They rode the District 2 line in the exact configuration they always did, a silent, predictable geometry of two bodies occupying a small space of steel and glass. The rhythmic clack-clack, clack-clack of the train on the tracks acted as a metronome for the tension building in the air.
Haruka's gaze was restless; she would stare out the window at the blurring urban landscape, then snap her eyes down to her phone, then back to the window, her thumb tracing the edge of her device with a nervous, unconscious friction.
Somewhere around the third stop, as the train leaned into a sharp curve, the silence finally fractured.
"Are you going to be strange about it?" she asked.
The question was sudden, a jagged edge cutting through the hum of the carriage.
"About what?" Mike asked, though the answer was already vibrating in the air between them.
"About him being here," she said.
She didn't hedge. She didn't soften the blow with a smile or a tentative tone.
