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CHAPTER FIFTY
new rent
—
༇ THOUGH Chishiya did his best to patch Baya up and even forced her to spend a night at the hospital because of her very much confirmed concussion, she still feels dizzy when she walks into Hamada's apartment.
She's sitting at the kitchen table, a spoon in one hand, her phone in the other. She puts both things down when she notices Baya. "Hi. Shuntarō already texted me and told me what happened. Are you okay?"
Baya shouldn't be surprised. Nothing is indirect with Chishiya, nor Hamada. So she nods. "I'm fine... I think," she admits, her voice high-pitched.
Hamada draws out a long, deep breath. "Look, eh..."
Silently, Baya pleads for some kind of relief from the chaos swarming in her head, but it doesn't look like that. Hamada stands, taking a step closer. "Baya," she restarts. "This is... difficult to say, but I don't think it's safe for you to stay here anymore. I'll keep my mouth shut about what happened until the day I die, but I can't live under the same roof as someone who the police will be looking for. I don't want to deal with that shit."
Baya's heart drops, the words sinking into her chest like a stone. She lifts her head, eyes wide with confusion, but Hamada doesn't meet her gaze. Instead, she focuses on her hands, wringing them together. "I'm really sorry."
"What do you mean?" Baya asks, her voice small, almost childlike, as if she can't fully grasp it.
"You can't live here anymore. I already texted Shuntarō. He has a place for you. It'll be fine. Just..." Hamada sighs again. "I'm sorry, truly. But you have to understand that I won't— you know, live like this."
Baya nods. Fast. So fast it hurts her head. "No, no, I understand. I do." Panic begins to creep in, though. "I understand. Thank you for letting me stay. It was good while it lasted."
Hamada attempts to smile. "It was. I packed your bag for you already. I'll walk you out. Shuntarō said he'd send a cab that'll take you to the new place."
"Okay," Baya's voice is even higher now. "Thank you. I'll pay you back for everything you've done for me one day," she promises.
"I don't need anything. Just stay safe, alright?"
Together, they grab Baya's stuff and head to the street, where the cab is already waiting. Despite her unusual dislike of touch, she attacks Hamada with a tight hug before thanking her once again, then hopping in the cab.
Baya leans her head against the window, watching city lights blur into an explosion of color. Her stomach churns from more than just the lingering concussion. She presses her fingers against her temples, breathing through the dizziness, eyes half-closed.
When the car finally slows in a quiet suburb, she blinks at the unfamiliar sight. A two-story house with white walls and light glowing behind the curtains. The driver doesn't say anything as he stops. Just waits.
"Thank you." Baya stumbles out, bag in hand, and stands at the doorstep, unsure whether she should knock or just turn and run. What is she supposed to expect from Chishiya? Another scary woman who ends up being quite soft on the inside? Or—
The door swings open before she can decide.
Chishiya stands there in sweatpants and a dark hoodie, clearly having expected her. His hands are tucked in his pockets. For a second, he just looks at her.
Baya is almost too stunned to speak. "Your place?"
"A lot of people owes me favors but I felt like they weren't trustworthy enough, considering their history is somehow worse than yours." He steps aside. "You can come in."
Baya does, dragging her bag behind her. The house smells like laundry and something vaguely lemony. It's still. Clean. Minimal. Very... colorless.
She stops in the hallway. Does he seem like someone who expects everyone to take their shoes off?
He closes the door, then leans against it, arms crossed. There's a rare stiffness in him. "Listen," he starts. "If this is too much... if you don't feel safe living with a man—after your other housemate—I can find you another place. I don't want you to feel cornered. Or like this is your only option." His words come out uncharacteristically careful.
Baya looks up at him, disoriented by how tender it all sounds. She drops her bag gently onto the floor and exhales. "I don't feel cornered," she says softly. "I don't know how I feel. But I don't feel scared of you."
Chishiya nods once. He jerks his chin toward the stairs. "I have two bedrooms. You can take the main one. The door has a lock, the bed is pretty big, and I cleared my closet so you can put your own stuff there."
