The Same Deep Water As You
by Solo & Jo
chapter(s) | Story notes, disclaimers, warnings]
Monday 29 September
The commercial is… Kame very much wants to put a better spin on it than dumb,
but it's proving difficult. The DoCoMo PR department sent the
storyboard to the agency before the weekend, and Hamaguchi knows that
he likes to prepare. At least he'll be prepared enough not to roll his
eyes at them when he goes to the shoot.
He flips through the print-out again, wipes off the few breakfast
crumbs that got stuck to the last page, and pushes it aside. Not that
he would really roll his eyes. But he'd be tempted.
They also sent him some scripts, some stuff that's under discussion
for after the teacher film. He's had time to study them over the
weekend, with Midori gone in the evenings and him not having any other
sort of plans, and that's as far as he's going to contemplate that while sitting at his breakfast table.
At least the period drama looks kind of exciting. And he's heard it
through the grapevine there's talk of turning the story of Daisuke
Namba into a movie; Hamaguchi will roll her eyes if he says he'd like
to play the would-be assassin of an Emperor, but that might be worth
keeping track of. He's the right age, and the role must be fascinating.
He glances up at Midori, who is meditating her way through her
second cup of coffee, forgoing their serious newspaper for some
handbag-sized colourful thing she must have bought for the train ride
home from Shizuoka. He woke up briefly when she came in, very late from
her all-weekend work trip, knocking over the mug with her make-up
utensils in her disorientation.
They both slept in a little, in exchange for working the weekend.
Kame sneaked out when he could feel Midori migrating towards the middle
of the bed as she drifted out of unconsciousness. He doesn't plan to
spend the entire morning in bed even if he isn't due on the set before
Sipping at his own mug, its contents mostly cold by now, he watches
her trying to operate the sweetener dispenser before she gives up with
an endearing little frown. Midori, in a bit of a contrast to her girl
next door aura and her general good cheer, does not rise and shine.
"Are you staying home today?" he asks, only really noticing now that
she's still in pyjamas and her blue dressing-gown, and would at least
be showered if she planned on going to work.
"No," she says with a sleepy blink. "I'm meeting Enoki-chan to go to
a reading. In the afternoon. Though there might be drinks. Later, after
"Good," he smiles. "Have fun."
He's fine by himself at the house, really. He catches up on sleep, catches up on work.
Easier to dodge Tanaka, too. He doesn't feel good at the idea of
going to the club again, and it's not like he can explain to Tanaka
that he doesn't want to run into some incompetent escort unexpectedly
and spend another week with this weirdness hanging over him,
these things that aren't like him at all and definitely not how it is
all supposed to go.
Things he is definitely not thinking about while he's sitting across from his wife.
He flips through the pile of scripts again. That romance is insipid.
Kame likes happy endings. He even likes happy scenes, as an actor,
finds them more challenging than dying or portraying endless gloom with
a twist of his mouth and a carefully deliberated stare. But the guy
they want him to play is such an utter moron he really shouldn't get
the girl, and Kame doesn't want to spend weeks or months getting into
his skin, really not.
Midori will probably agree when he shows her the scripts, though the
way she turns her pages slowly and the distracted blinking of her eyes
under a too-long fringe suggests he'd better give it a miss this
morning. He smiles into his coffee mug. Maybe they can talk it over
later tonight, if they're both awake enough when she returns.
Another upside to staying at home more often.
A proper arrangement will be better anyway, for when he sees Tatsuya
again. He'll feel better if he doesn't have to improvise, and Tatsuya
knows how he does things, anyway, and once things are normal and like
they always were everything will be… normal. Everything will be fine.
Maybe he shouldn't dodge Tanaka, maybe he should just go in and be… normal.
Enough of that, he tells himself firmly, and looks up. And Midori has gone still.
When she looks at him, Kame can tell she's suddenly awake, though
the smile she gives him is soft and untroubled; a little too pointedly
soothing, in fact, to not set off Kame's alarm bells, even if she's not
a mind reader and it really isn't about that.
"Don't get worried," Midori says, and there's a quirk to her mouth
that tells him she knows exactly how reassuring an opening that is.
"That's…" He raises his eyebrows, and she laughs.
"Just, here," she says, pressing the spine of her magazine flat with
one palm. "I think you look better with the floppy hats, by the way.
