Bring to a Boil and Then Let Simmer
| Bring to a Boil and Then Let Simmer | |
|---|---|
| Date of Cutscene: | 24 January 2024 |
| Location: | United Airlines Flight 32, LAX to NRT |
| Synopsis: | Homecomings should be a joyous affair. But sometimes things aren't so simple. |
| Cast of Characters: | Ren Morimoto |
The wide expanse of the Pacific spreads out below him. Even through the tiny window that Ren squints through, it feels somehow both endless and stiflingly small, from this high up. Like he could sail over that edge, right there, and go falling into the depths. It's a silly thing to think, he supposes, but in the sanctity of his own mind, who's going to judge him?
It's better than thinking about other things. Because he knows somewhere out there, drifting closer every second, is land. Home. And it's not like he hasn't missed it, hasn't missed his sister and his friends and his bedroom with all of his books and his vintage collection of VHS tapes, but at the same time he has a queasy sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of going back. Swoopy, sort of, like his lower half is just going to fall out from beneath him at any moment.
But it's too late to go back.
He wishes he could, though. America is a lot different to Japan in more ways than Ren can list, and despite his near-obsession with films from Hollywood, what he'd seen on the silver screen had not in any way prepared him. Even though he was in California.
Side note: actually visiting Hollywood? Really crappy. Disney Land had been pretty fun though, even if he'd made himself sick on churros.
Different hadn't meant bad. After the initial culture shock had worn off, it hadn't taken long for Ren to realize that. His host family were amazing, even if it was awkward at first. He'd been so tongue-tied from nerves that they were nearly convinced by the end of the first day that he couldn't speak any English at all, which had been embarrassing, but he could certainly understand them, and eventually he'd managed to stutter out more than a word or two at a time. Then they had so many questions that, by the end of it, he was just as comfortable as he had been in English Club back home.
Other people would probably have been overwhelmed, but Ren... well, it was nice. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked him anything deeper than "Are you coming to practice today?" or "What did you pack for lunch?" And part of him worries that it's his own fault.
Is he... a boring person?
That makes his stomach clench and twist even tighter, and he pulls his legs up into his seat, folding his arms around them tightly. Even at his height he manages to pack himself into a compact shape, and he rests his chin into the valley between his knees. His expression has gone glum, the corners of his mouth turning downwards as his brow wrinkles. Part of him already knows it's true: he's still a teenager, but his life has already settled into a monotonous routine. The other guys in the baseball club are his closest friends and none of them really know him beyond what he brings to the game. His idea of fun is going by himself to the movie theater and sitting in silence for hours.
When he had the opportunity to do something real, something exciting and worthwhile, dropped right into his lap, what had he done? Ran away to another country.
Ren looks down at the plushie half-stuffed into his carryon, down by where his feet were moments before. The guilt gnaws at him, and he feels like he's sinking, as if his whole body were suddenly submerged in cold water. Umeboshi hadn't exactly came out and said he was shirking his duties as a Culinary Guardian, but things had been... sort of tense. And quiet, because of it. They used to chat, late at night when no one else was awake, in the sanctity of his quiet, darkened bedroom. But those talks have been few and far between ever since he'd started. He missed that.
Maybe going home would fix it. Ren really hoped so, even as the heavy weight in his gut sank lower and lower, the closer to Japan they got.
Things were going to be different. Because he was different. Heck, Ren hadn't so much as picked up a baseball bat the entire semester, and aside for a trip out to Dodger Stadium to watch a game, he... well, honestly hadn't thought much about the sport at all. There'd been so much other stuff going on, at first, so much excitement that it'd just slipped his mind, and then by the time he remembered, he realized he didn't actually care that much at all.
It wasn't the potential disappointment of his fellow baseball club members that had him so worried, though. Would they really care if he wasn't so obsessive about it? Maybe someone else would have to step up to take up the slack when it came to organizing things and motivating everyone, but it wasn't really fair that Ren shouldered that burden by himself all the time, anyway.
No, that's not it. It's the other thing he realized, about himself. It makes him so discomfited that he feels he might actually be sick, a heavy swallow signaling the very real possibility of just that, but then the older woman in the seat next to his shifts slightly, and for the sake of his fellow passengers, he tries to pull himself together. Deep breaths. Deep, steadying breaths.
He can't even think about it. But it's okay. It doesn't have to change anything, right? Nobody has to know. It's not like it's going to come up, anyway. Everyone's always known him to be so committed to his singular, all-consuming hobby to even think about finding a girlfriend, so things can just... continue as they have been. He doesn't have to think about it.
For a little while after that, he doesn't think about much of anything. All Ren feels is numb. But then, with dread creeping up on him, sending goosebumps across his arms, he realizes he was wrong: even in the privacy of his own thoughts, he can be judged. He's judging himself, right now.
Because he's a coward.
