Chapter Sixteen The Laugh
Chapter Sixteen
The Laugh
Haruki arrived at Renji's apartment carrying coffee and an argument. The coffee came from a small shop near the hospital that Renji had described as tolerable, which Haruki had correctly interpreted as high praise. The argument concerned the two Ishida men stationed outside the building.
Renji opened the door, looked at the cardboard tray in Haruki's hand, then past him towards the street.
"They are still there."
"Good evening to you too."
"I told you to remove them."
"You agreed to two."
"I agreed under duress."
"You negotiated the number."
"That does not imply consent."
"It strongly suggests it."
Renji stepped aside. Haruki entered before the invitation could be reconsidered.
The apartment looked exactly as it had on his first visit.
Almost. The books remained ordered. The sword rested on its stand.
The green-shaded lamp warmed the desk. The record shelves still occupied one wall, each album returned to its proper place.
But a second pair of slippers now waited beside the door. They were larger than Akiko's.
Haruki looked down at them. Renji followed his gaze.
"They were inexpensive."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was going to ask whether you regularly purchase footwear for people you don't want visiting."
"The previous pair did not fit."
"So you noticed."
"It was visually obvious."
Haruki removed his shoes. The slippers fit perfectly. He chose not to smile until Renji turned away.
"You could have told me what size to buy," Renji said.
"You could have asked."
"That would have encouraged you."
"And buying them didn't?"
Renji took one of the coffees from the tray.
"That remains to be determined."
Haruki followed him into the sitting room.
He had visited twice since Sunday dinner.
Neither occasion had been planned. The first had begun when Renji called to complain about the security detail and ended with Haruki bringing food because the conversation had continued through dinner.
The second had occurred after a late meeting near the hospital; Haruki had intended to stay for ten minutes and left after midnight.
Nothing had happened. Nothing that could be named.
They had spoken, listened to music, argued about whether a historical novel Renji disliked was required to be accurate if it never claimed to be.
Haruki had fallen asleep for eleven minutes on the sofa.
Renji had placed a blanket over him and denied it despite the blanket remaining visible when Haruki woke.
Nothing had happened. Yet the apartment no longer felt forbidden. That itself felt dangerous.
Renji sat in his usual armchair. Haruki took the sofa. The coffee table between them was low, narrow and entirely impractical. Its dark wood was polished enough to reflect the lamplight. A stack of books occupied one end, leaving just enough space for their drinks.
Haruki placed his cup down. Renji examined his own.
"You added milk."
"You take milk."
"Very little."
"That is very little."
Renji lifted the lid.
"This is not very little."
"It's barely changed colour."
"It has changed enough."
Haruki leaned back.
"Drink it."
"I may not."
"You will."
"You are remarkably commanding in other people's homes."
"I'm commanding everywhere."
"That is not an admirable quality."
"It keeps people alive."
"It also makes them put too much milk in coffee."
Haruki smiled. This had become another kind of routine. Renji objected. Haruki ignored him. Renji drank the coffee anyway. His expression remained critical, but he took a second sip before setting it down.
"Acceptable," he said.
"You like it."
"No."
"You've used that word before."
"It remains accurate."
"You finished the ramen."
"I was hungry."
"You ate two pieces of cake."
"They were small."
"You kept the leftovers."
"It would have been wasteful not to."
"You like my cooking."
Renji regarded him over the rim of the cup.
"Your need for praise is concerning."
"My confidence is healthy."
"Your confidence could survive significant injury."
"It has."
Renji's gaze dropped, briefly, towards Haruki's side.
The wound had healed enough that most movements no longer hurt.
Renji still noticed whenever Haruki turned too quickly or sat with his weight favouring one side.
He tried to disguise the concern as clinical observation.
Haruki had stopped pretending to believe him.
"Does it still ache?" Renji asked.
"Only when interrogated."
"That is not a physical activity."
"It depends who is asking."
Renji's expression flattened. Haruki smiled.
He had learned that this particular look did not mean irritation.
There was amusement beneath it now, held back with the same discipline Renji applied to everything else.
Haruki wondered how many expressions had been mistaken for coldness simply because no one remained long enough to learn the difference.