She's still smiling when he walks around the table, because she
knows him, knows how much he doesn't like gossip and pictures, and she
wouldn't smile if it were anything serious. He has to lean a bit over
her flannel-covered shoulders and there it is, blurry grainy pictures
of his face hidden behind wide sunglasses and his name in screaming
sharp font, and there's… Morioka. Happily undisguised and exiting their
favourite Chinese place, and Kame feels like a creepy cold gaze is
crawling down his neck and the air tastes thick, hollow, devoid of
Dinner. They were just having dinner.
"Just so it doesn't hit you," Midori says quietly, puts a hand over
his on the table. He doesn't remember reaching down, touching that
picture, invasive and wrong in all its harmlessness, and he can't pull
away now, Midori would notice, Midori might wonder what the fuck is
wrong with him, when it's just dinner.
It's not the same at all. Gods, no. No. Morioka is a
colleague. Morioka is two steps behind him and smiling but that means
nothing. They're colleagues and they like each other and what's wrong
with that. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. It means
"Sparks on the set," it says, and something about unexpected new dynamics.
"I don't know how they even know it's you, I wouldn't
recognize you wrapped up like that and I'm your wife," Midori says,
getting up slowly so she doesn't push her chair into him, and she
kisses him lightly on the cheek.
"It took me a moment myself," he says, too long a pause to be natural, too desperate to be true.
"Don't worry about it," Midori says. "You know they follow you sometimes."
He knows. And she's right. "Yes, it's okay," he says, and tries to believe it. "Part of the game." He knows.
His phone buzzes just as he's getting in the car, and he nearly
jumps out of his skin. Not the agency. Not any news outlets, either.
It's just Tanaka, and he screens it, fingers clumsy on the small
buttons. Later. He can't use this now.
And then he wonders if Tanaka has read the article and is calling
about it and… and then he fastens his seatbelt, puts on his driving
sunglasses, and calms the fuck down.
Because this is nothing but stupid gossip and people eating up the
fanservice, running with it. They can't help that they have chemistry.
It's generally considered a good thing among co-leads. The scenes with
Morioka are the best thing about this movie, and there's a reason they
set them up like that in the photo shoot.
Right. He takes his cell out of his jacket, puts it somewhere it
won't give him a heart attack in the middle of the expressway, and
pulls out of the drive.
Sparks on the set.
He read the article while Midori was in the shower. It's clever. Sly
and clever and mean and they're not breathing a word about Souji, and
Kame doesn't know why, they're so full of nudge-nudge, wink-wink that that
would be prime fodder. Kame is under no illusions that it's really been
forgotten, no matter how good the agency's damage control was.
Good friends. Right. They've known each other for a month and
they work well together, and sometimes they share a meal. Maybe that
already moves him into the good friend category, because how would Kame
know? It's not like he has many friends.
His throat feels tight, and he should have brought something to
drink. Should stop overthinking, just be… be normal, and that's when he
changes lanes, takes the early exit. Spending 'quality time' together. At least they got that right. If that means he actually enjoyed talking to Morioka.
The silence in the car feels almost deafening. But he can't drive to radio when he needs to focus, needs to think.
They added that picture from the promo materials, to underline the
'chemistry', and Kame flashes back to that shoot, how tiredly grateful
he'd been that it was easy with Morioka and that he even admired the
intensity Morioka packed into his role, and for a horrifying moment
Kame isn't sure whether he slipped and didn't notice, whether he looked
at Morioka as anything other than a colleague and a nice guy.
But he didn't. Kame is careful. This sort of thing has no room on
the outside, and he's had years of getting that right. He'd know if he
found someone on the outside attractive beyond theoretical
appreciation, and he'd know not to go to dinner with him and not to
show pictures of the two of them to his wife.
He should think about the scripts. The romantic moron and that
samurai and whether he feels up to that, the physical aspects of it and
what promises to be a lot of freezing his ass off in out-of-the-way
God, that… He hasn't thought of that birthday in years. Out in the
middle of nowhere, cold and wet from sleet and not a soul who even
remembered he was turning twenty-two, and he was still glad he wasn't
home in their— in Kame's tight, constantly crowded apartment, and
that's when he knew…
A warning sign by the road flashes '50' at him and he lifts his foot
and unclenches his grip on the wheel, drops below the speed limit again.
