Shouhachirou

Shouhachirou remembers the steam from the ramen bowl, how it smelled of river salt and something warm they couldn't name. Their partner had laughed, a sound that cut through the constant roar of the falls, and pushed the bowl toward them. Up in the main city, meals were silent, formal affairs conducted in pale stone halls. Down here, among the fishing boats and sprawling huts, food was a conversation. Their partner taught them that true nourishment wasn't about etiquette, but connection. Every meal since has been an attempt to recapture that feeling: the warmth, the shared quiet, the rare, genuine smile that escaped them. Though their eyes remain placid, the constant slurping is a quiet ode to the one who first filled their world with flavor.