Chapter 30: Volume 1, - 30: Detergent and an Old Friend
Sunday, 5 March 2023
The laundromat three blocks from Ren’s apartment smelled perpetually of hot metal, synthetic lavender, and damp lint.
Three front-loading washers hummed in erratic harmony along the left wall, their glass portals sloshing with grey, soapy water. Ren sat on a low orange plastic chair near the doorway, his jacket pulled tight against the chill leaking through the propped-open glass door. He had slept barely five hours after his QuickMart shift ended at four in the morning, waking with stiff joints and a dull ache behind his eyes that made his eyelids feel heavy.
His laundry basket. A cracked plastic tub he had owned for years sat beside his boots, loaded with work shirts, dark trousers, and worn bedsheets. Every few minutes, he found himself nodding off, his head dipping forward before he jerked himself awake to the dull roar of the dryers.
Through the dryer’s glass viewport, his white shirts tumbled in heavy, warm loops. Ren watched them spin. The machine gave off a dry, radiator-like heat that warmed his ankles, but a distinct, hollow boredom hung in the room. Time stretched thin, measured only by the rhythmic clack-clack of a plastic button tumbling against the metal drum. When the timer finally chimed with a harsh buzz, Ren folded each piece methodically on the laminate table before stepping back out into the cold March afternoon.
He dropped his laundry at his apartment, grabbed his canvas bag, and walked two blocks south to the local supermarket.
The store was crowded with neighbourhood residents gathering supplies for Sunday dinners. Ren picked up a basket near the entrance, his mental budget already calculated to the yen. In the rice aisle, he bypassed the branded sacks on the main display, reaching instead for a plain white bag of domestic blended grain on the bottom shelf. It was eight hundred yen cheaper, even if the broken grains required slightly less water when cooked.
Even though he had money now, he didn’t want to get too comfortable, at least until he knew with certainty that it wasn’t a short term thing.
At the fresh display, he waited a few paces back while a clerk in a white apron affixed a thirty-percent-off tag to a tray of thinly sliced pork shoulder expiring that evening. As soon as the clerk moved away, Ren stepped forward, checked the weight, and added the tray to his basket alongside a single head of cabbage, a block of firm tofu, and a bottle of soy sauce after checking the unit price. He paid in exact cash at the self-checkout and packed his bag with deliberate care, heavy items at the bottom.
His last stop was an auto supply store four blocks away. With the Crown’s paperwork still being processed, he was looking for a compact tyre-pressure gauge to keep in the glove compartment once he finally collected it. Something simple to verify cold inflation.
The shop was a modest outlet crammed with shelves of motor oil, fan belts, and replacement parts. As Ren moved down the central aisle toward the display rack, he noticed a man standing at the far end of the long wooden counter.
It was Daichi.
Daichi wore a dark grey work jacket with grease smudges along the cuffs, a cast-iron brake caliper housing resting on a shop towel between his elbows.
Ren froze for half a second, his hand resting near the shelf edge. Daichi turned his head at the sound of footsteps, his expression shifting from casual focus to sharp surprise in an instant. An uncomfortable, heavy silence settled over the counter while the store’s overhead radio hummed quietly in the background.
The clerk looked between them, sensing the sudden tension, before clearing his throat.
"Can I help you find something?" the clerk asked Ren.
"Just a manual pressure gauge," Ren said, his voice level despite a sudden dryness in his throat. "A dial type."
"Aisle two, middle rack," the clerk said, turning back to his ledger.
Ren walked over, pulled a gauge from the pegboard, and brought it back to the counter.
Daichi stood two paces down, eyeing the package in Ren’s hand. "Get the angled one," Daichi said quietly. His tone wasn’t hostile, but it lacked its old warmth. It was flat and careful.
Ren looked from the package to Daichi. "Why?"
"Easier to seat properly on the valve without losing air while you’re trying to read it," Daichi noted, his eyes fixed on the display racks rather than Ren’s face.
Ren stepped back to the rack, pulled the angled gauge, and brought it back to the counter, turning it over in his hands.
Without thinking, Daichi reached across.
His hand moved before either of them seemed to think about it, an old habit breaking through the distance between them. He took the gauge from Ren’s fingers and positioned Ren’s hands around the casing.
"Hold it like this," Daichi said, his voice dropping naturally into the fluid rhythm of a mechanic explaining a tool. "Press the chuck straight onto the valve. If you hear it hissing, you haven’t seated it—"
Daichi stopped mid-sentence.
His hand was still inches from Ren’s. His eyes locked onto Ren’s fingers, then flicked up to his face.
The sudden realisation hit him like a physical blow. The easy, habitual air vanished instantly. Daichi’s jaw tightened, his fingers going rigid before he pulled his hand back, sliding it deep into the pocket of his work jacket.
"The angled one will work better," Daichi said quietly, his voice regaining its stiff, distant edge.
Ren looked at the gauge on the counter, then at Daichi. "Thanks," Ren said softly.
Daichi gave a single, brief nod. He picked up his iron caliper housing, tucked it under his arm, and placed a few coins on the register tray to settle his own bill.
"Take care of the Crown, Ren," Daichi said quietly, not looking back as he turned toward the glass exit doors.
"You too, Daichi," Ren replied.
The bell above the door chimed as Daichi stepped out into the Sunday afternoon traffic. Ren stood at the counter for a long moment, listening to the quiet hum of the street outside before paying for his gauge.
He walked back out into the cold air, carrying his canvas bag along the quiet pavement.
When he reached his apartment, he unpacked his groceries, rinsed the cheap rice in a bowl, and began slicing the cabbage and pork for dinner. The pork hissed loudly as it touched the hot pan, filling the tiny kitchen with steam. Ren added the cabbage a little at a time, letting it soften before pouring in a small splash of soy sauce.
He ate at the narrow table with the television off, too tired to bother finding anything to watch. The discounted pork was better than he had expected, though he caught himself chewing more slowly whenever his mind returned to Daichi’s hand reaching automatically for the gauge. Years ago, neither of them would have noticed a gesture that ordinary.
Even after the dishes were rinsed and left beside the sink, the encounter lingered in his chest. Not as anger, but as a quiet, heavy space where years of history still sat, entirely unchanged. He didn’t try to make sense of it or convince himself that things were improving.
He simply finished his chores, set his alarm for the morning, and went to bed early.