He'd thought it couldn't get any worse, that he couldn't get any
more miserable, crying his eyes out over dumping his boyfriend. Turned
out he was wrong about that.
He leaves the car in the underground parking garage and makes sure he has the scripts and the storybook, everything he needs.
He thinks of changing his shirt because he feels oddly sweaty. But
that would be a hoot, some intern or parking attendant or personal
assistant seeing Kamenashi Kazuya topless in the agency's parking
garage. He might get a reputation.
He's never liked the building much. He feels watched from the moment
he steps through the first glass door, everyone from secretaries to the
higher-ups that deal with people like him in see-through cubicles. He's
been to where Midori works and it feels different, busier and warmer at
once, even though it's basically the same style, lots of glass and
stainless steel and expensive industrial carpet in muted greys and
Nobody pays him much attention on his way to Hamaguchi's office, and
that's good to know, good to feel normal when he smiles at Hamaguchi's
secretary and she smiles back and there's nothing strange in her face
or her eyes or the way she tells him to go on through yet another glass
He sees two grey outlines through the wide milky privacy stripe on
this one, and recognizes Hamaguchi in a sharp expensive suit and her
personal assistant in the same basic cut and colour, minus twenty or
thirty thousand yen.
It's not unusual that Hamaguchi has time for him, even when he drops
in unannounced; he's important enough, and why is he even nervous, he
wouldn't want to be kept waiting in the lobby wondering what's
going on behind those doors. He smiles at her, too, and there's a
polite round of greetings, and there's a look passing between the two
women that he almost misses, and shit.
"I came about the scripts," he says and tries not to twirl the
briefcase that contains them. The case is at odds with his jeans and
polo shirt, and somehow that makes him uncomfortable. Maybe he should
have changed after all, or thrown on a blazer at least.
"You didn't have to come in, Kamenashi-san," Hamaguchi says to him,
sitting down in her yielding leather chair. It draws the eye, black and
thick in an office that numbs you with its ivory-and-mint austerity.
The flashiest piece of decor is a slim arrangement of white-painted
twigs on Hamaguchi's desk, curling elegantly up and around each other
in a long fragile glass vase. "It's not really that urgent."
She gestures towards the white guest chair in front of the desk,
raising one corner of her mouth as if to apologize for the delay. The
assistant stays, standing off the side.
"Those are some interesting possibilities," he says, and she nods pleasantly.
"I thought so. A lot will depend on which direction we want to take you in after the current project."
He didn't pick her. She just ended up in charge of him, when they
signed him and sent him to his first serious assignment, a nervous
fifteen-year-old who still wore cheap ill-fitting suits when he got
called into the agency.
She was there, too, when his life nearly ended and the agency
handled it, made it all go away. He suspects it was expensive, though
he never asked how much. It hurt him too much to think about it, when
he was still thinking about it.
It must be paid off by now in any case.
And apparently the assistant isn't going anywhere, and Hamaguchi is
surprised enough to see him that she waits him out, and so he says, "I
don't know if you've seen it," because he'd better bring it up on his
own terms, with a chance to explain. Not that it doesn't take him two
attempts to actually go on. "There's a paparazzi report about me and a
co-star of mine going out to dinner. I don't know what they're getting
at but I was surprised to see it."
They don't talk about it. Nobody ever, ever talks about it.
They just look at him. Like now, and Kame doesn't talk either, just
waits and tells himself that the assessing stare is just regular
Hamaguchi, she's got ten years on him and has managed bigger stars, and
that's all it is, some level-headed assessment by someone who has a
brain for business.
"I saw it yesterday," Hamaguchi says politely. Kame doesn't know if
she reads gossip magazines but she's probably got someone for that, had
that article in her press clippings… yesterday. She didn't even find it
necessary to call him. And then she smiles, properly, and it feels weird.
"This all seems to fit in with the promotional slant. Morioka-san and
you enjoying a good relationship off set can only help the success of
the picture." Or can it? is what she doesn't add, doesn't need
to because that's why Kame is sitting in her office, to answer that
question before it can be asked.
"Of course," he says. "We're very good colleagues."
And she looks pleased enough. "I understand you wanting to be
careful," she says, and what she means is that she approves of him
being careful, Kame knows. He once got a crash course in all the little
ways they talk to him without talking to him. "But as long as there's
nothing to worry about…" She stops and thinks, and then she laughs.
