My conversation with Ryuzo felt unfinished. For more than a week, the words were stolen from us. Unable to cross paths at the right time, our looks spoke for us yet again. Maybe it was in my head, but it felt like we both had a longing to be alone. To talk. To do more.

I told myself to stay away from him, but how was I supposed to stay away when he was always there, always looking delicious, always making me feel pretty in a place that otherwise made me feel reptilian?

It was odd being a Black girl in Japan — feeling like the only Black girl in Japan some days. Back home, I got attention. Thousands of followers thirsting over my pictures — some even paying for them — before I deleted my accounts. I was Instagram pretty with a button nose, pouty lips, and rare, light eyes the same chestnut brown as my skin, but here, that meant nothing. My existence was a spectacle. Something new or different, not something desired.

I didn't have the pale skin, slender frame, or "Western" features people idolized. My brown skin never faded, my curl struggle was even worse without easy access to hair care, and no matter how thin I got from missed meals and running for trains, my ass was never going to stop assing.

Only one person seemed to appreciate that. His attention brought me joy when little else did.

But, after two years of celibacy, that joy was easily skewed. Maybe I thought I wanted him as a friend, but my body wanted something else.

My dreams were filled with thoughts of kissing him, tasting him, feeling his body on top of me. I imagined my hands reaching down to hold his hips while they moved between my thighs, that deep voice whispering in my ear, "Mina."

I jolted awake. A sheen of sweat covered my skin. Another part of me was wet in a different way.

"What the hell?" I asked myself aloud.

I hadn't been with anyone since Vince, but after everything that happened, my trust issues told me to stay away from every man I encountered, gang-related or not. Being lonely and horny wouldn't kill me. Or anyone else.

I shook off the thoughts and got up to make myself some tea, hoping to soothe myself back to sleep. The restaurant's red glow through my window lulled me back to my dream. I peeked through the blinds, secretly hoping to see him, but no one was there. The restaurant was closed, and the sun was a few minutes from rising.

Let it go, I urged myself. Let him go.

. . .

Work was stifling. In Japan, people worked hard, played hard, then worked harder. Busy barely described it.

Sixteen-hour shifts four days a week, no sitting, no questioning, no talking back. If a superior reprimanded you for anything, you didn't speak when spoken to. You didn't speak at all. You just accepted it, absorbed it. Let it eat you alive if you let it.

By the end of the week and fourteen hours into my shift, my nerves were shredded. I tucked myself into the bathroom and cried behind the safety of the Toto toilet's music. When I gathered myself enough to leave, I walked out of the bathroom and into a frenzy.

My team rushed down the hallway, including my lead. I followed her into a room where an older woman was unconscious and turning blue. They lowered the bed and I started working on her.

Our doctor, Toriyami-senpai, rushed in, his face calm but cold, a sneer seemingly always on his face.

Anxiously trying to revive her, the doctor barked commands at us. My lead nurse wasn't helping, but I understood enough to follow. Epi. Compressions. Epi. He pushed me away, and I stood hands up, watching the doctor shock her over and over. Her daughter and granddaughter cried to her from the hall. But, the patient didn't come back.

Rather than taking a moment to acknowledge it, the doctor turned around and began yelling in my face. I stood in shock, quiet as they had taught me, catching only the worst words he said. Stupid. Idiot. Foreigner.

Gaijin. They all called me that, but sometimes, the inflection reminded me of a worse word they called me at home.

As hard as it was, as much as I wanted to let it tear me to shreds, it reminded me I left for a reason. It would get better.

I hoped.

. . .

On the train home. I hung my head in my hands to hide my tears from the rest of the passengers. They wouldn't say anything, they never did, but I didn't want to stand out even more than usual.

My sniveling self-pity hadn't lessened by the time I got home. I focused on getting into my apartment and finishing my bottle of fancy plum wine sitting alone in my refrigerator. I stared at my feet, moving my path to allow another pedestrian past me.

"Mi-na," a deep voice sang behind me.

My heart leaped with excitement when I saw him, but I spun away, embarrassed by the status of my face. "Ryuzo. Hi."

"Are you crying?" He approached me with an expression full of concern. "What is wrong?"

I looked up at him with a pout, hating how he caught me in my second-to-worst form while looking so fine as hell. He was in his usual work attire — black suit, white shirt, no tie — his hair half up in a bun behind his head, the rest falling in inky tendrils to the top of his collar. He tilted his head to the side as if to remind me he asked a question.

