Page 133 of Mercy Written in Blood

"He would have liked you."

Renji frowned.

"You cannot know that."

"He liked people who refused to be impressed by him."

"That seems self-defeating."

"He was difficult."

"You say that fondly."

"I loved him."

The simplicity of it left no room for shame. Renji wondered when he had last said those words about anyone. Not thought them. Spoken them. He could not remember.

The music continued. They finished eating slowly. Conversation moved without effort from music to books, from books to Haruki's childhood in the Ishida household, from there to the first time Renji had seen snow. He gave no year. Haruki assumed it had been during childhood. Renji allowed the assumption.

He learned that Haruki had once run away from home at fourteen and lasted six hours before hunger drove him into a restaurant owned by the Family. That Reina had followed him through a drainage ditch because she refused to let him escape alone. That Ken hated classical music but pretended otherwise around Ayako. Haruki learned that Renji could play piano badly, cooked well when persuaded and had walked almost every street in Takamori after midnight.

Neither mentioned the hospital. Neither mentioned the Accord. No one interrupted to ask Haruki for decisions. No alarm demanded Renji's hands. For one evening, they were not men defined by who required them. They were simply there.

Renji had forgotten how ordinary pleasure felt. It did not arrive dramatically. It was the rain against the window. A nearly empty bowl. Music low enough that conversation could pass over it. Haruki sitting barefoot on the rug after Renji had finally persuaded him that wet socks were not a matter of dignity. Renjihad given him the spare pair of slippers Akiko once left behind. They were too small. Haruki wore them anyway.

"You're smiling," Haruki said.

Renji realised he was.

"Your feet look ridiculous."

Haruki looked down. The slippers ended before his heels.

"So cruelty amuses you."

"Occasionally."

"I knew it."

Renji sat in the chair beside the record player. Haruki remained on the rug, one shoulder resting against the sofa. There was a sofa. Haruki had pointed this out after claiming the apartment was constructed entirely for one person. Renji had replied that a sofa had purposes beyond accommodating guests. Haruki had asked him to name three. Renji had named five.

The second side of the record ended. The needle lifted automatically. Silence returned. Haruki looked towards the clock. It was after midnight. Neither had noticed.

"I should go," he said.

Renji felt the shape of the evening change. Not disappointment. Awareness of an ending.

"Yes."

Haruki rose. He moved towards the chair holding his coat, then stopped beside the sword. He did not touch it.

"You said old."

"It is."

"Family heirloom?"

"No."