"Then there's really nothing to worry about!" She looks almost charming
when she smiles, amused by her own unplanned joke.
Then she sends her assistant for coffee, and asks him what he makes
of the romantic comedy he's been offered, mentioning that Kikuchi Rinko
is being talked about as the female lead. She sounds excited; they've
tried to pair Kame with Kikuchi-san before, only the plans fell through.
Kame stops holding on to the briefcase with both hands, crosses his
legs at the ankles, wills his shoulders out of square rigidity. "It
looks interesting," he says, and doesn't care that it's a lie. "It
could be fun."
They're shooting outdoors. Production has recreated a street
festival, and it almost feels like the real thing, excited extras
milling around and a herd of nameless assistants ushering and shooing
and trying to protect booths and cameras and hairstyles against the
light showers that keep interrupting them. It makes shooting gappy and
frantic, but when Kame has made it under the large white parasols he
hears the boys laugh about something, again, and Matsura say something
light and possibly funny about the plastic bag someone pulled over her
hair after she stops from her sprint.
The parking lot has been cleared for the main cast and core staff,
white folding chairs set up in little groups so that it almost looks
like a street café. The boys are certainly treating it as such, sharing
lunch snacks from the cart with their legs sprawled in front of them.
Even Iijima seems to have found some kind of zen along the way and has
stopped pacing the perimeter, is getting the street juggler they hired
to teach him a three-ball toss.
Kame isn't hungry, and he isn't keen on all these breaks, and the
low patter of rain feels foggy and damp around him, clouding his brain.
It's hard to make out words over the distance, figure out proper
context for the laughter and the nudges, and the light is weird and
"Did you have a good weekend, Kamenashi-san?" Toyoda asks him where
they have ended up together under the central umbrella, while he pours
them both coffee at the cart. It's not a hard question, has nothing to
do with the magazine, because Toyoda wouldn't, he's pretty sure of that.
"It was quiet," he says, and tries not to look at Morioka, who is
just outside the boys' circle, being polite going through a scene with
Matsura that they have coming up whenever the rain will allow it. "My
wife was out of town for work." He hands Toyoda her decaf and manages a
belated smile. If anyone is harmless, it's Toyoda, and it's nice that
she's making conversation. "What about you?"
She tells him something about her husband and her mother, a friendly
little story that passes the time and is better than the endless drum
of the rain. At some point he remembers to take the frown off his face,
smiles at her because she is a very nice woman.
Matsura is coming over to join them at the cart. Kame stirs his sugarless espresso, focussed and calm.
"Yeah, I feel so famous," Morioka is saying, and Kame knows without
looking he's got a big, winning grin on his face. There's laughter, as
if it doesn't matter when the press is after you, and there are
scratches of chairs being dragged over rough concrete, the boys making
room for Morioka, probably. Then the voices drop, not whispers exactly
but Kame can take it for about fifteen seconds before he does check,
and Kobi is teasing Morioka about sparking and they all look like it's nothing.
He's known they know, felt it somehow… he probably should be glad he
hasn't imagined the interested glances, the boys checking his mood,
wondering if they're allowed to tease; Iijima's raised eyebrows when
Morioka greeted Kame, a passing and innocent hello because Kame was
busy talking to the hairdresser.
He catches something else, something about sparks and good angles.
That's when Morioka meets his eyes, still grinning, and maybe the
others look too, maybe they're watching eagerly for his reaction but he
doesn't find out because he's calm and it's all harmless, and he just
nods and taps off the tiny plastic spoon on the edge of his cup.
"Really?" he says to Toyoda, and she says yes, her mother really
does breed mice, Matsura standing silently a meter away as if she's
waiting to be invited into the conversation.
Eventually the rain stops again. The boys go out and so does
Matsura, and Kame and Toyoda stay behind, switching to warm tea and
preparing their lines in silence.
Kame knows his already; always does. Could play this scene in his
sleep, it's not hard, a little wide-eyed romance and a Cinderella
moment and he doesn't need to find her attractive, it doesn't work that
way, though it might help if she'd started off a little more
confidently, a little less like a lost younger sister.
Sparks on the set.
Morioka seems to find the whole thing amusing, as if he weren't an
unestablished young actor with a hungry, impatient agency that can drop
him at the first sign of displeasure. But he can't be unaware of the
way these things work.