The thought quietened him. Renji noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You looked at me strangely."
"I'm looking at you normally."
"No."
"You've known me for less than two months. You don't know what normal looks like."
"I know you have three ways of avoiding a question."
Haruki lifted an eyebrow. Renji continued.
"You make a joke. You ask another question. Or you become charming enough that the other person forgets what they asked."
"That sounds like admiration."
"It is diagnosis."
"You're not my doctor."
"You remind me frequently."
"Because you forget."
"I do not forget anything."
The certainty of the statement carried more truth than the conversation required. Haruki thought of the apartment — the preserved books, the bowl repaired with gold, the centuries held in ordered rows because Renji feared what might vanish if he loosened his grip. He looked away.
"Reina thinks Ayako invited you to dinner deliberately," he said.
Renji did not challenge the change of subject.
"She did invite me deliberately."
"I mean she planned to inspect you."
"I am aware."
"You didn't seem concerned."
"Your mother is not subtle."
Haruki laughed.
"You may be the only person alive who believes that."
"She observed me through the entire meal."
"She observes everyone."
"She asked six questions about my family without appearing to ask any."
"That sounds like her."
"She placed me beside you."
Haruki looked at him. Renji lifted his cup again. Haruki watched the movement.
"You noticed."
"The seating arrangement was obvious."
"She could have put you beside Ken."
"Ken chews too loudly."
"He does."
"Hiroshi steals food."
"He claims it tastes better from other plates."
"Reina would have interrogated me openly."
"She likes efficiency."
"Your mother chose the position that allowed her to watch both of us."
Haruki leaned forward.
"And what conclusion do you think she reached?"
Renji's hand paused. Only slightly.
"I have no interest in guessing."
"You usually enjoy being right."
"Not about everything."
Haruki smiled. Renji looked towards the shelves.
The evasion was answer enough. Ayako had watched them during dinner, and Haruki had felt it — not disapproval, but assessment.
She had noticed the way he turned towards Renji whenever someone spoke, the way Renji listened to him even while pretending to focus elsewhere.
She had certainly seen their hands beneath the table.
Ayako missed nothing that occurred inside her own house.
Yet she had said nothing. That silence had been more unnerving than confrontation.
"She likes you," Haruki said.
"She does not know me."
"That has never prevented her from disliking anyone."
"Perhaps she considers me useful."
"Probably."
Renji looked at him. Haruki smiled.
"And she likes you."
"You have no evidence."
"She gave you the good tea."
"I did not realise tea constituted emotional testimony."
"In that house, it does."
Renji considered this.
"That explains why Hiroshi received beer."
Haruki laughed again. This time Renji's mouth moved — not a smile, almost. Haruki saw it. He knew better than to point it out. Renji had become suspicious whenever his own enjoyment was observed too closely, as though pleasure were something that retreated if named.
Instead, Haruki reached for his coffee.
"You were going to complain about the guards," he said.
"I am still going to complain."
"Then why haven't you?"
"You have been distracting."
"Another admirable quality."
"No."
"You're becoming repetitive."
"So are you."
Renji placed his cup on the table.
"The men outside my building are unnecessary."
"They found a camera across from your entrance."
"The camera is gone."
"The people who placed it aren't."
"I can protect myself."
"I know."
"Then remove them."
"No."
"Haruki."
He liked the way Renji said his name when irritated. It sounded more intimate than it should. He allowed the silence to hold for a moment before answering.
"They aren't there because I think you're helpless."
"That is difficult to believe when they follow me to work."
"They follow anyone watching you."
"They frightened a medical student yesterday."
"She was trying to photograph you."
"She wanted a picture of the book I was carrying."
"She should have asked."
"She did."
Haruki frowned.
"Then why did they interfere?"
"Because your security staff are poorly trained."
"They're among the best."
"They attempted to confiscate a pharmacology textbook."
"I'll speak to them."
"You will remove them."
"No."
Renji leaned back.
"You believe refusal becomes reasonable if repeated."
"It has worked so far."
"With whom?"
"Everyone."
"That explains a great deal."