Page 247 of Mercy Written in Blood

Haruki opened the door.

"Haruki."

He looked back. Renji remained behind the desk. His expression was suspicious. Tired. And beneath both, almost hidden, uncertain — not whether Haruki was planning something, but whether he was allowed to want him to.

Haruki's chest tightened. He made his voice deliberately ordinary.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"You will not."

"Probably around seven."

"I may still be working."

"I know where you work."

"That sounded threatening."

"It was practical."

Renji stared at him. Haruki smiled once. Then left before Renji could refuse again.

He did not return to the Ishida residence immediately. Instead, Haruki sat in his car in the hospital car park with his phone in one hand. For several minutes, he did nothing.

He thought of Renji looking at the calendar. The blank pause before the word. Tomorrow. As though his own birthday werean appointment he had nearly missed. Haruki had known the date for weeks. He had not planned anything because planning would make assumptions. The kiss remained new. Whatever existed between them remained unnamed. A birthday carried expectation. Intimacy. It suggested a place in someone's life Haruki had no right to claim.

Now he understood that doing nothing would say something too. It would confirm Renji's belief that the day did not matter.

Haruki opened his messages. His first instinct was to contact Reina. He stopped. A Family dinner would overwhelm Renji. Hiroshi would buy decorations. Ken would find candles shaped like numbers. Ayako would understand immediately and watch them both with that infuriating expression. Too much. Renji did not need spectacle. He needed proof that remembering did not always lead to pain.

Haruki opened another message thread.Akiko, he typed. He paused before sending anything. She knew Renji better than anyone still alive. She would know what he tolerated. What food he actually liked. Whether chestnut cake would be comfort or cruelty.

Haruki looked back at the hospital. Somewhere above him, Renji had already returned to work. To patients. Charts. A life measured by usefulness. Nine hundred and ninety-eight years. Haruki wondered how many of them Renji had lived for himself. Not survived. Not endured. Lived. The answer frightened him.

He began typing. Then deleted the message. Too obvious. Akiko would tell Renji. Or worse, she would help so enthusiastically that the quiet evening Haruki imagined became an event.

He opened Reina's contact instead. Deleted that too. He could do this alone. No crowd. No surprise party. No speeches. No attempt to recover six centuries in one night. Dinner. Coffee made correctly for Haruki and incorrectly for Renji, according toeach man. Perhaps one gift. Something useful enough that Renji could accept it without feeling indebted. Something personal enough that the day could not be mistaken for ordinary.

Haruki thought of the old restaurant guide damaged by coffee. The one Renji had kept because the streets remained even after the restaurants closed. An idea formed. He searched for the title. No immediate results appeared. He tried the author. Then the publisher. One second-hand bookseller listed a copy in good condition.

Haruki stared at the screen. The shop was two hours away. It closed at six. He checked the time. Twelve forty-one. Possible.

He called Ken. Ken answered on the second ring.

"Boss?"

"Clear my afternoon."

A pause.

"You have the port meeting."

"Move it."

"The accountants are already there."

"Give it to Reina."