It gets quieter outside the parking lot. The extras have stopped
being an excited crowd, the brawl must have ended at Matsura's
An assistant brings them the props for their next scene. Toyoda
grins at him, looking good in her subtle smoky make-up and sporty
smart-casual clothes. He does like her, more so when she's not nervous,
likes her sincerity, and he hasn't caught a single assessing glance
from her all day.
Kobi is the first one back, and Kame stands up. "Let's get this done before it starts raining again," he says, and Toyoda nods.
They leave it after the third take. It's a decent average. Iijima
says nothing to Toyoda, which is as good as praise, and she seems
confident enough about her performance for a change. Iijima has said
nothing out of the ordinary to Kame, either. It went well. You can't
expect magic every day. They're being competent enough together.
He ignores the extras on his way back, reassures Toyoda about a line
delivery of hers, and they're still in the middle of comparing notes
when she steers them back towards the food cart where Morioka is
standing with a water bottle in hand, so Kame doesn't have much choice.
He just goes.
"Cute," Morioka says, nodding at the large, fluffy yellow duck that
Kame is carrying, and caps his bottle. "Can't say I ever managed to win
one of those."
Kame sets the prop down into his folding chair because it's too
yellow and fluffy to drop on the ground, and then he feels fussy and
awkward about it. "Yes, I don't really know…"
Morioka smiles at them both, quite untroubled by paparazzi pictures
and Toyoda's presence, and of course that's the way to go, it's good
that Toyoda is around and can see that there's nothing at all to see,
and with her around there's nothing for anybody else to see right now,
Kame isn't thirsty but he takes some water anyway, unscrews it
slowly. He doesn't need to look now; he's given it some thought over
the day, watched cautiously when Morioka was filming, and he's sure.
There's nothing there. He knew before this morning that Morioka is
good-looking and funny and nice. He's a rising young actor and they don't usually pick them ugly and sullen.
"They take up a lot of space," Toyoda says with bit of blushing
pragmatism. "My husband once won a purple dragon for me, when we were
in high school, and I felt so bad, but I was sharing a room with two
sisters and it was small enough as it was."
"Yes, exactly!" Morioka says, and looks at Kame.
"I don't think my wife would go for something like that either," he
says, and he's so far from thinking about Midori and giant plush
animals that he's almost confused when Morioka and Toyoda laugh.
"So, about that thing," Morioka says, with a final look at the duck.
Kame keeps so still he doesn't even blink. "I guess the Lucky Garden is
out of the question now? It must be annoying for you to have reporters
"Yes, that…" Kame's eyes skip to Toyoda, find nothing but
understanding for their restaurant problem in her face. "That's
probably a good idea."
"Shame about the Szechuan squid," Morioka smiles. "That was good."
"Should get myself some proper sunglasses now, though. I think I
picked mine up at a conbini check-out, and that can't be good for my
"I'm sure Kobi-kun can help you out," Toyoda suggests, "he seems to
know what's hip," while Kame stares blind between them and doesn't understand.
He's glad he saw Hamaguchi. Glad he has it settled and that he's not
the only one who knows there's nothing going on, nothing there at all,
and he's glad Morioka knows that too but he doesn't understand how it
adds up to jokes about sunglasses.
Morioka isn't even married.
Eventually Kame's called for his solo scene. He's glad to get out
from under the umbrellas and away from this weird conversation, and it
should be easy, just him and the role and some despair as he curls his
fingers into the mesh of the fence, yelling for Morioka to
stop, and he's not supposed to care that everyone is watching him, not
supposed to feel anything but a driving mission.
Morioka's not in the take, nobody here but dozens of extras, and
their eyes gravitate towards him as soon as the camera stops rolling.
It's not unusual. He's the star of the picture and they look at him all
Iijima makes him do it four times before the rain starts again. It's
Kame's last take and Iijima gets an intent look on his face as the
first drops fall dark on Kame's shirt, and then he asks politely if
they could try it with the added wet effect, too. Of course they can.
Kame yells some more, ignores the stares, ignores the extras. It's not
going to do them much good with all the connecting scenes being shot
dry and fake-sunny, but Iijima can't resist a pretty image and Kame
feels oddly calmed by just letting the water hit him, cushion him from
He's just short of soaked when he makes it back to the wide white
tent, and someone rushes towards him with hot tea and a towel. The
stylist arrives armed with make-up and hairdryer, but Kame waves her
off, he's done. The others will hang around for a while longer while
someone tries to find out if it's going to let up early enough for them
to finish the boys' scenes in good light. Kame takes a rest in a chair,
ignoring the wet stickiness of his clothes.
