How to Heal NTR Trauma: Method One (3)
Quitting smoking isn't something that just happens because you consistently don't light up.
Of course, simply keeping yourself smoke-free is already a real achievement. More than anything, people who try to quit do it partly for their own health and partly—half by choice, half by pressure—to spare the people around them from secondhand smoke. So even if it's only been a few hours, give them your full support.
"I didn't know you'd quit smoking."
Riyeon, however, poured cold water all over my six months of effort with that single remark.
Haha. So much for the sense of accomplishment.
From her perspective it might have been a shame, but I hadn't quit so anyone would notice, so it didn't really sting.
"Do I smell or something?"
"No?"
"Or do I look like I smell?"
"No? Why?"
"Usually when people say it seems like you smoke, it's because you actually smell like it."
"Ahh."
We were on the bus together, headed for a restaurant I knew. Luck was with us—one seat had opened up. I had Riyeon take it and stood beside her, gripping the strap.
"When you came in for the interview, I saw you smoking in the smoking area."
Ah. So she'd seen me at my worst.
"You looked completely out of it, chain-smoking three cigarettes in a row."
That had been one of those stretches where I wasn't eating—just smoking. The stress had been so extreme that if it wasn't nicotine, tar, cadmium, and every other toxin piled on top, I couldn't have lasted a single minute. I'd been fighting poison with poison, injecting toxins into my body to suppress the poison in my mind. Chain-smoke three to five, top up the oxygen, walk into the interview, and no matter how hard they pressed, I could deliver my own little speech with a deadpan face. That was the idea.
After six rejections I'd sworn that if I got into this place I'd quit smoking—and wouldn't you know it, I actually landed the job at this company. Living expenses had completely bottomed out, so I shut up, joined, and started quitting.
"Come to think of it, you were pretty lean back then. You had a jawline."
Yeah. Quitting smoking isn't something that just happens because you consistently don't light up. You only achieve a perfect quit once you can also rein in the weight you packed on from the appetite that exploded with the withdrawal symptoms. Six months into quitting, nights of snacks and booze had left me seriously heavy. So two weeks ago, I'd decided to start a diet.
"I'll give you a free pass if you smoke today. Oh—have you already smoked?"
"I haven't. And I won't from now on either."
"That's admirable. Fighting!"
"But why a free pass today?"
"Because of course Mizuki's drug-fueled barbecue is hard to endure without booze and cigarettes."
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Only when you drink, maybe?"
"No, I'm a non-smoker. That's why I'm trying to soothe myself with alcohol."
"Same here."
"Just with alcohol?"
"Being a non-smoker, too."
I figure six months of quitting earns you non-smoker status. Still, drinking two days in a row after yesterday was fatal to the diet. What can you do? Of the three things that comforted my soul—alcohol, cigarettes, and everything—I'd given up one, and one had even betrayed me. So I had no choice but to soothe myself with the sole remaining comforter: alcohol.
"You can smoke if you want."
"I absolutely won't."
"Because you don't want me smelling cigarette smoke on you?"
"Because I hate the smell of cigarettes on my own body."
Riyeon was smiling softly. Now that I knew her, she wasn't someone whose smiles came expensive. She was a lot like me from half a year ago, so I felt a sense of kinship. Just kinship. Not affection. More like a senior looking at a junior. I'd guide her well enough, but whether she'd listen was another matter. We're Gen Z—we have the right to give advice, or not take it.
Mukashino Tomo
An aged-sashimi place I'd discovered at the end of last year. It was run by a strict female owner, and as I'd already warned Riyeon, if you made too much noise you risked getting kicked out and banned for good—but if you followed the rules, the service was guaranteed. A solid little izakaya.
"Wow, it's my first time at an izakaya like this."
"An izakaya?"
"Oh—I've been to the kind that sell rice bowls and pork cutlets for lunch."
"And at night?"
"I can't walk into a restaurant alone at night. I mostly just order delivery."
She'd said she had no friends. There was a time when going to a meat place alone made you a legend, but these days, showing up by yourself in the evening and taking a whole table often earned you dirty looks, so I'd stopped long ago. After quitting smoking it wasn't binge-eating so much as binge-drinking that put the weight on me, and even then I hadn't been hitting bars solo all that often. So for me, too, eating out—and coming to this izakaya—was a real rarity. A couple of months, maybe? Two months back our handsome team leader had pissed me off so badly I'd come for a drink. For the record, this place actually preferred solo customers.
"It's nice having a friend. Means I can come to places like this."
"They'll take you even if you're alone."
"If I'd been alone, I never would have known a place like this even existed."
Riyeon was visibly excited. The way she smiled, all lit up with interest, made her the kind of person who was fun to take somewhere.
"Hello—do you have a table?"
"Hello! Party of two?"
"Yes."
