"I heard," Irie starts, pausing to pull out a chair, "that today was your mother's birthday."
It is evening. Yuuki and his mother are away at a parent-teacher conference. They — Kotoko and Naoki — are alone in the kitchen, and it is quiet outside. Kotoko is quieter, glancing away at the wall, absent-mindedly stirring a spoon in her bowl. They'd had leftover soup for dinner, nothing too fancy.
"It was," she replies, still staring ahead at the wall. "I haven't celebrated it in a long time," Kotoko admits, finally glancing back at Irie.
"I see," he says, sitting across from her. After watching her for a moment or two, he too sighs, stares off in the distance. The lights are dim, so it's hard to make out anything. Irie wonders what exactly Kotoko is looking at.
He doesn't ask.
"Are you done with that?" He points to her bowl. "I'll wash it."
Kotoko glances down at the empty bowl, as if she's just noticed it. "Oh, yes. You can just put it in the sink. I'll wash it later."
"No," Irie says, taking the bowl from her, as well as the spoon. "That's alright. I'll do it."
A frown forms on her face slowly, but it is there. "You're only being nice because you feel bad for me, isn't that right?"
"No," Irie replies, slightly confused as he walks to the sink. "I'm behaving normally."
"I don't need your kindness," Kotoko continues, ignoring his words. Irie turns on the sink, has to listen closely to her words. The water pressure is entirely too high here, entirely too loud. "You don't have to feel bad for me," she adds.
"I'm aware," he replies, offhandedly, focusing instead on scrubbing the bowl clean. "You've told me already."
"So listen to me. I don't need your pity, or your help."
"And why's that, exactly?" Irie looks up at her, feels the hot water streaming steadily on his hand. "If I recall correctly, you've never told me why."
Kotoko is quiet. "I don't need to have a reason," she finally says, standing from the chair. "I just want you to leave me alone."
"I apologize if you didn't want me to go through your things," Irie says, referring to last week, when he pried through her belongings, read her love letter publicly. The memory of her…heartfelt confession has left a lasting impression on him. "I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want."
"You don't need to apologize to me," Kotoko says, but even from the distance, even with the dim lights, he can see her lower lip trembling. "Save it for another time."
"…Another time?"
"You'll hurt my feelings again, won't you?"
"I can't control that — "
"Yes you can! You can control your behavior, you can control what you say, you can control all of that," Kotoko says, and although her voice is slightly strained, it is loud.
The hot water is burning his hand.
He makes no move to shut the sink off.
"You might think that I'm stupid, but you can't fool me! I know that you're messing with me, and it's hurtful. I'm already hurt," Kotoko continues, turning slightly away from him. "I just want you to leave me alone."
"You're not making any sense," Irie replies, finally turning the sink off. "Calm down."
"I won't," Kotoko glares at him. "I'm tired of you."
"So am I," Irie replies, placing her bowl on the drying rack. "Even when I try to be nice to you, you refuse it. There's no point."
"You just admitted it," Kotoko says, her voice quiet. "I knew it."
He squints at her. "Admitted what?"
"I knew it."
"…I don't pity you, if that's what you're implying — "
"I'd rather you just tell me the truth. You should just say that you don't like me — just tell me that you hate me, instead of…doing all of this all the time!" Kotoko waves a limp hand in his direction, an almost pathetic gesture. She sniffs. "I'm tired of it."
Irie is quiet. The bottom of his shirt is slightly wet from the sink's surface, and he steps away from the dishes, leaving only his hand on the sink as he leans against it. "I can't say that," he finally says, peering down at the kitchen tiles.
"You don't have to say all of it," Kotoko tells him, her voice impossibly quiet. "You can just, say that I'm not your type or something. Reject me nicely this time."
"You should head to bed," Irie tells her, straightening. His back aches, all of a sudden. "My mother will be back soon."
"You don't need to spare my feelings this time," Kotoko says, still clinging to the remains of the conversation. "Just be honest with me, for once."
"I see exactly what you're getting at," Irie says, turning away. "I want no part of it."
"Just say it," Kotoko presses, following him out of the kitchen. "You can just tell me right now, and I'll really leave you alone."
"You can't move out at the drop of a hat." He's frowning at her logic, shaking his head as he turns off the light in the kitchen. "Can you make it to the stairs like this? Or should I leave the light on?"
"…I can make it," Kotoko replies, her voice small.
Irie sighs, unconvinced. "Just hold onto my hand," he tells her, "so you won't get hurt. I've no time to deal with preventable injuries."
"I don't want to hold your hand," Kotoko replies. "There's no point if you don't like me back."
"This is exactly what I'm talking about," he says, shutting his eyes, though it makes no difference; it is already pitch black. "You can't accept a grain of kindness from me."
"Because you don't mean it," Kotoko mumbles. "It's…fake when you're nice to me, I've seen it lots of times, you're only being nice to me because other people tell you to."
"Are you even listening to yourself? Who's with us right now? I'm doing this of my own accord, not because I'm forced to. Is it that hard to believe me?"
"…My mother's ghost is with us right now."
Irie is quiet.
"Go upstairs by yourself," he tells her. "I don't care whether or not you get hurt."
"Well, I don't either," Kotoko retorts.
"You don't care if you're in pain? You're pretty vocal about your grievances, so I'd find that hard to believe."
"I meant that I didn't care about you."
"Word it better next time," Irie says, finally taking a step onto the stairs. "The execution was terrible."
"I should learn from you," Kotoko says, and he can hear a small smile in her tone.
Irie sighs. Her mood changes quite rapidly, he's learned.
"Go to bed, Kotoko."