She poured the drink into a cup, held it with both hands, and drank while standing at the counter, experiencing the focused relief of someone who has needed this for several hours and is finally receiving it.

Mike leaned against the opposite counter and watched her.

"Stop it," she said, not looking up from the cup.

"Stop what?" Mike said.

"Looking at me like I’m doing something interesting," she said. "I’m drinking coffee, and it’s not interesting."

"You came into my apartment, put your bag on my chair, and went straight to my coffee without asking first," Mike said. "That’s a little interesting."

"I asked," she said.

"After you were already reaching for the cup."

She glanced at the cup, then turned her gaze to him. "That’s true," she admitted. "Sorry."

"You can have the coffee," Mike said. "I’m noting the order of operations."

"The order of operations was efficient," she said. "I knew you’d say yes."

"The asking was a formality."

"How did you know I’d say yes?"

She looked at him over the rim of the cup. "Because you feel bad about last night," she said. "You would have given me the entire pot if I’d asked."

Mike looked at her. "That’s very calculated for someone who’s tired and annoyed."

"I’m always calculating," she said. "I just don’t usually say it out loud."

"I’m saying it out loud today because I’m tired and annoyed and it’s taking up too much energy to be subtle." She drank more coffee. "Ren says I’m too subtle, and maybe... he’s right."

"He’s probably right," Mike said.

She pointed at him. "You’re supposed to say he’s wrong."

"Why?"

"Because that’s what you say when someone shares self-criticism," she said. "You push back and say they’re being too hard on themselves."

"You weren’t being hard on yourself," Mike said. "You were being accurate, and I’m not going to disagree with something accurate."

She lowered the cup. "You know, most people would find that exhausting."

"Do you?" Mike said.

She thought about it. "No," she said. "I find it efficient."

"I just thought I should note that you’re unusual."

"I’ve been told," Mike said. "Many times."

"By many people, I imagine," she said.

"Some," Mike said.

"The people from your apartment," she said. "Both of them. Did they say you were unusual?"

"In different words," Mike said. ’Good, she didn’t know that I was fucking one of the most popular actresses here.’

She let out a small, involuntary laugh—short and genuine—before pressing her lips together, as if she were uncertain about laughing at all.

"I shouldn’t laugh," she remarked. "I’m supposed to still be annoyed."

"You can be both," Mike said.

"There it is again," she said. "Can’t it be both?"

She finished the coffee and set the cup down and looked at him. "Who was last night? Not the name."

"Just... what kind of person is she?"

’Isn’t it fucking weird to keep asking that shit?’ Mike thought. ’Are all Japanese curious when someone has sex?’

Mike considered how to answer that.

"Complicated," he replied. "She’s smart and frustrated about being here."

"Frustrated at you specifically?"

"At the situation," Mike said. "I’m a part of it."

"And she came anyway," Haruka said.

"Yep~! She came anyway," Mike said. "Weird, right?"

Haruka nodded slowly, turning that over. "And Petricia," she said. "She came anyway too."

"Different kind anyway," Mike said.

"Different how?"

"Petricia decided something," Mike said. "Last night was someone still deciding."

Haruka looked at him with the frank, clear attention that was entirely hers. "You’re very patient," she said. "For someone who seems like they always know where things are going."

"Knowing where things are going doesn’t mean rushing," Mike said. "Usually the opposite."

"Hm." She picked up her bag from the chair. "That’s actually good advice for things other than women."

"It applies broadly," Mike said.

"I’ll think about that," she said. "Later... When I’m less tired."

She drink the whole coffee and then set the empty cup down while looking at it for a moment.

"Can I ask you something else?" she said. "About the landlady."

"Go ahead," Mike said.

"She has a husband," Haruka said. "Gerald."

"She does," Mike said.

"And she still—" Haruka paused, working out how to phrase it in a way that was honest without being unkind. "She came upstairs anyway."

"She did," Mike said.

Haruka was quiet for a moment, turning the question over with the careful attention she gave to things she actually wanted to understand rather than just react to.

"Why?" she said. "Not why she was attracted to you..."

"That part I understand." She glanced at him briefly. "I mean, why when she has someone already?"

Mike thought carefully about how to respond. There was no question of whether to answer because Haruka was direct in her inquiries and deserved straightforward responses, but he needed to find the right words to convey his thoughts accurately.

"You know how some things stop being maintained," he said, "and you don’t notice for a while because everything still looks the same from the outside?"

"Like a building," Haruka said. "That looks fine until you check the pipes."

"Yeah," Mike said. "Like that."

"A marriage can look like it for a long time after it’s stopped being one in the ways that matter."

"The routines remain intact. The shared space still exists. However, the attention has faded."

"Gerald doesn’t pay attention to her," Haruka remarked, not phrasing it as a question.

"He sees her every day," Mike said. "That’s not the same thing."

Haruka looked at the cup in her hands. "So she’s lonely."

"She’s been invisible for a long time," Mike said. "She feels lonely because she is not seen by someone who is supposed to notice her."

"That’s a specific kind of lonely."

"And you—" She stopped. "You saw her."

"I paid attention," Mike said. "That’s all, and oh... I also noticed things."

"I remembered what she said. I brought her a flower because she mentioned once that the office felt impersonal." He shrugged. "It does count as small things, but when someone hasn’t had small things in a long time, they’re not small anymore."

Haruka fell silent for a moment, the kitchen enveloped in stillness. Outside, the city continued its morning routine.

"How old is she?" Haruka said.

"Early forties," Mike said.

Haruka nodded slowly. "My mother says women around that age sometimes disappear inside their own lives," she said. "Well, not literally."

"But those around them cease to see them as individuals and instead define them by their roles. The wife. The manager. The organizer." She gazed out the window. "She said it happens so slowly you don’t realize until one day someone treats you like a person again and you almost don’t know what to do with it."

"Your mother is right," Mike said.

"She usually is," Haruka said. "It’s annoying."

She was quiet for another moment. "Is that what happened with Petricia? Someone treated her like a person, and she didn’t know what to do with it?"

"Something like that," Mike said.

"You," Haruka said.

"Me," Mike said. "And she made a choice."

"I want to be clear about that, and nobody pushed her anywhere," Mike said. "I don’t want to make you get the wrong idea."

"I know," Haruka said. "I’m not saying you did."

She regarded him with the direct, steady gaze she often used when she was processing her thoughts aloud rather than reacting impulsively. "I’m just trying to understand this."

"From an outside perspective, it may appear straightforward: a married woman receives attention from someone, and she goes upstairs. However, that’s not an accurate representation of what actually happened."

"No," Mike said. "What happened is nine years of someone being present without being there."

"And then there was one person who truly listened, and she was faced with the choice of what to do about it."

"And she decided," Haruka said.

"Yup, she decided," Mike said.