The interior was compact enough that ten tables, bar included, fit only if you packed them tight. We slid open the door and a red-haired waitress greeted us. As we took the seats she showed us to, my eyes swept the kitchen. There was one thing you absolutely had to eat if you came here, and that meant confirming a certain person was on duty. With the same flutter you'd feel hunting for a long-lost first love, I scanned the line—and found him: short, messy hair under a bandana, diligently beating eggs. Perfect. Beautiful. We'd start with the owner's aged sashimi and close the night's feast with his cooking.
"Assorted sashimi, medium, one. Grilled sea-bream head, and the egg roll."
"You're ordering that much all at once?!"
"Here you have to put in the whole order up front. No adding food midway—only drinks."
"Really? That's so weird."
Riyeon glanced around the narrow space, then smiled bashfully.
"Honestly, just coming somewhere like this with someone is already weird for me."
The distance between us was still completely wrecked. Once we got closer, I'd have to sit her down and talk about that properly. Wait—once we got closer? Was I actually assuming I could get closer to a beauty like her? Then again, the frequency of our conversations, the way she answered even date-adjacent invitations without hesitation… maybe it was fair to think that. Damn. I was starting to feel like our relationship was slipping past purely professional. All my people-judging big data was company-only. It might be time to raise my guard.
"Yuzu highball and plum highball!"
Tall glasses with long rectangular ice. The yuzu and plum made them sweet, but the owner mixed the whiskey Japanese-style—strong—so a little warning was in order before anyone got drunk too fast.
"The highballs here are strong, so if you drink too qui—"
"Oh! They're here. Cheers!"
Riyeon simply picked up the plum highball, clinked it lightly against the other glass, and drained it in one go.
"Whoa! Oh! Ooh!"
She stared into the empty glass with wide eyes, then turned to me, smiling, and pointed at the highball with her finger.
"It's good! And strong."
"Yes, yes—so if you drink too qui—"
"Whew. One more plum highball, please."
"You already finished it?!"
I raised my voice in surprise, then immediately checked the kitchen. The slender, beautiful owner glanced our way, saw the empty glass, and arched one eyebrow. From her perspective, rowdy noise in the shop mattered more than sales, so knocking back drinks that fast wasn't a great idea either.
"Plum highball~."
A vaguely spacey male staffer brought the extra highball, and Riyeon again clinked it on her own and downed half of it. It all happened in a blink.
"Wow."
Riyeon let out a breath. The smell of alcohol was on it.
"The buzz is perfect."
She exhaled again, brought the ice-filled glass to her cheek, opened only one eye at me, and declared with solemn gravity:
"I'm finally mentally ready to talk about NTR."
"Ah. So sober was too hard."
"No way, no way. Absolutely impossible."
That explained the racehorse-level sprinting. In that case, no reason for me to hold back either. I knocked back the yuzu highball in one long pull. Sweetness brushed my tongue for a moment, then the bitter whiskey linger stretched deep down my throat.
Riyeon slowly poked my cheek with a finger.
"You drink well!"
Her eyes looked a little unfocused. We'd barely walked in and already seemed to be in dangerous territory.
"Injae, I've been thinking a lot, you know?"
"Thinking about what?"
"Haa~ About how the hell I'm supposed to take even a little edge off this absolute bullshit."
"Mm-hmm, I'm listening. All ears. Go ahead."
"Good. Having someone who actually listens to me feels so good."
This person was not easy. The way she reacted so big to every little thing made me like her, but the loneliness soaked into every one of those little things also felt like a warning to look after her more carefully.
"I think we have to dig into the fundamentals first!"
"Fundamentals meaning…?"
"Excellent question!"
Like a middle-aged section chief facing a passionate new hire, I kept a smile on and let her talk.
"First we have to dig into why this whole situation is so goddamn awful, and why we hate NTR—starting right there."
"You want us to dig into the wound?!"
"No, no, not that."
Riyeon lifted her chopsticks and drew a neat X. The tips fluttered.
"Figure out which exact part of NTR is tearing my heart, my chest, like this—then recommend each other works that can heal that, and try to heal. That's the idea."
Surprisingly textbook. I even nodded and gave a little clap.
"That's a very solid point."
"Hehe."
Riyeon flashed her teeth in a big grin.
"I got praised~."
I wonder if she knew. Just talking with her like this was already healing me. Drinking and chatting with a beautiful woman who gave great reactions—I could feel my lifespan extending. Meanwhile I was just a security-guard-aged guy mid-quit and mid-diet, so I decided to match her energy with everything I had.
Still glowing from the praise, Riyeon beamed and said,
"What makes fucking NTR so goddamn awful? Because it goes against human nature, that's why!"
And of course the red-haired waitress, just arriving with the assorted sashimi, heard every word.
"Enjoy~."
She set the plate down without missing a beat and vanished—a true professional. The only worrying part was the little half-run she made toward the corner where the other servers, male and female, were clustered.