"You should get changed, Kamenashi-san," Matsura tells him, but
doesn't linger, and he just nods, feeling his shirt cool down fast
against his skin.
"Wardrobe trailer's empty just now," Morioka says, behind him, and
Kame doesn't start, of course he's here, they're colleagues. "If you
want to change in peace."
"Thank you. I'll… yes, I'll do that." He blows into the cup absent-mindedly. Morioka is next to him now, but doesn't sit down.
"You gave him ideas, by the way," Morioka goes on, nodding at Iijima
when Kame gives him a questioning look. "We're going to shoot the
running away scene again, with rain."
"Sorry," Kame says, and Morioka laughs. He's really very charming. A nice guy. Good friends.
"Yeah, at least dessert should be on you then!"
"Ah." He tastes hairspray when he takes a sip. Wipes his hand over his face. "Yeah."
"We won't be long, I think. Half an hour, tops."
"Tonight's not good for me," Kame says. "I have to get home, I made
plans with my wife." He tries a smile. "I'm sorry." And he is.
Morioka is only surprised for a second. Only a moment that something
blinks across his friendly features, a passing thought. Plans can
"Hey, no problem," he says then, shrugs. Smiles. "Some other time."
"Yes, sure," Kame says. "Some other time."
Kame leaves while Morioka is sitting on a chair with his back to
him, getting quick bruises reapplied to his face for the rain shoot. He
says goodbye to Toyoda and to nobody else; they're all busy.
There's a large supermarket with a good food selection before he
even gets to the expressway and he stops there to pick up something for
That's fine. These dinner dates weren't… a fixture or anything. Or
dates. He puts on his sunglasses before he gets out of the car, then
It's fine. Morioka's not going to need those sunglasses for a while yet, and Kame is going to be more careful.
He walks briskly through the rain, ignores the look the trolley
attendant is giving his celebrity get-up because he's used to that, and
slows for the automatic door to open and let him in, picks up a basket.
The magazine racks are always at the front of these shops, he
doesn't know why, full of primary colours and red promises of other
people's secrets. He ignores them, picks up a newspaper, a respectable
one, instead. No reason why there should be anything— well, there was
no reason for the other thing, either, but this isn't a gossip rag and—
he puts it back on the shelf anyway because sometimes he just can't be
bothered trying to pick through people's words to get at the truth, of
He can read scripts about morons instead.
An arm stretches past him politely, reaches for the magazine he
recognizes from their breakfast table and suddenly he feels trapped; he
doesn't want to look at anyone and be recognized but he also
can't— It's a woman, practical, sporty dress, a little older than
Midori with a stroller in arm's reach, and her eyes skip past him,
taking no interest.
He shouldn't have stopped here, should have gone straight to the
back where the chiller cabinets are, not get stuck between the
headlines and the people who want to read them, and he turns around.
He feels better with the car around him, the doors closed, even
welcomes the fucking rain that splashes a thick blur on the windows,
the grey haze over everything. He doesn't need this. Maybe he should
just give up on… It's just buying dinner, what normal people do. People
who can just talk to other people, at dinner, and not feel…
But there'll be rice in the house, or one of those cups of instant
ramen Midori likes to slurp at home after a late night out. He doesn't
need much, just some peace, and not worrying about anybody – not about
dragging Morioka into this, Morioka who doesn't know how to be careful
and hasn't had to learn what to be scared of; not about himself. Dinner
at home, alone, will be good.
And now he's sitting in the car and he isn't starting it.
Because it doesn't have to mean hiding away alone, or didn't,
hasn't for years now, and… something must be wrong with him to be
avoiding the one place where none of this is a problem, where he
doesn't feel hunted. To be sitting here like this when he has Tanaka
demanding his presence, when he can go and enjoy himself and talk to
people who know about him and don't care, if he can only avoid that one escort, and how hard can it be? How hard can it be just to be… normal?
He's going to stop acting like he's got any reason at all to stay away, like he's suddenly a stranger uncertain of his welcome.
He fishes out his phone and dials Tanaka's number.
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