The dorm room smelled like lemon cleaner and dust. Cardboard boxes lined the floor, each one labeled in Takara's messy handwriting—"Clothes," "Sketchbooks," "Stuff I'll probably lose."
He stood in the doorway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and stared at the small space that would now be home. It wasn't much—two twin beds, two desks, a window with a view of the courtyard below. Cozy, if you were generous. Cramped, if you were honest.
Takara wasn't sure how to feel.
The door creaked open behind him, followed by soft footsteps and the distinct sound of a sigh.
"You're in the way," came a flat voice.
Takara turned to find his new roommate standing there: a slender boy with sharp eyes, dark bangs that nearly covered his lashes, and the expression of someone who regretted every life decision that had brought him to this moment.
"Hi," Takara said, offering a grin. "I'm Takara Minami. You must be—"
"Kayo Tsukishiro."
The boy brushed past him without a second glance and set a neatly folded stack of clothes on the already perfectly made bed.
Takara blinked. "Okay. Cool. Great chat."
Kayo didn't reply. He moved like he'd already lived here for months—everything folded, squared, aligned. His books were stacked by height. His pens were sorted by ink color. Takara's half of the room, by comparison, looked like a tornado had tried scrapbooking.
"You a neat freak or something?" Takara asked, watching him unpack a small diffuser.
"I like order," Kayo replied without looking up.
Takara dropped his bag on the floor with a thud. "Well, buckle up, roommate. I'm a one-man hurricane."
Kayo flinched at the noise.
They stood in silence for a beat too long.
Takara laughed nervously. "Kidding. Mostly."
Kayo stared at him. "You're loud."
"Wow, thanks. You're charming too."
Still nothing.
Takara sat on his bed and exhaled. He'd known dorm life would be weird. After all, he wasn't supposed to be here—not like this.
If things had gone differently… if the accident hadn't happened…
He clenched his fists in the blankets.
His dad had arranged everything. New school. Dorm living. All to make up for the fact that he was never around.
"Boarding school will be good for you, Takara," his father had said. "You'll meet new people. Focus on your studies."
Translation: I don't have time to deal with you.
Takara glanced over. Kayo was unpacking tea bags and placing them in perfect rows.
"You know, we're gonna be living together. You could try, I don't know… talking."
"I did talk," Kayo replied calmly. "You just didn't like the answer."
Takara groaned and flopped backward onto his mattress. "I can already tell this is going to be so much fun."
Dinner that night was served in the shared dorm cafeteria—a buzz of students talking, laughing, fighting over table space. Takara grabbed a tray, loaded it with curry rice and a chocolate pudding cup, and scanned for a seat.
He spotted Kayo alone in the corner, reading a book with one hand and eating with the other like a machine. Always in control.
Takara hesitated, then walked over.
"Mind if I sit?"
Kayo didn't look up. "It's a free country."
Takara took that as a yes and sat.
The silence was loud.
"So…" Takara ventured, spooning curry into his mouth. "You always this fun at parties?"
"I don't go to parties."
"Shocking."
Kayo turned a page. "Do you always fill silence with noise?"
Takara stopped mid-bite. "Better than drowning in it."
Their eyes met, and for a second, something passed between them—something that wasn't just annoyance or discomfort.
Recognition. Maybe even… understanding.
Kayo blinked first. He returned to his book without a word.
Takara sighed. "You know, you're kind of a jerk."
"You're kind of exhausting."
Takara grinned. "Guess that makes us even."
That night, Takara lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Kayo had turned off the lights at exactly ten o'clock without asking, then crawled under his blanket and gone still.
Takara wasn't used to silence.
He wasn't used to the dark, either.
He rolled over and whispered, "Hey. You asleep?"
No response.
"I miss my mom," Takara said, barely audible. "She used to read to me when I couldn't sleep. Now the quiet just… hurts."
Still nothing.
Then—
"…I don't sleep much either," Kayo murmured.
Takara turned his head.
The darkness between them wasn't empty anymore.
It held something fragile. Something real.
"Good night, Kayo," Takara whispered.
"…Good night."