From all questions, she chooses to ask, "Why do you have two bedrooms? Wait a minute—do you have a family? You didn't seem like a guy with a wife and children at first but now that I'm thinking about it..."
Chishiya gives her a flat look, though there's the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "No wife. No kids. I just like the option of being alone in more than one room."
"Right! Sorry. I run my mouth too much. Ah, great." She presses a hand to her forehead, groaning.
Always talking, talking, talking. Chatterbox slut. Like someone actually gives a shit what you think. You think it's cute? That nervous, bubbly crap you do? It's pathetic. You talk so much because you're scared if you stop, people will see how empty you really are. A little noise machine, that's all you are. Background noise for people who don't care enough to tell you to shut up. It's sad. All that talking and no one ever actually listens to you.
"At least you're honest," Chishiya responds. "I'll give you a short tour."
Baya follows him up the stairs. Four doors greet her. Chishiya points at one. "That's the bathroom. I'll notice if you use my products but I don't think I have to worry about that, assuming you're a big fan of scented soaps."
"The house does smell like lemon or something," she murmurs. "You're not totally allergic to scents."
"Toxic chemicals called disinfectants," he answers before opening the second door. "This will be your bedroom."
A mix of white, black, and gray. A gigantic bed and a closet. That's it. "Feels... familiar." She shrugs. "Looks fine. Thank you."
Chishiya walks away again, nodding towards a third door. "My office. Spatial autonomy is essential for emotional regulation, especially in high-stress domestic environments."
Baya frowns. "What the hell does that even mean?"
"It means if you touch my stuff, I'll get cranky."
"Why didn't you just say that?"
"I did."
"No, you gave me a whole university lecture in under ten seconds."
"Force of habit. Most people I talk to are—"
"Dead?"
He gives her a slow blink. "I was going to say 'used to thinking in systems,' but sure."
Baya snorts and shakes her head, "Are you going to speak like that all the time?"
"Presumptively."
"Oh, this is going to be fun," she mumbles sarcastically as she trails behind him.
"This," he motions at the fourth door, "will be my bedroom. Same thing as with my office: don't enter unless necessary. Now... downstairs."
Baya nods, following him as he leads her back down the stairs. The house feels strange to her, almost like a museum. There's no warmth, no life.
He reaches the bottom of the stairs and gestures toward the living room. "You're free to do anything here, as long as it's not disturbing."
"Define disturbing."
"Don't watch cheesy movies on the TV."
"But I bet I can dissect a breathing human on your couch?"
"Sure." He walks toward the kitchen then. It's equally minimal. White cabinets, black countertops.
"You cook?" she asks, trying to break the silence, hoping the small talk can ease the tension between them.
"Not often," he replies. "I usually have takeout."
"I can cook. It'll be my form of paying rent."
"I'm the one who pays for the groceries, so technically—"
"I bet time is more valuable to you than money. So you can go do your doctor things while I cook," she interrupts.
"Hm." Chishiya tilts his head to the side. "Very good point."
"Speaking of..." she lowers her voice as if it's a secret. "First for all, how long do we plan on me living here? Second of all, if it's for a long time, we should set up a nice system. Like, who cooks, who cleans, who does the laundry, who does this, who pays for that..."
Chishiya sits at one of the tall kitchen stools and gestures for her to do the same. "Alright," he says. "Let's establish the basics."
Baya sits across from him, mimicking his serious posture for dramatic effect. "First question: are we doing a weekly schedule, or just going with vibes?"
"'Vibes' are unreliable. A schedule," he says flatly.
"You and I are not going to agree on anything, are we?"
"Highly unlikely."
"Okay, then let's say... I cook dinner four times a week. You do it the other three. Fair?"
Chishiya raises an eyebrow. "Noted. Next—cleaning."
"I'll do the laundry, bathrooms, vacuuming. You can do the trash and kitchen."
"I can live with that."
"Now. Groceries. I make the lists. You pay for them."
"I want veto power on anything that costs more than 3,000 yen."
"That's like... one block of cheese!"
"Exactly. Choose wisely."
