Chapter Text
The drive to Takashi's flat was tense, but not silent. He called Kasanoda and Tetsuya, who had had a perfectly undisturbed morning. They were both very concerned for Haruhi, and agreed to be on their guard. Haruhi spoke to Mei, voice tight for the duration of the call, about borrowing some clothes. After Haruhi hung up with a vaguely distressed, "Yes, anything, alright, alright! Thank you," she called her boss at the Ozaki firm, a call that was definitely distressed on both ends. As Haruhi did her best to explain that she would not be able to actually come in to the office for a few days because she was in vague but definite danger and that she would absolutely be completing all of her work remotely the voice on the other end of the phone became increasingly accusatory and distressed. When that call ended with what sounded like a shout and a lengthy amount of listening to the dial tone, Haruhi dropped her phone into her lap and pinched the bridge of her nose in a gesture that instantly reminded Takashi of Kyoya. Takashi himself talked to Mitskuni, who was immediately understanding and told Takashi to take good care of Haru-chan, kay? The intonation made Takashi want to ward off a headache himself. He rubbed his temple.
Haruhi looked up from her Kyoya like slump, catching the corner of Takashi's eye. She sighed. Then she chuckled, then laughed in a way that sounded genuine, pained. He caught her mirth somewhere along the way, giving a slight smile himself. "What a day, huh?" Haruhi said.
Takashi shrugged a little, largely keeping his eyes on the road. Haruhi took the opportunity to keep watching him, just a little more than might have been inconspicuous. What was she going to do? She could not keep imposing on his kindness, though it felt like his kindness was the freest thing in the world. Though, she supposed, it had always felt like that. The always reliable Mori-senpai. A great help to anyone and everyone who came needing his assistance. He'd let her set the coffee appointment. Intuitive and kind. But, she told herself, she could not let herself take too much. One night, she said, then she'd have to figure something out. She could camp out at the Evergreen greenhouse, or something. Tents were less expensive than hotels. She'd figure it out. Still, it made her feel warm and improved, even in the midst of such a stressful situation that might be life threatening (that was already life threatening) to have Mori's support.
Her sideways glance was broken by the shadow of their descent into an underground parking garage. It was keycard access only. They were in a large, nondescript, mid-sized apartment building that Haruhi could not even begin to guess the monthly rent for, given the area and the owners and the types of cars she saw as they slid through the garage. They parked in a reserved spot next to the elevator, which they went straight into. Takashi slipped a key into the elevator panel, which lit up the 'Penthouse' button. Takashi pressed it, and up they went.
-
As they ascended, Takashi was beginning to think that he might be in over his head. Haruhi was leaning against the elevator wall, eyes shut, arms crossed. The bags he'd noticed under her eyes were deeper and darker. If not for that, she'd look cool as a cucumber. But she'd had a rough day. He, too, had had a rough day, but the vague ache in his tailbone seemed negligible when compared to the immediate dryness of his throat at the thought that Haruhi would soon be in his home. Coexisting with this nervousness was the perilous thought that he had absolutely nothing to worry about. He wasn't sure which was worse, but both together were terrible. Years of discipline were the only thing keeping him from tapping his foot. He'd ridden this elevator over and over, and was still surprised when it stopped at the top. Haruhi was also jostled.
Takashi cleared his throat. "We're here."
Haruhi nodded, giving a lead the way gesture. So Takashi led her down the short hallway and to the dark wood of his front door.
-
Takashi's home was expectedly huge but surprisingly full of Western elements, at least as far as Haruhi could see. They entered into a living room with an enormous grey sofa and hardwood bookshelves that opened into a dining room. Haruhi could see a kitchen behind the dining room, and could only assume the bedroom was down the hallway disappearing behind the living room. It seemed too large to only have a bedroom back that way, though, there had to be more rooms. In another sign that the apartment was far more expensive than anywhere she'd ever lived, all the wood matched, it even matched the front door.
"It's lovely," Haruhi said.
"Thanks," Takashi grumbled.
Here came the oasis of awkwardness. They could both feel it, the tension of being a guest, of having a guest you were not expecting. No plans. No expectations. Only assumptions.
"Uh... shoes off?"
