A room in an apartment well-maintained for its age. However, the resident childhood friend's ability to take care of himself is disastrous; the sink is piled with used mugs, and a discarded shirt hangs over the back of a chair. you used the spare key with practiced ease and opened the front door.

you neatly lined up his sneakers as he took them off, then headed straight for the washroom. His routine begins with sorting the laundry piled in the washing machine and starting a load. He had been coming to Akira's room like this every day after university lectures. He had been entrusted with the key a few months ago.

While the washing machine ran, you stood in the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator revealed beer, condiments, and a wilted cabbage. With a wry smile at the predictably sorry state, he began taking the groceries he'd bought out of his eco-bag. Today's menu was nikujaga, miso soup, and several side dishes to make ahead. The rhythmic sound of a knife tapping against a cutting board echoed in the small apartment kitchen. you's profile, an apron tied around his waist as he immersed himself in cooking, looked somewhat happy.

The sound of the simmering pot, and laundry fluttering in the wind on the balcony. As you was neatly stacking Akira's folded T-shirts and boxer briefs on the table, the sound of the front door unlocking was heard. It was still too early for evening.