Chapter Fifteen Sunday Dinner #3
The Ishidas were nothing like the family Renji had lost. Hiroshi resembled no one he had known.
Reina would have terrified his eldest brother.
Haruki belonged to a world the Takahara could never have imagined.
Yet the feeling was the same. Not the people.
The space between them. That was what returned him.
For one moment, Renji was no longer sitting in Takamori beneath electric light. He was young. Human. Home.
His hand stopped around the tea cup. Haruki noticed immediately.
"Are you all right?"
The room continued around them. No one else heard the quiet question.
"Yes."
Haruki studied him. Renji knew the answer had been insufficient. He tried again.
"This reminds me of something."
"What?"
Renji looked along the table — at Ayako listening while Ken described an argument with a parking official, at Reina stealing food from Hiroshi's plate after declaring it inedible, at the housekeeper placing more fish in Daisuke's bowl while he protested.
"My family."
Haruki's expression softened.
"The Takahara?"
Renji looked at him sharply.
"You mentioned the name once," Haruki said, lowering his voice.
"I did not."
"You did."
"When?"
"At the hospital. You were exhausted."
Renji searched his memory. Nothing. That disturbed him. Haruki seemed to understand.
"I didn't ask because you didn't offer anything else."
Renji looked down at his tea.
"They were very different."
"But it feels like them."
"Yes."
Haruki did not say he was sorry. He did not ask what happened.
He placed his hand beneath the table, palm up on the cushion between them.
An offering hidden from everyone else. Renji stared at it.
Haruki kept his gaze on the table, listening as though Reina's complaint about the sauce required his full attention.
The choice remained entirely Renji's. He could ignore the hand.
No one would know. Haruki would not shame him.
That certainty was why Renji placed his fingers against Haruki's palm. Haruki's hand closed — not tightly. Warmth surrounded Renji's fingers beneath the table while dinner continued above it. No declaration. No demand. Only contact. Renji breathed.
Across from them, Hiroshi looked down. Then at Haruki.
His mouth opened. Reina kicked him beneath the table.
He winced and closed it. Ayako saw everything.
Renji knew the moment her attention shifted — she did not look beneath the table, only first at Haruki's face, then at Renji's.
Her expression revealed nothing. That was more concerning than surprise would have been.
Haruki released Renji's hand only when Ayako asked him to pass the pickles. The absence remained against Renji's skin.
Dessert ended the prohibition. The pear cake was placed at the centre of the table. Hiroshi took a piece before Ayako had been served and received a strike across the knuckles from Reina's spoon. Business resumed immediately afterwards.
Ken had barely swallowed his first bite before saying, "We found a camera near Renji's building."
Haruki set down his fork.
"Active?"
"Not now. The memory card was removed."
"Position?"
"Across from the entrance. Third-floor office."
Renji's attention sharpened.
"How long was it there?"
"We don't know."
The warmth of dinner receded. Not vanished. Contained. Ayako continued eating the cake. No one else did.
"Any prints?" Haruki asked.
"None."
"Leaseholder?"
"Shell company."
"Connected to the warehouse?"
"Possibly."
Hiroshi sighed.
"I miss the dog conversation."
Reina looked towards the plaque visible through the open doorway.
"Business is allowed."
"That doesn't make it enjoyable."
Renji glanced at Haruki. Authority had returned to him — the shift was subtle, his shoulders straightening, his expression becoming still. Every person at the table waited for him without appearing to. Boss. Not a role he had wanted. A role he performed so others could remain seated.
"Double security around the house," Haruki said. "Rotate everyone whose routine could be known. No one travels alone until we understand how long the surveillance has been active."
Daisuke nodded.
"Renji's building?" Ken asked.
"I can secure my own home," Renji said.
Haruki did not look at him.
"Two people outside at all times."
"No."
"Yes."
"You have no authority over my residence."
"I'm not claiming authority."
"You are issuing instructions."
"To Ken."
"Regarding me."
Haruki turned. The table went very quiet. Renji held his gaze.
"You will draw attention," he said.
"The attention is already there."
"I am not vulnerable."
"I know."
"Then remove them."
"No."
Hiroshi slowly took another bite of cake. Reina watched as though uncertain whether to intervene or sell tickets. Renji leaned closer.
"Haruki."
Something changed in Haruki's eyes at the use of his name. Not surrender. Pain.
"They photographed you because of me," he said.
"That has not been established."
"They watched your apartment after I visited."
"We do not know whether the camera predates your visit."
"That doesn't make it better."
"No."
"Then let me do this."
The request existed beneath the command. Renji heard it. Around them, the Family remained silent. They had seen Haruki give orders. This was not one. It was fear disguised as procedure.
Renji looked towards Ken.
"Two."
Haruki exhaled.
"Four."
"Two."
"Three."
"Two, or I remove all of them."
Haruki considered.
"Two."
Hiroshi nodded approvingly.
"You negotiate like you're married."
Reina struck him with the spoon again. This time Ayako smiled. Only briefly.
Conversation resumed — not easily, but deliberately.
The camera was discussed. Routes examined.
Names assigned. Through it all, Renji remained aware of Haruki beside him: the angle of his body, the way he checked Renji's expression whenever another detail emerged, the fact that his knee rested against Renji's beneath the table and neither man moved it away.
Eventually, bowls were cleared. Hiroshi disappeared before washing began and was returned by Daisuke three minutes later. Renji removed the apron. Reina took it from him, folded it and placed it in a drawer.
"You'll know where it is next week," she said.
Renji looked at her.
"There was no discussion of next week."
"No."
She closed the drawer.
"Still."
Across the kitchen, Haruki stood drying plates while Ken washed them. He looked over. Their eyes met. Something quiet passed between them — not a promise, recognition perhaps, of the table, the hand beneath it, the possibility of another Sunday.
Renji picked up a towel.
"You're doing that incorrectly," he told Haruki.
Haruki looked at the plate.
"I'm drying it."
"You're leaving water near the rim."
"That evaporates."
"Then there would be no purpose in drying it."
"Take over, then."
Renji did. Haruki moved beside him to collect another plate. Their shoulders touched. Neither apologised.
From the doorway, Ayako watched them. She had gone unnoticed by everyone except Renji. Her gaze moved from Haruki's face to the towel in Renji's hands, then to the small distance neither man seemed willing to restore between them. She watched a beat too long. Then she turned and walked away.