"I had a bad day at work, that's all."

"What happened?"

After drowning in the painfully polite silence of this place, I was surprised he asked. "We lost a patient and our doctor . . . He screamed at me for it, called me names." I laughed at myself while I wiped my cheek. "It happens all the time. I'm stupid for crying about it."

"Real men don't like to make women cry." He leaned in closer. "He is the stupid one."

I could have unlocked my gate and gone inside. I should have. Instead, I stood there, wanting to savor the thirty minutes of English conversation allotted to me per day, even if it was with a gangster. A very attractive, attentive gangster.

"It's stupid that I chose to come work here, then cry when it's hard. Did I not think working in a new place, alone, while not knowing the language wouldn't be hard?" I lamented. "If he's stupid, I'm a fucking dumbass if that was my logic."

After realizing I said far more than he asked, I looked at him, finding an entertained grin on his lips. He didn't seem to mind my rambling.

"I talk and cuss a lot. I'm sorry."

"No, I like it. I like you."

I blinked, not knowing what to say, hoping my warm cheeks were speaking for me.

He leaned against the wall and tucked his hands into his pockets. "You know . . . In Japan, we have an ancient remedy for what you are feeling."

"What is it?"

He smirked. "Getting very, very drunk."

I laughed. "Oh, yeah?"

He nodded with a widening smile. His straight teeth and pointed canines added to the roguishness of his fox-like features. "Want to try it with me?"

I hesitated for a moment, but didn't have the strength or desire to tell him no. "Sure."

. . .

He took me to a place down the street. A little hole-in-the-wall spot big enough for a bar top and six small tables. It was warm and loud, the energy high. We walked in and everyone at the bar seemed to know him.

"This is my friend, Mina," he introduced me in words I understood. The slew of words he said next went straight over my head, but caused the men to cheer. The group of men gathered shot glasses, handing us too many to hold.

We settled on stools at the end of the bar, and everyone held up their drinks. "Kanpai!"

"Kanpai!" I said with them, then threw back the shot.

It tasted good. Soju, or maybe sake, I couldn't tell, but it went down like water. After the third one, everything started to feel warm and fuzzy.

Ryuzo slid two glasses of Sapporo toward us. Though his attention had been all around the room, his hips were faced toward me on his stool, my legs caged between his. His elegant fingers traced the side of his glass, golden rings shining beneath the broken skin of his knuckles. His hands were like the rest of him, equally beautiful and intimidating.

He peered at me over his glass as if watching me watch him, his little smirk always there. He was hard to read. It felt like a challenge.

"So . . . Do you use this ancient remedy often?" I asked him.

"Only special occasions," he said. "Like weekdays and weekends."

I covered my mouth when I laughed. "Kanpai to that?"

"Kanpai." He lifted his glass. I tapped mine against it and we drank.

He peered at me over his glass as if watching me watch him, his little smirk always there. He was hard to read. It felt like a challenge.

"How is your English so perfect?" I asked him. "You had to have learned it young."

"I did," he answered. "My mother worked for an international company and she made sure I learned it. She left for work in the UK when I was very young, and I moved back and forth until she died."

My heart dropped. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head with a smile. "It has been a very long time."

Same. But it still hurt.

"You are American?" the bartender interrupted in a heavy accent. A jolly-looking bald man who seemed just as drunk as his patrons.

"Yes."

"You don't look American," he narrowed his eyes with a laugh.

I grinned at what I knew was coming. "What do Americans look like?"

He held his hands out in front of his stomach as if holding a large belly, then waddled around while grumbling and shaking his fist. That was pretty spot-on, in my opinion. I laughed freely — the complete opposite of what I had been doing just a short time before.

"Where are you from in America?" Ryuzo grabbed my attention again.

"Georgia. Do you know where that is?" I asked. He shook his head. "Do you know Florida?"

His smile twitched up with mischief. "Alligators."

That made me laugh. I'd associate it with retirees and racism, but alligators work too. "It's right above that. It's a lot like here, but it had more highways than trains, and peach trees instead of cherry."

"I love peaches." The way he said it implied he wasn't talking about the fruit. "What made you leave to come to Japan?"

