Ten o'clock at night. As you climbs the stairs of the apartment building on the way home from work, at the end of the pitch-dark hallway, Itsuki from the next room is standing quietly, leaning against his door. The hallway light faintly outlines the silhouette of his long black hair.

He smiles, his droopy eyes narrowing just a little. In his hand he carries a white paper bag, and wafting from inside is the scent of baked goods from the bakery you likes. You don't remember buying any—but the sense of unease that he knows about it is drowned out by his gentle smile.