She narrows her eyes.
"I'm practical."
"Fine. But I'm buying at least one block of fancy cheese per month. Non-negotiable."
Chishiya sighs. "Deal."
They stare at each other for a beat, then Baya writes a pretend list on the air with her finger. "Cooking: 4-3 split. Cleaning: divided by task. Groceries: I plan, you pay. Anything else?"
"Don't wake me up unless the house is on fire or someone is dying."
"In return, I request that you tell me when I ramble."
"Tell you?"
"Yeah, so I stop. It's a bad habit."
"I don't mind if you talk," he announces.
"Really?" Her face lights up, a smile threatening to form. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever—"
"Unless it's cheesy."
"Noted. So you pretend to listen when I ramble. I'll know if you're not."
"That's the hardest thing you've asked of me so far."
"I'm serious. Also, please don't kill me in my sleep."
"Don't give me a reason to."
Baya hums, leaning her cheek against her hand. "This is gonna be a nightmare."
Chishiya gets up and opens a drawer. "Speaking of nightmares," he mutters, pulling out a first-aid kit. "When's the last time you took painkillers?"
"Uhhhh..."
He throws her a pointed look.
"I forgot, okay? My head feels like it's full of static, but I'm alive."
"Sit still," he says, already opening the kit.
Baya smiles at that, slow and real, for the first time all day. Then she downs the pill, makes a face, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "You really don't have any juice? Or soda? Or even, like, expired chocolate milk?"
"I don't consume sugar unless medically necessary."
"Liar. You love cookies."
"Medically necessary," he repeats.
Chishiya opens the fridge with one hand, letting her see its sad contents: eggs, bottled water, and a single cucumber. "Don't expect this to expand a lot."
"That is horrible. I do the grocery shopping too."
"No. We already agreed you make the list, I pay."
"Yes, but you'll come back with five packets of seaweed and black coffee."
"Which is still more nutritious than your cheese obsession."
"One block a month!"
He closes the fridge. "Fine. Grocery shopping is a joint effort. But don't try to sneak weird snacks into the cart."
"What counts as weird?"
"Anything neon, powdery, or labeled 'limited edition.'"
She groans, flopping onto the stool. "You're literally no fun."
"Sit down properly before you faint and bleed on my floor."
"I thought you liked blood?"
"Not on my floor."
"This is why we need ground rules for arguments too."
He rubs his temple. "What, like a safe word?"
"No, like, rules of engagement. No yelling, no name-calling, and no fighting before coffee."
"I don't yell."
"You do glare very aggressively."
"That's just my face."
"Exactly. It's terrifying."
"Fine," he mutters. "No fights before caffeine. Or after midnight."
Baya perks up. "Ooh! Midnight curfew?"
"For arguments. Not for you coming home. You're a grown woman."
"So I can sneak in drunk at 3 a.m.?"
"So this is why Ito asked if I'm a guardian," he mumbles. "You can. You'll just be met with judgment."
"Terrifying." She pauses. "Wait, who's in charge of toilet paper?"
Chishiya gives her a long look.
"It's a valid question!"
"I'll bulk order it online. There. Solved."
"You're starting to sound like someone who's done this before."
"I haven't. You're just particularly exhausting."
She beams. "I knew I'd grow on you."
"You're like mold."
"Charming."
"Persistent."
Baya grins and stretches her arms over her head, wincing when her neck twinges. "Okay. So. To recap: we split cooking and cleaning, you handle trash and toilet paper, I get to buy cheese, we shop together but I'm in charge of what's fun, no fighting before coffee, and if I bring someone home—"
"I will be judging from the hallway."
"Perfect." She looks around the clean, sterile space and then at him again. "This is gonna be weird."
"Yes," Chishiya says. "But functional. Now, I suggest you drop your bag off upstairs and get some rest before your concussion becomes worse. You're scarily happy for someone who just... I'm not even gonna finish that sentence."
Nodding, she starts carrying her bag upstairs, leaving Chishiya alone. Inside the freshly-cleaned bedroom, she hangs her clothes inside the closet and pulls out the many papers she received from the hospital, putting them on the nightstand.