"Right." They pulled off their shoes together, near the door. Tamaki had a little shoe rack that had all the required shades of dress shoes on it, as well as some sneakers and traditional sandals. Haruhi slipped her flats in amongst the sneakers. The removal of the shoes did not remove the awkwardness.
At least, Haruhi thought to herself, she could tell that Mori was as uncomfortable as she was. Another reason not to take too much advantage of his kindness. She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the aura of not-knowing. She smiled, perhaps too much. "What now?"
What now indeed, Takashi thought. He'd never hosted anyone here except Mitsukuni and Reiko, who were perfectly able to take the place over and basically be their own hosts. "Ah." He said. "Dinner?"
"I could do dinner," Haruhi said. "Shall I cook?" She felt immediately that this was not the right thing to offer, as Takashi stiffened, turning his face away.
"I will." He said.
It was the nicest apartment kitchen Haruhi had ever seen. Takashi had dark marble counters that wove gracefully around a full fridge and freezer, a gas range, and a three chamber sink. There were hanging wine glasses, every appliance a person could want, and the pantry stood open and fully stocked. The kitchen also featured a breakfast bar. Haruhi was almost jealous. She was definitely floored.
"Do you cook often?"
He nodded. He felt funny admitting that. He knew it was somewhat unusual, as all of his friends employed home chefs. Except, of course, for Haruhi. "Please sit."
"Thank you." Haruhi perched at the breakfast bar. Once she sat, she was awash in exhaustion. She put her elbows on the bar, her head in her hands.
He felt a little lost, there in his own kitchen. His impulse, which he had labeled as dangerous and not to be acted upon, was to sit next to Haruhi and put an arm around her. Because he was not going to do this, he rumbled, "What should we eat?
"I don't know," Haruhi groaned. "Something easy. Soba."
"Zaru Soba?"
"That would be really good, actually."
Takashi set to work - he put two pots on to boil, one of sake for the dipping sauce and one of water for the soba. Into the boiling sake he added soy sauce and mirin, then kombu and bonito flakes. The noodles boiled away. Then, a flash of inspiration, perhaps, Takashi put two whole eggs into the boiling soba pot.
"I feel like I'm in a restaurant," Haruhi said. "It's so rare that I'm not cooking for myself. I cook for myself all but once or twice a month. I'm invited to the Hitachiin family monthly dinners, which are hosted alternatively by Kyoya and Kauru, Hikaru and Mei, and me, which, it doesn't really make sense for me to host them because I am not a Hitachiin or married to one, but I like to be involved." Takashi was not quite so unwise as to watch Haruhi as he began to thinly slice the green onions, but he was listening with his entire being. "Anyway," Haruhi went on, "When it's my turn I usually cook for everyone, which is fun and fine and everyone seems to enjoy the night without real social pressure, but Hikaru and Mei love to take us all to exotic places and Kyoya always chooses the fanciest places, so I go out then. And then sometimes if someone has a case go really well or there is a holiday or something everyone from the firm will go out." Haruhi leaned back in the bar chair. "Maybe this is nicer than a restaurant. I might be having more fun. I am in, though not very comfortable clothes, something more comfortable than going out with any of them."
As he now had his green onions chopped, dipping sauce cooling in the freezer and was rinsing his soba and soft boiled eggs, Takashi did take the time to look at Haruhi. She was still leaning back in the bar chair, gazing into the middle distance. Her hair was slightly fluffy, she'd run a hand through it, now seemingly lost in thought. Takashi thought he might be jealous, suddenly, of the Hitachiin twins and their spouses, and their closeness to Haruhi. He had stayed close to Mitskuni, of course, and Kyoya, who was always everywhere, and was still friendly with Hikaru, but had been sort of under the impression that everyone's connection with everyone was ... looser, but perhaps that was just his. He cracked the eggs and started to chip off their shells. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that Haruhi was, as she had been from the moment she'd been declared the Host Club's dog, a keystone in the lives of all of them.
"Wait a second," Haruhi leaned over the bar, into the kitchen, excited. "What day is it?"
Takashi thought. "Friday."
"Friday. Yes. Friday.”
