And then we’ll be even

I am not okay with what I’m doing.

I’m crossing the road with Hinata on my arm, posing as her husband and the father of her make believe baby. It feels wrong, this whole act, and despite playing along with it, doing so makes me very anxious. And I can’t tell if it’s because I’m scared, or because the thought of our fake marriage gets me weirdly excited.

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks as we stop at a red light. “Your face is all yellow.”

“I’m fine, I just didn’t eat anything this morning.”

My stomach growls right on cue to lend some credence to my excuse. Not that it’s all fake. I woke up feeling so queasy I could barely open the fridge, let alone cook anything. I hope Anna’s not mad at me.

“Same,” Hinata says uneasily, biting her lip. “I was – kinda on edge about our first time working together. Officially.”

“What’s throwing you off? The task, the attire? The implication?”

The light turns green and, as we cross the road, Hinata clutches my elbow even tighter than before.

“Having to do it all with you,” she mutters, slowing down. Her free hand rubs at her belly and I’m pretty sure that’s a silent sign that I’m going too quickly. Can’t help it – I want this all to be over already.

“You can say that again,” I sigh. “Truth be told, I almost didn’t show up today.”

“Yeah, well,” Hinata sighs back. “I don’t blame you. This stuff can really mess with your head.”

“Did you do stuff like this before?”

“Nope,” she chimes. “This is all uncharted territory for me too, which is why I’m probably as nervous as you are right now.”

“I highly doubt it, what with your experience and all.”

“Trust me – that only makes things worse.”

Her ominous voice shuts the door on any attempt at retort. Not that I had any to begin with.

Father once told me about the first time he killed a man. It withered him to an empty husk for a week, but the second time only affected him for a couple of days. By the tenth, he felt no hesitation pulling the trigger and he made that out to be a good thing. One that made him – and in turn would make me – a professional.

That word, professional, unsettled me. Over the years father kept tacking on new attributes to this perpetually obscure ideal – precision, adaptability, diligence – but his cynicism towards taking a life stuck out as a horrible outlier. And it was only when he started drifting away from his children that I realised the selfish contradiction in his words.

To him, professionalism was a sacrifice. His family, his person, his morals, they could all be abandoned, traded in the name of protecting us, protecting what he loved.

I hated that. I hated what he did to Anna and I and I will continue hating it until the day I die. And, in defiance of him, I swore that I will not follow in his footsteps. That I would be a professional of my own making, one who will never be so callous as to commit a crime without the barest hint of remorse holding me back. And I can’t help feeling that Hinata thinks the same way.

The way she beats herself up, how she continuously worries about the consequences of her own actions, her unyielding drive to fix her mistakes, to be better, to keep others out of harm’s way – that’s the professional she is. And that’s who I want to be too. Who I want to protect.

Because I like her.

“Oh look,” she points at the convenience store on the other side of the street. “Maybe we can get some konbini meals after we’re done.”

“Sure thing,” I smile. “What’s your go to?”

“Can’t go wrong with onigiri. Yours?”

“Dunno. Haven’t tried it yet. Not a fan.”

“Of cheap food?”

“Of Japanese cuisine in general. Too many carbs.”

A pout puffs out Hinata’s lips, “You’re only saying that because you haven’t had anything good yet. Just wait until you get a taste of my cooking. Ichika says my katsu is better than her personal chef’s –”

She flinches, beet red. Maybe it’s because she’s just unabashedly voiced one of her domestic fantasies, or maybe because she’s noticed how flushed I am. Either way, it’s probably a good thing we’ve arrived at our destination.

“Ah,” the man by the apartment building’s entrance notices us. Balding, sweaty and slightly jaundiced, he’s the perfect image of a realtor who hasn’t sucked anyone’s blood in a while. Fixing up his comb-over and the knot of his tie, he saunters towards us. “The Takahashis, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Hinata nods. “Sorry if we’ve made you wait for too long.”

“It’s fiiiine, I understand. My wife can barely walk to the bathroom without complaining about her back – and she’s not even pregnant!”

The realtor laughs a boisterous laugh and I reply with a nervous chuckle. With the ice broken to tiny pieces, he starts up the stairs and Hinata and I follow right behind. The place is nothing spectacular, just 4 long hallways stacked on top of one another with the individual units looking indistinguishable at a glance. Probably why the Red Mountains chose this in the first place.

“How far along are you?” the realtor asks, fiddling with the keys. “Tsk, this lock sure is finicky.”

“26 weeks,” Hinata offers.

“Not much left, not much left. Thought of a name yet?”

“Yeah… erm… actually…”

“Maria, if she’s a girl. After my late mother. Haru if it’s a boy. Because we met in spring,” I intervene, just as the door clicks open.

“Hubby to the rescue,” the realtor smiles as he enters.

“Nice save,” Hinata whispers as she slides off her sandals. “Is that her real name, by the way?”

“Can’t tell a good lie without a bit of truth,” I say, helping her over the threshold and, together, we head inside.