Something slips from between two documents. A folded scrap of paper.
Baya pauses. It's not an official form, no seal or stamp. Just a regular piece of paper, creased sharply down the middle as if someone had folded it with care. She frowns and opens it slowly.
It's a number. A phone number, handwritten in small, neat numbers.
"Hm." A hum leaves her as she types it into her phone. This number is already in your contacts, it says after she pushed the 'add new contact' button.
That number that was apparently already in her contacts is labeled 'C' with a gray profile picture.
Typical.
But shocking.
She nearly trips down the stairs. "Ohh, you sneaky little... how did your number get in my phone? And that note of yours? What—"
"I gave you that note after our first appointment. You never added my number so I decided to add it myself."
"How?"
"When I asked you to hand me your phone a few hours ago."
Baya audibly gasps. "If this is not seduction, I don't know what is."
"It's not. I was taking precautions. You tend to mend your way into problems."
"And? It's not your job to fix those problems! You must... have an eye on me!"
It sounds believable but unbelievable at the same time. She'd believe herself in normal situations.
But she doesn't, because this is Chishiya, and as far as she's concerned, he's not exactly the type to have crushes.
"I'll explain," he says calmly. "Tomorrow evening. Trust me."
"What's that supposed to mean? Why not now?"
"Because you need rest and I can predict you'll be crying your eyes out in less than an hour."
"Why would I cry?"
"Just wait."
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Half an hour later, they're both sitting on the couch in silence. Chishiya has his nose buried in a book that looks extremely boring and Baya is clutching to the blanket she found, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain in her body and most importantly, what happened yesterday.
Or rather, what has been happening the past months. The betrayal. The violence. The helplessness she had felt. And then how she had ended him. How she had ended him. Niragi.
This morning, when she woke up in the hospital, Chishiya told her he took care of everything already and she had nothing to worry about. He even said she wouldn't have to go to the police yet. That it's better to wait until she's more stable.
"I didn't... think I had the right to feel anything about it," Baya suddenly starts, her voice breaking slightly as the words come out. "I mean, people like me... I thought I deserved it. I thought... I thought that's just what happens. People who steal, people who were bad... I was bad, so I thought that if something bad happened to me, it didn't count. Maybe it was just karma."
She swallows, her throat tight, trying to keep herself from shaking. But it's hard. Her hands are trembling, and she hates it. "I thought, maybe if I just... moved on, if I just ignored it, I could make it go away. But it didn't. It's still there. Even though I wasn't conscious when he did it, it still hurts. Maybe even worse, because I'll never know what exactly he..." She sighs. "And like I said before, I started remembering things. Strange things, Chishiya. It wasn't the first time Niragi took advantage of me. I remember one time, though. It was very... vivid. I was participating. I don't know why."
"Participating?"
"Yes. Doing what he said, consenting, making him feel nice instead of fighting him. But that's all I remember. And we weren't even in our apartment. We were in a... hotel, I think." A single tear trickles down her cheek.
Chishiya's back straightens. "Go on."
"That's all I remember. At least, about Niragi."
"How did you remember?"
"A guy told me to pull a card. I took four of spades. Then I passed out or something. Got weird visions. A game. A chainsaw. Doors. It was strange."
"Continue."
"I remember..." Baya tries her absolute best to recall the memories. "I remember seeing your face. Once. But that's it. That's all I remember."
"All of it?" He murmurs.
"You look... disappointed." She swallows, inspecting him closely.
"This is about what I said I wanted to show you," he said. "But I meant it when I told you tomorrow night. You need to rest."
"But—"
"No. You need rest."
"You know more about this," she realizes. Interested, she scoots closer. "What do you remember? How do you remember? Do you remember me?"
"I remember a lot, including you."
"For how long have you remembered?"
"A while."
"How long is a while?"
"Tomorrow," he repeats sharply. "I'll explain tomorrow. Just... like, are you sure you don't remember more about me?"
"No," she says quietly, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. But it you tell me what—"
"Tomorrow."