Starting a new chapter in his life as a student in Tokyo, Haru never expected his world to be turned upside down. Across the street, he encounters Fujiwara, an aloof and enigmatic young man with a mysterious past. As Haru grapples with unfamiliar em...
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Nishii-san was late again tonight. She sent a text, apologizing for missing dinner. Haru knows she's a curry fan, so he had prepared a big pot of chicken curry. But it was getting a bit cold. Chicken curry, in his opinion, is best enjoyed when freshly prepared and he didn't want to put it in the fridge for a reheat later.
So he grabbed a large bowl and poured half of the curry into it. He was just wearing t-shirt and jogger pants, but that shouldn't be a problem. He'd just deliver this food and head back home.
The house across the street always seemed quiet from the outside, as if it were empty. Its residents were not the fussy type. Despite being larger than Nishii-san's house, the house was divided into three: the second floor transformed into two smaller apartments rented out to two people, and Suzuki-san, the owner, lived on the ground floor. She had her own entrance. Haru had met her a couple of times and she even let him borrow her bike to go shopping.
Haru knocked on the door but got no answer. He regretted not checking the window earlier—perhaps nobody was home. But before he returned, someone slide off the door's latch.
"Oh. Nakano-san."
Fujiwara greeted him, also dressed in casual clothes: an oversized long-sleeved sweater (or maybe he was too thin?), and khakis so shabby they looked almost grey.
"Pardon my intrusion." Haru showed him the curry pot. "I bought you some curry."
Fujiwara sighed. "Nishii-san always spoils me."
"This is my cooking."
"Really?" Fujiwara's face turned red. "Sorry. I forgot that you too are good at cooking! Waist isn't sprained again, is it?"
"I'm fine this time."
He reached out for the curry. "It smells... exquisite."
"It's hot. Maybe I should put it straight on your table."
Fujiwara nodded and let him in. He led Haru to the stairs at the small turn after the vestibule. Haru had never been inside Fujiwara's apartment. So far, when he stopped by, he only stood on the veranda.
The apartment upstairs resembled a one-room studio. It had a bathroom, kitchen, and a storage. The furniture was modest but neatly arranged, creating an illusion of spaciousness. Under the window directly facing his own, there was a writing desk. Haru saw no bed, so he assumed Fujiwara slept on the futon.
"Just put it on the table, please," Fujiwara pointed at the low round dining table in front of the TV. "Had dinner already? I haven't. Wanna join?"
"I'm waiting for Nishii-san, but it looks like she's running late again tonight. Please, don't let me bother you."