Takashi realized as he slipped the last bits of shell from the tender egg that Haruhi had fallen silent. When he looked at her, he saw her laughing, quietly. She looked at him. He looked away.
“It’s so stupid,” Haruhi explained, traces of the laugh still with her. “My life is functionally blown up and I’m most excited because at least, conveniently, everything happened on Friday so at least I might be able to sleep in.” She slumped over the shiny bartop so her hands were in space in the kitchen. Takashi suppressed the urge to hold them.
While Haruhi said “Thank goodness for small favors,” Takashi registered with growing concern that the favor he was doing for her may be harder to pull off than he’d thought. With everything happening around them, the last thing Haruhi needed was an unexpected advance. If he wanted to make an advance? He wasn’t sure.
Haruhi withdrew her hands. Had she made him uncomfortable? Was she being too casual? She wasn’t sure.
Trying to suppress her concern, she leaned back to watch Takashi finish preparing their meal. He moved with such fluid grace, draining and rinsing the soba. A confident pour of the sauce through the strainer as well, from up high, not spilling a drop. And then the noodles portioned into two bowls, sauce arranged on a long plate with a dollop of wasabi on one side and the perfectly quarted eggs on the other.
“Let me help,” Haruhi said, getting up and coming around into the kitchen. She took the two bowls, asking, "The dining room? I saw the big table." He
He nodded, taking the other plate, leading the way out of the kitchen and into the western style dining room. It contained a long rectangular table made of rich, dark wood, surrounded by six straight backed chairs. On the far end sat an electric kettle, a stack of small cups, and a crinkled bag of tea. Takashi put the plate he was holding at this end of the table, then immediately switched on the kettle. He sat at the head of the table. Haruhi tucked herself in next to him, creating a triangle with herself, Takashi, and the electric kettle as the points. The zaru soba sat on a bias between them.
"Thank you for the food," Haruhi said. Takashi dipped his head in acknowledgement.
They ate in silence for a time. It was soothing to eat the delicate buckwheat noodles, perfectly salty from the soy based sauce, balanced by the spike of wasabi (Haruhi was long past the 'damn rich people' at the real wasabi root as opposed to green horseradish. She was past it, she was) and the rich, creamy egg. But, it was not quite soothing enough.
Haruhi's chopsticks were put down with a clack. "I suppose this makes my case easier."
"Hm?"
"Harder to say that Tetsuya killed Utagawa rather than the Sendos when we've seen three known Sendo associates. Um. Up to no good. If we can prove it. I wonder if there are security cameras at that cafe. There may be some across the street from my apartment. That's a Kyoya question. Possibly a police question. Hard to know if it's worth telling them about the cars at my apartment without evidence. Perhaps another Kyoya question. I hope Tetsuya and Kasanoda aren't in any danger.I hope. Ah. I'm rambling. I'm worried. I wasn't worried before but now I'm really worried."
"Haruhi."
"I know. I know! Nothing I can do about it at the present. Parts of it I can do nothing about until Monday. But still, it's a good thing that I don't have any pets, because who knows when I can go home." Haruhi went back to eating. Aggressively. Too much wasabi on every bite, which made the center of her brain feel like it was crackling, because in some ways, it was, and it was better to have the wasabi binding to the TRAP1 receptors high up in her sinuses than it was to worry.
Takashi didn't know what to say. The rest of the meal was as quiet as the first part had been, but it was less casual, less comfortable. The reality of the situation had interrupted, and seemed to have laid a film over everything.
-
While Takashi washed the dishes from dinner and Haruhi sat, brooding, back at the breakfast bar, there was a minor but absolute cacophony. Haruhi's phone rang and the doorbell chimed in unison, shattering the silence of the pair (and almost leading to the shattering of the dish in Takashi's hand).
It was Mei on the line, who, when Haruhi answered, simply sang out, "Clothing delivery" before hanging up. When Takashi answered the door, there was a silver stand with a garment bag hanging on it, and a large, glossy purple shopping bag sitting primly next to it. They looked very out of place sitting in the apartment.
Haruhi, upon seeing them, heaved a sigh. "I can't imagine what she's got in there. I will be grateful. At least I can take a bath now," she said. "Well. Can I take a bath here?"
Takashi, throat suddenly tight, nodded.