The shopping list was written on the back of an envelope.
Tara had scrawled it that morning, her handwriting looping and careless. The envelope was creased, stained with coffee rings, and the list had been amended twice, certain items scratched out and replaced with cheaper alternatives.
"I usually go to the market near the harbor," she said, pulling on a jacket that had been mended at the elbows. "It's cheaper than the convenience store. The vendors know me."
Hoshimi stood by the door, his new clothes stiff and unfamiliar. The white button-down was too bright, the jacket too structured. He felt like a mannequin.
"You don't have to come," Tara said. "I can go alone."
"I'll come."
She studied him for a moment, her golden eyes searching his face. She shrugged and opened the door.
"Suit yourself."
The morning air was cold, carrying the salt smell of the harbor and the distant rumble of trucks on the main road. Tara walked with her hands in her pockets, her ginger hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
She didn't try to make conversation. Just walked, her pace unhurried.
Hoshimi walked beside her.
"You look a little bit off today," she said eventually.
"I slept."
"For twelve hours."
"I was tired."
"You were exhausted." She glanced at him. "You're still really pale, when's the last time you saw sunlight?"
"The last time we went out together."
"That's not what I meant."
They walked in silence for a while. The streets were waking up around them, shopkeepers rolling up shutters, delivery trucks double-parked outside restaurants.
A group of schoolchildren ran past, their laughter bright and uncomplicated. An old woman sat on a stoop, feeding a stray cat that had taken up residence in the alley.
"The market's just ahead," Tara said. "It gets really crowded during these times. And the vendors will try to overcharge you because of the way you look."
A narrow street lined with stalls, their awnings sagging under the weight of years.
The air smelled of fish and frying oil and the particular sweetness of overripe fruit. Vendors shouted their prices, their voices competing with the rumble of traffic and the distant wail of a ship's horn.
Tara moved through the chaos like she belonged there. She greeted the vendors by name, exchanged small talk with an old woman selling vegetables, haggled over the price of eggs with a man whose apron was stained with something that might have been blood.
Hoshimi followed, carrying a canvas bag that grew heavier with each purchase.
"You're quiet," Tara said, inspecting a bunch of green onions.
"I'm just watching you, I have nothing better to do."
" So you have nothing to say."
"Maybe I have nothing to say."
She handed the green onions to the vendor, who wrapped them in newspaper and added them to the growing pile. "Or maybe you're thinking about something and don't want to share."
He watched her pay. The bills were worn, folded carefully, counted twice before she handed them over. The vendor gave her change, coins that she dropped into a small coin purse that looked like it had seen better days.
"Do you have enough?" he asked.
Tara's hands paused. Just for a moment. Then she snapped the coin purse shut and tucked it into her pocket.
"Enough for what?"
"Enough for all of this." He gestured at the groceries. "You've been buying food for both of us. You bought me clothes. You're not-"
"Not what?"
He looked at her. At the mended elbows of her jacket. At the coin purse that barely bulged. At the careful way she counted her money, like every bill mattered.
"You don't seem to have very much money," he said. "You're broke."
Tara laughed. It was sharp, surprised, and entirely genuine. "That's one way to put it."
"I'm being serious."
"So am I." She picked up the bag of groceries and started walking. "I'm not broke. I'm just... frugal."
"You're broke."
"You're being rather persistent about it."
They walked through the market, past stalls selling dried fish and pickled vegetables and bundles of herbs tied with twine.
Tara stopped to examine a display of mushrooms, picked out a small handful, and paid with coins that she counted twice.
"You don't have to take care of me," Hoshimi said.
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
She didn't answer immediately. Just kept walking, the canvas bag swinging at her side, her gaze fixed on the crowd ahead.
"Because I want to," she said finally. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"It is."
She turned down a side street, away from the main market. The crowd thinned. The buildings here were older, their facades weathered by decades of salt air.
A small shrine sat there tucked between two apartment buildings, its red gate faded to pink.
"Where are we going?"
"It's a shortcut." Tara ducked into an alley, and Hoshimi followed. "They sell it cheaper and the fish is fresh."
