cloth, then turned to look at Suguru Geto.

"All clean," he said. "What are we making tomorrow?"

Suguru Geto thought for a moment.

"I don't know."

Satoru Gojo tilted his head, looking at him.

"Then we'll decide tomorrow," he said.

Suguru Geto looked at him for two seconds, then nodded.

Suguru Geto stood by the window, with Satoru Gojo beside him.

Less than ten centimeters separated them.

Neither spoke.

But neither needed to.