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Haise had never seen Juuzou's apartment before the day he brings a gift there. Haise triple-checks the address, though of course the CCG-funded disabled-accessible housing is hardly difficult to recognize with its ramps out front.
Haise knocks on the door to Juuzou's apartment, and when it opens, Juuzou’s squad is already there. Abara hovers close by as Juuzou smiles and says hello. Then Juuzou looks at the box in Haise’s hands with open curiosity; Haise holds it out for him to take, which he does, mildly surprised. Delight spreads across Juuzou’s face as he opens it to find a carefully-arranged array of strawberries atop a tart.
Abara has to swoop in and snatch the box away from Juuzou before he throws his arms around Haise. “Oh, Haise, thank you!”
"I made it with some of the strawberries you gave me," Haise explains, smiling and patting Juuzou’s back. "The Qs loved them so much I knew I had to repay you."
Juuzou releases Haise, gives him a broad, warm smile, and takes the box back from Abara. He places it on the table and Tamaki and Mikage arrive with plates and a knife. Juuzou lifts his hand from the pull string of his prosthetic, apparently having been too eager to wait for a knife from his kitchen and ready to cut a pastry with a quinque knife.
During this whole affair, Abara says, "This is much too kind of you, Sasaki. Senpai insisted you needed your own share of strawberries. He never intended for you to return any of them; they were yours to take. Accepting this would be—"
Haise nods surreptitiously over Abara's shoulder, and Abara turns around to find Juuzou has wolfed down his first slice and is going in for another.
"What I meant to say was thank you very much for this gift,” Abara says instead, and Haise nods again, attempting to keep a straight face.
"Hey, don't just stand in the door, Sasaki! Come in! Have a slice!" Tamaki calls, waving.
"Ah, no, I made it for you all," Haise says, holding up his hands. "And anyway, I'm sure you're all busy--"
"You're letting the cold air in," says Nakarai through a mouthful of tart. "Get your ass in here."
Haise closes his mouth as well as the door and takes a seat at the table. Abara has taken over cutting duty, and Haise frowns as he is about to receive a slice of food he can’t eat. He opens his mouth to make one of his usual excuses, but Juuzou gets there first.
“Haise’s allergic,” he says, swiping the plate out of Abara’s hands and putting it in front of himself. He takes a bite and through it continues, “Can you believe that? All that work to get him a share and it turns out he can’t even eat them.”
“That’s unfortunate,” says Mikage solemnly. “Unlucky things happen with Mercury in anterograde.”
“But it’s okay, because Haise likes to cook for other people! Don’t you, Haise?” Juuzou prompts.
“I do,” Haise agrees cautiously. It’s true, even if he feels scripted. He’s not sure how Juuzou knew that—actually, he’s not sure how Juuzou knew to make up an excuse for him at all, let alone lie to his squad. But Juuzou catches his eye and winks, and Haise decides it can wait until later.
Instead, he smiles and watches the squad eat, shower him in praise for his cooking, and interact like a loving (if dysfunctional) family. At one point Abara has to intervene as Nakarai attempts to shove Mikage’s face into a slice of tart, but when everyone laughs in the aftermath, Haise has hope that one day his own squad will be able to work together as well as this squad does in the field.
Eventually sunset encroaches, and the squad must excuse themselves. “We have to take the train to get back to our apartment,” Tamaki tells Haise.
“We’d rather live here,” says Nakarai.
“Or close, anyway,” adds Mikage.
“But the accessible living spaces are only available to disabled investigators,” explains Abara, pulling on a coat.
“But you have a car,” Juuzou says, with as much admiration and awe as if he were discussing Haise’s participation in the Olympics. “So you can go anywhere, whenever you want!” He looks expectant for a response.
It’s not hard to pick up on what Juuzou’s implying. “I’ll stay for a bit,” Haise says indulgently, and Juuzou beams.
Together they wave off the rest of the squad. When Juuzou flops down on his couch, Haise doesn’t join him immediately.
"Allergic to strawberries, huh?” he says, folding his arms.
“Well, aren’t you? Have I misunderstood?” Juuzou says with wide eyes. He looks so perfectly innocent that Haise doubts himself for a moment. Maybe he should drop it now. Maybe this is Juuzou offering him a way out.
But he doesn’t take the bait, in the end. “How did you even know?”
Juuzou looks to the side for a long moment, then shrugs. "You never snack between meetings. Too many RC cells, right?"
Haise senses that’s not all there is to it, but honestly, he’s afraid to ask. Lately he’s been finding disturbing hints about the person he once was, and Juuzou might know things Haise’s not ready to know. “Yes,” he says finally. “Thank you for covering for me.” His lips twitch up in an afterthought. “That is, if you didn’t just give me those strawberries hoping to eat whatever I made from them.”