Murder and cocaine seemed too forward an answer. "Alligators," I joked. He laughed and we shared a sip. 

"You said you don't know anyone here? That you came alone?"

"Yeah. I took a job as a travel nurse," I told him. "There were opportunities in places closer to home, but I couldn't pass on a paid trip to Tokyo."

Another smirk. "How long are you staying? Forever?"

"No. My contract is only for six months."

He frowned. "So short."

"It is. That's why I'm hoping to experience as much as I can. It would be nice to enjoy some pleasure while I'm here for business." 

A shameless flirt. One he acknowledged with that lingering, smoldering stare.

"Thank you for bringing me here," I said, loose-lipped. "Without knowing Japanese, I barely get to have conversations with people anymore." He was easy to talk to, and was nice to look at while doing it, but I knew better than to let that slip.

His eyes traced my face with a knowing grin, as if he could read my thoughts on my face. "I like talking to you. We should do it more often."

One of his companions stole his attention again, drunkenly draping his arm around Ryuzo's shoulder. He said something that made them both laugh. While looking elsewhere, Ryuzo's hand settled on my knee. I couldn't tell if he meant it to be flirtatious or if I was just that starved for touch, but after so many drinks, it was one of the only things keeping me on my stool.

Trying not to read too far into it, I looked around, finding stares from others in the room. The alcohol wouldn't allow me to figure out if they were glaring at me, Ryuzo, or the two of us together. The stares and whispers made me feel uneasy. Once again, I became acutely aware of how out of place I was.

"Ryuzo?" He turned back to me with a raised eyebrow. "Is everyone staring at me or at you?"

He looked over his shoulder with a glare. The gawkers quickly turned away or politely dropped their gaze. The look of fear on some of their faces answered my question. Ryuzo turned back to me. "Don't worry about them." His hand gripped my thigh before disappearing to nonchalantly pull down his sleeve. "We're drinking!"

"We're drinking!"

He turned to our fellow bar mates and shouted, "Kanpai!" They all raised their glasses and echoed his cheer again.

I sipped my drink as he did the same, never breaking eye contact. Again, he studied me with his eyes, making my cheeks warm under his admiring gaze.

 "I don't know you well, Mina, but I can tell you are bold, and you are strong," he said. His dark eyes stared intently into mine. "You will be okay wherever you choose to go. But . . . I believe Japan will be good to you. Work will get better, you will make many friends, and you will want to stay forever. You will see."

It was hard not to believe him when he looked at me like that.

. . .

When we left, I was a very lucid drunk. I felt sober but my motor skills strongly disagreed. If Ryuzo was drunk, he played it off with grace. Or I was too drunk to notice he didn't.

When the gates closed over the windows of some of the izakayas, I realized how much time had passed.

"Thank you for sharing this ancient remedy with me," I said when we arrived at my gate. The place it all started.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much better."

All he did was smile. That smile did things to me.

Without a thought in my head, I lifted myself to my toes and pressed my lips against his.

Soft and plush, they felt better than they did in my dreams. I lingered longer than I should have.

When I pulled away, he looked down at me, a surprised look on his face. Afraid I had read the wrong cue, my heart pounded. "Sorry. I didn't . . . Sorry." 

Before I could run away in embarrassment, he took my face in his hands, pulling me back into a kiss.

I had forgotten how good it felt to be kissed, how good it felt to be touched. Between the alcohol and his lips, I was floating. Slow and delicious, he kissed me again and again. My body ached for him more each time his soft lips sucked mine. A slip of his tongue, sweet like sake, set me ablaze.

But, when his hand trailed lightly from my jaw to my neck, his deep hum of enjoyment vibrating into my core, I knew I had to stop.

I broke the kiss to save myself, tasting my lips to keep him from stealing them again. He looked down at me with a smirk.

"I should . . . um . . ." No excuse came to mind as to why I shouldn't keep making out with a gang member in an alley. Funny. "Thank you again."

A hum was his only response. He tucked his hands into his pockets and watched me unlock my gate. Surely, he wasn't expecting an invitation inside, but I wasn't sure about much when it came to him.

"See you, Ryuzo," I said.

"See you, Mina."

I closed the gate behind me and darted into my building. Inside and safe from his view, I pressed my back against the wall with a sigh.

There, I told myself. Now you know what he tastes like. Let it go. 

___

A/N: Kanpai!

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