The alley opened into a small courtyard, a fountain stood at its center, dry and cracked, its basin filled with dead leaves. The buildings around it were residential, laundry hanging from balconies, the windows dark.
Tara stopped in front of a door. It was unmarked, unremarkable, the paint peeling then she knocked three times.
"This is really creepy."
A slot slid open, then eyes peered out.
The door then creaked open, slowly.
The room beyond was small and dim, lit by fluorescent tubes that buzzed overhead. The air smelled of fish and ice and the particular mineral tang of seawater. A man stood behind a counter, his face weathered, his hands gnarled.
"Tara," he said. "You're early."
"Business is slow. I wanted to beat the rush." She gestured at Hoshimi. "He's with me."
The man's eyes swept over Hoshimi. Then he nodded and stepped aside.
The fish was laid out on beds of crushed ice, their scales gleaming under the harsh light. Tara examined each piece with the care of a jeweler appraising gems, rejecting several before settling on a modest cut of white fish.
"You're good at this," Hoshimi said.
"I used to come here all the time with my mom."
She paid with more worn bills, accepted her change, and tucked the wrapped fish into the canvas bag. The man watched them go, his expression unreadable.
Back on the street, Tara's pace slowed. The canvas bag was heavy now, the handles digging into her palms. She switched hands, shook out her fingers, kept walking.
"Give me the bag," Hoshimi said.
"I can carry it."
"You're struggling."
"I'm not struggling. It's just a little heavy."
He took the bag from her. She didn't protest, just flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders.
"You're stubborn," she said.
"You are too."
They walked back through the market, past the stalls that were beginning to pack up for the day. The crowd had thinned. The vendors' voices were hoarser now, their energy fading.
"You asked me why I'm helping you," Tara said.
"I remember."
"I'm going to tell you. But you have to promise not to get weird about it."
"I can't promise that."
"Fair enough." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm helping you because I need help too. Not specifically from you, I just need help... in general. I've been alone for a long time, so it's nice to have some company, even if I have to take care of mr issues boy."
"I don't have—"
"You do."
They walked in silence for a block. Then another.
The sun had climbed higher, burning through the morning haze, painting the streets in shades of gold and gray.
"The clothes," Hoshimi said. "The food. You can't afford it."
"I can afford it."
"I've seen you count your change twice."
"That's called being careful."
"You're broke."
Tara stopped walking. Turned to face him.
Her golden eyes, warm and patient, met his violet ones.
"Okay," she said. "Fine. I'm broke. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"No."
"Then why are you pushing?"
He didn't have an answer. He had too many answers.
"I don't want to be a burden," he said finally.
"Then don't be one."
"How?"
She started walking again. Her pace was slower now, more deliberate.
"You could help out," she said. "Around the apartment. Cook, clean. I'm not asking for much."
"I can't cook and I've never cleaned once in my life"
"Then there must be something else you're good at, something that you specialize in."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. The apartment building appeared at the end of the street, its facade weathered, its windows dark.
The stairwell smelled of mildew and old cooking oil, the light on the second floor still flickering.
Inside, Tara set about putting away the groceries. Her movements were efficient, practiced, the eggs in a bowl on the counter, the vegetables in the refrigerator, the fish wrapped in paper and set aside for dinner.
Hoshimi stood in the doorway, watching.
"What are you doing just standing there?" she asked without turning around.
"I'm just watching you."
"You're being really weird."
She finished putting away the last of the groceries and turned to face him. Her hands were damp from washing vegetables. She wiped them on a towel and tossed it over her shoulder.
"Can you cook even just a little?" she asked.
"A little."
"How little?"
"I can make rice and eggs. Sometimes both at the same time."
"That's not even that hard, even a child could do it. Not saying that I'm trying to detract from your efforts but it's a struggle meal at best."
"It's basically cooking."
"No." She shook her head. "Cooking is when you make something that tastes good. At some point you're just eating so you can survive."
She pulled a pan from the cabinet and set it on the stove.
"I'm going to teach you," she said. "Nothing fancy, just the basics. You must be talented in something."