Juuzou laughs. “If I did, it would be better than asking Hanbee to bake. Your cooking is the best.”
“Thank you,” Haise says, and ruffles Juuzou’s hair. “You sneaky little gremlin.” Juuzou laughs again, and so does Haise, and then they’re both laughing together for a while.
After they settle down a bit, Haise looks around, hand still resting in Juuzou’s mop of hair. “I’ve never seen the accessible housing for the CCG,” he observes. “Are all the apartments like this?” He nods to the grab bars and hydraulic door opener.
“Depends on what you need,” says Juuzou. For some reason it brings a frown to his face. “I’m not around much, though.” He twists his expression back into a smile. “There are too many exciting things to do in the biggest, most ghoul-infested city in Japan to hang around at home!”
That explains the relative neatness of the apartment. Knowing Juuzou, Haise had expected an absolute mess. Which reminds him: “What are you going to do about the dishes?” he asks, looking toward the sink where the squad has stacked their plates. He can hardly imagine Juuzou doing them.
Sure enough, Juuzou replies breezily, “Oh, Hanbee will get to them eventually.”
He doesn’t even live here, Haise doesn’t say. He doesn’t want it to come out accusatory; washing dishes isn’t something Juuzou would likely be particularly adept at, and God knows Abara would be happy to do it.
“I’ll give him a break,” Haise announces instead. “I’ll do them.”
He half expects Juuzou to throw himself at him in gratitude, but he doesn’t. Instead Juuzou sits up and seems to calculate in his head, giving Haise a searching look. “If you want, sure,” he says at length, dropping back down into the cushions. “Thanks, Haise!”
“Well, it’s easier if you do it before the food dries,” Haise says modestly. Juuzou makes an interested ‘hm!’ like this is new information, which, in all fairness, it probably is to him.
Then Juuzou pulls out a handheld video game and Haise sets about the dishes, and a comfortable silence blooms. Haise's actually glad Juuzou has let him do it--he didn't want to leave and face traffic on the way home just yet, so now he has an excuse to stay a bit longer. Besides, he finds household chores relaxing. The sense of calm, plus having the house clean afterwards--he doesn't know why people are so averse to it.
As Haise dries his hands and wipes the counter, he notices a pair of forearm crutches tucked out of the way in the kitchen. He supposes it makes sense Juuzou would have them, since he would need them with his prosthetic off--but then Haise looks closer and finds they’re dusty.
"Juuzou," he calls softly. Juuzou looks up, tilting his head inquisitively. Haise gestures to the crutches. "Do you use these around the house?”
Juuzou turns back to his game with a noncommittal hum. Haise doesn't expect much of an answer, but then Juuzou switches off the game and puts it aside. "Not generally," he says, brushing hair out of his face and looking up at Haise with curious eyes.
"Maybe you ought to." Haise takes the crutches and walks over to the couch. He props them against the side of the couch where Juuzou can reach them and crouches in front of him. “You should give that leg a rest once in a while. It might get uncomfortable otherwise. May I remove the prosthetic?”
Juuzou pauses, measuring Haise with his eyes. “Don’t cut yourself,” he says after a long moment, raising his leg for Haise to access.
“That reminds me: why do you have knives in this?” Haise asks, getting to one knee and scooting closer to support Juuzou’s foot. “There was no mission today, was there?”
“You never know,” Juuzou says, shrugging. “Ghouls everywhere.”
I thought you didn’t even go out, Haise thinks, but he drops it. That line of questioning wouldn’t go anywhere. “Ghouls everywhere, huh? What about right here?” he says with a sardonically self-deprecating smile, flickering on his kakugan for a moment.
Juuzou smiles, a little more gently than usual perhaps, and leans forward to ruffle Haise’s hair in return. “It’s not always a bad thing.”
Haise takes a deep breath, then forces himself back into levity. “Really?” he teases, keeping the bitter edge from his voice. “How do I know you’re not going to pull one of those knives on me?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Juuzou says. “Who would make me strawberry tarts?”
Haise laughs, then refocuses on Juuzou's foot. He doesn’t cut himself, but working around the traps makes what is already difficult enough into an almost impossible task. “Your leg is so swollen,” he says in dismay. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Pain isn’t a problem for me. I thought you knew that, Haise.” Juuzou sounds disappointed that Haise hasn’t taken for granted his complete indifference to even the gravest wounds.
“It’s terrible for your body, though!” Haise perseveres. “Lord, what about taking it off for a break? When was the last time you did that?”
Juuzou’s silent calculations are answer enough. Haise heaves a sigh. “I’ll get some ice.” He puts the prosthetic to the side and moves across the kitchen to the fridge.
“This is the first time you’ve seen me without it, huh?” Juuzou asks, swinging his remaining foot in the air.