Not gonna lie, the place is pretty awesome. A massive 2LDK with a super modern kitchen – I’m talking induction hobs and an espresso machine with two spouts – a 52” TV in the living room and a balcony that’s wide enough to host 10 people at a barbecue party. The realtor gives us a tour – more a formality than a necessity, really – and by the end, Hinata’s eyes are gleaming with an enthusiasm that looks too pure to be just a negotiation tactic.

“This is – incredible,” she says, gazing awestruck from wall to wall.

I slot in behind her and hug her, my arms resting on our ‘unborn child’, “I can already see our baby growing up here. Has anybody else made an offer yet?”

“Nope. You’re actually the first to visit.”

“Make that the last, too” Hinata grins. “I think I speak for both of us when I say that we’ll pay anything just to live here.”

An excited shiver courses through the realtor as he fights the urge to rub his grubby hands together. He gestures, “One moment,” then steps outside of the flat to make a phone call, which ends up being a long series of happy, disbelieving shouts. When that’s all sorted, he returns, wipes his forehead with his hand, and clears his throat.

“That was the landlord,” he says. “I told him an expecting couple is eager to move in right away and – he has already begun drafting the rental agreement! If you could give me your address, I’ll pass it on and we’ll send the documents over right away.”

“Certainly,” Hinata says, taking the realtor’s phone. A practised sequence of button presses laters and she returns it with every field filled.

“An office?” the realtor raises an eyebrow.

“My father’s. We both work for him and he’s offered to help us sort out all the paperwork.”

“That’s actually how we met,” I add with a smirk that spreads over to Hinata. “I was the new hire and she was the veteran who showed me all the ropes.”

“And I was so impressed with how patient and diligent he was that, well – here we are, aren’t we?”

“Lovely, just lovely,” the realtor smacks his teeth. “Well then, if that’s all, shall –”

“Actually,” Hinata says, gazing up at me with silent mischief. “Could you leave us alone here for a minute? My feet have been killing me all day, and with the nightmare of finding a place to live finally coming to an end – I just wanna lay down a little. Take it all in.”

The realtor sizes us up and down, squints as if to assess the verity of Hinata’s plea, but in the end he can find no flaw in a pregnant woman’s wish for a peaceful rest. Or maybe he’s too elated to care.

“Very well,” he says in a level voice. “Take your time, my dears. I’ll be just outside.”

With a bow hiding his immense joy, the realtor excuses himself and all but skips out of the room. I don’t even get to ask her what’s the matter because, as soon as we’re left alone, she drags me into the nearest bedroom, only to hurl herself onto the fluffy mattress.

“That went so much easier than I thought it would,” she says, the sheets swallowing her.

“Well, whoever thought of this plan sure knew what they were cooking,” I take a seat beside her. “I knew Japan wanted to help its declining birth rate, but I never expected this level of preferential treatment.”

“The government just gives people money to have children. Everyone knows it. Some choose to take advantage of it. I imagine Oyama will have to pay a little more on rent than what was advertised.”

“What do you need this flat for anyway? Storage? A safehouse?” I ask, only for Hinata to shrink into a little ball and roll over towards me.

“Umm… as soon as we get the keys, this will become a base of operations of sorts. Then, as soon as the mission is over – mum and I will move in.”

She shoots me an expectant stare, that turns into an annoyed glare as if I’ve just missed one of her most obvious signals. Which, now that I remember I have feelings for her, makes coming up with an appropriate response less of a fun game and more of a gruelling challenge. Luckily, my composure is unbreakable.

“That’s nice,” I say with a quickly drying throat, “I – I don’t know where you live right now, but I don’t imagine you can do much better than here.”

Hinata frowns, but soon after her brow relaxes. She sits back up, looks at me with the same curiosity one looks at a pink sheep, then leans her head on my shoulder.

“Well, you’ll know soon,” she mumbles. “And then we’ll be even.”

Ah, so that’s what this was all about. Still not got the hang of communicating properly, but she’s getting there. Slowly, but surely. Now her logic, on the other hand –

“Are we though? I don’t think you’ve been inside my house.”

She flinches, tilts her head, blushes. And I’d laugh at the stiffness of her expression if I didn’t just register the real meaning behind what I just said.

“Can I – come over – one day, then?”

God, her question is so painfully endearing. You’d think the girl who clings onto me any chance she gets would have no qualms visiting a boy – any boy’s home. But maybe I’m not just any boy to her. Or maybe hanging out at someone’s place is a sort of rite of passage for her, marking a level of closeness that makes her get all bashful. Or maybe it’s just discrete Japanese customs – who knows, really.

What I do know is that there will certainly come a time when we’ll be once again sitting on a bed just like this. Shoulders kissing, feet dangling over the edge, drowsiness slowly catching up to us. And when that happens, there will be a whole another set of implications and emotions to navigate, though one not too dissimilar for the ones we’ve already experienced.

That moment, however, isn’t coming anytime soon. Between the upcoming mission, the details of which I haven’t been told yet, and figuring out if she feels the same way, I’d rather not overplay my hand. Gotta show some of that patience she praised me for.

“Sure,” I say. “But first, I think you said something about konbinis.”