"You don't have to-"
"Just shut up." She turned on the gas, adjusted the flame. "I want to. Now come here and pay attention."
He stepped into the kitchen. The space was small, barely enough room for both of them, but Tara moved around him with practiced ease.
"First lesson," she said. "Oil in the pan. Not too much, not too little. You want to coat the bottom without swimming in it."
She demonstrated. The oil shimmered, catching the light.
"Second lesson. You don't want it too hot, or the food will burn before it cooks. You don't want it too cold, or the food will soak up the oil and get greasy."
"How do you know when it's right?"
"You learn." She held her hand over the pan. "You feel it. Eventually, you can tell just by looking."
She added vegetables to the pan, onions first, then garlic. The smell filled the small apartment, warm and savory.
"Third lesson. Don't overcrowd the pan. If you try to put too much in at once, the temperature drops and everything steams instead of frying."
Hoshimi watched. Her movements were fluid, unhurried. She added the fish, skin-side down, and the sizzle was immediate and satisfying.
"Did you learn how to cook from your mother too?" he asked.
"I did, I had to learn it from her out of necessity. Since we couldn't afford to eat out, and my mom was forced to do most of the housework, I had to help around the house somehow."
She flipped the fish, revealing golden-brown skin. "When you're broke, you learn fast or you starve."
The fish finished cooking.
Tara plated it, added the vegetables, and drizzled everything with a sauce she'd made from soy sauce and vinegar and something sweet.
"Dinner," she said. "Or lunch. Whatever you want to call it."
They ate at the small table by the window. The food was good. The fish was flaky, the vegetables still had a bit of crunch, the sauce tied everything together.
"This is better than the ramen," Hoshimi said.
"That's because you helped."
"All I did was watch."
"That's helping." She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. "With you around the house, I'm don't feel that lonely anymore."
After the meal, Tara washed the dishes while Hoshimi dried them and put them away. The routine was quiet, domestic, almost peaceful.
"You never answered my question," he said.
"Which question?"
"The one about why you're helping me."
She handed him a plate. He dried it, set it in the cabinet.
"I told you. I need help too."
"That's not an answer."
"Well I've told you everything I could."
They finished the dishes. Tara wiped down the counter, hung the towel to dry, and leaned against the sink.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," she said.
"What?"
"How are you planning to survive? Long-term, I mean. You can't stay here forever."
He didn't have an answer. The truth was, he hadn't thought that far ahead.
Hadn't thought about the future.
"I don't have enough to help you for a long time, but if you find some form of income, you can stay here as long as you want."
"I don't think anyone is going to hire me, I'm a witch."
Tara's face remained unfazed.
"A witch huh? I didn't even realize."
"Aren't you mad that I deceived you?"
"We're still flesh and blood at the end, I don't care if you have magical abilities. You're still a boy." She walked up to him and smiled, patting his head as if he were a child.
Hoshimi stared at the ground, trying to hide his face from her.
"I-I can fight… I think that's all I'm good for."
"There's no need for you to get in danger just for me." Tara said carefully.
"I mean, you've been taking care of me all this time, I just want to repay you."
"Thank you. I doubt I can persuade you anymore, you seem quite stubborn after all." She crossed her arms. "I think I might know some people. I think we can get you in."
"Why would you know people who run fighting rings?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "The brothel I used to work at had an underground fighting ring beside it, I had a lot of customers who came from there, but the one that used to be there….I don't know where it is anymore."
"What happened?"
"The owner got arrested. The ring shut down. But the fighters went elsewhere, I can always contact them. There are always rings, if you know where to look."
"I can fight."
"I just want you to have a way to support yourself. That's all." She uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides. "You can always say no, there's no need to support me."
Hoshimi stared at her. The golden eyes, so familiar and so wrong. The ginger hair that caught the light. The way she stood, weight shifted slightly to one side, ready for anything.
"I want to support you."
Tara smiled.
"Thank you."
Hoshimi's eyes seemed to glow, but not the same violet as before but an unnerving pink, his pupils dilated, completely fixed on her.
Tara's smile widened.