“I suppose so,” Haise replies, zipping a bag around a bundle of ice cubes and wrapping them in a hand towel. He wonders how it feels to have it off, let alone in front of someone. Has anyone but his squad seen him without it since he finished recovering?
“You know,” Haise hears Juuzou say thoughtfully from behind him, “I’ve never seen you naked.”
“What?” Haise whips around, nearly dropping the ice bag in the process. A blush rises to his face so fast he almost gets dizzy.
Juuzou must misinterpret Haise’s shock, because he explains something entirely different. “The CCG doesn’t have group showers or anything, so I’ve never had the chance.”
“That’s not what I—“ Haise takes a deep breath to center himself. He gazes at Juuzou, who seems as innocent as he is unruffled, and tries to gauge whether he knows what he’s implying. Surely he does. He’s not that clueless, is he? “I-I didn’t realize you—you know—were ready for that kind of thing. I mean—ready's not the right word. I didn’t think you were—well—interested in it at all.”
“In sex?” After all the dancing around the phrase, Juuzou’s bluntness makes Haise feel like a balloon with all the air escaping. Apparently unaware, Juuzou continues thoughtfully, “That’s not really what I was talking about. I’ve never seen any man naked."
“Oh,” Haise exhales shakily. He has no more to offer without an explanation from Juuzou. The ice is cooling his hand, but he’s not sure now is the time to approach.
Juuzou drums his fingers on his leg. “You know what was done to me, don’t you? By Mama. It’s an open secret at the CCG, right? Nobody wants to hurt me and let me know they know, but of course it’s not hurtful at all to spread the story to every new recruit.”
Haise doesn’t know what to say to that, either. He’s never heard Juuzou admit anything actually hurts, emotionally or otherwise, even though his face is still impassive. “It’s not every recruit,” he offers, feeling small.
Juuzou waves a hand. “But you know what I mean.” He pulls his left knee up to his chest and props his chin on it. “My squad looks up to me. They’re important to me. But you,” he says, looking up at Haise, “you looked at me like a person from the start. Like an equal. You never treated me funny.” Juuzou holds Haise’s gaze for an intense moment, then he lets it go and looks off to the side. “And you were the only one. Since Shinohara.”
“A lot of people look up to you now,” Haise says. He forces his leaden legs to move, bringing Juuzou’s ice and kneeling to wrap the towel-covered bundle around his leg. “You’re looked at with admiration more than—well, anything else, I think. Shinohara would be proud.”
Juuzou looks at Haise for a moment, then apparently puts this concept to the side to unpack later. Instead he moves back on track: “Anyway, that’s why I chose you. If you see me without my leg, that’s like me being naked, I think. So it’s only fair.”
Somehow Juuzou’s logic makes perfect sense. Of course. It must be terribly vulnerable. Haise can't begin to imagine what it must be like, being as invincible as stories paint Juuzou as being until the day his mentor and part of his body were stolen out from under him all at once. Haise can't begin to imagine what it must be like, to lose something like that and know it would never come back.
"I’m not going to ask you to strip down or anything. I just think about it sometimes." Juuzou starts idly chewing on a nail. "When I see someone like Hanbee, or you, that are my age, but you don't look like you are." He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Or, no, the other way around. I don't look like I am."
It's not that Haise is unwilling to talk with Juuzou, even about something like this. But would it be too much to ask for him to show some discomfort with the topic, or sheepishness for having implied Haise should strip? Haise knows it would be; self-consciousness is not in Juuzou's vocabulary. “You think about—me? Like that?”
Juuzou weighs the question. “I think about you being bigger than me. I think about how your face looks different. I think about how you get to be an adult to people, even ones that don’t know you.”
“Does that bother you? People thinking of you that way?” Haise asks quietly, now feeling embarrassed for hiding sweets in his clothes for Juuzou to find, like he’s a child.
“I don’t care what people think of me,” says Juuzou plainly. “I act how I want. Sometimes people think that’s childish.” He shakes his head. “What I care about is that I’m always going to be different from people like you. Because of what was done to me. I care that I didn’t have a choice in that part.”
Haise considers this. “I’m always going to be different from people like you too,” he says at length. “Because of what was done to me. I didn’t have a choice, either.” He activates his kakugan again, then carefully shifts his grip on the ice bag to take Juuzou’s hand. “So maybe we’re the same in that way.”
Juuzou looks surprised for a moment, then smiles. “Yeah. Maybe so.”
Haise squeezes his hand, and Juuzou laughs. “It’s chilly!” But he doesn’t let go, and they sit like that until the ice melts.
Haise excuses himself and gets up to pour out the bag. As he gets to the kitchen, Juuzou says, much more softly than Haise has ever heard his voice, “I’m glad you brought me a tart today, Haise.”
It occurs to Haise that Juuzou always looked at him like a person, too, even when hardly anyone else did. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”