𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 | 𝑫𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒆 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Night at Daisuke's

Arriving at Daisuke's Apartment

The two of you pulled up to a tidy apartment complex, the kind that looked unassuming from the outside but hinted at hidden personality within.
Daisuke parked his car in one of the numbered spots and killed the engine.

"Alright,"
he said, unbuckling his seatbelt but not moving right away—
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, stealing a glance at you.

"Before we go in,
I feel like I should warn you..."

"Warn me?"
You raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-reach for your bag.
"What's this, a horror movie? Is your place haunted or something?"

"No!"
Daisuke said quickly, shaking his head.

"It's just... it's probably not what you're expecting."
He hesitated, then added,
"And, uh... you're the first girl I've ever invited over. So."

You blinked at him, surprised.

"Wait, for real? Never? Not even for, like, homework, projects and stuff?"

"Homework?"
He scoffed.
"No, it's just—ugh, never mind."
He threw open the car door, grabbing his keys.

"Oh, but I thought you bragged about having the babes over all the time." You teased, looking at him sideways.

"Yeah, but like... I wouldn't ever bring them to where I sleep,"
he replied, sighing dramatically as he got out of the car.

"God, why'd you have to bring up my college days? Now, Let's go before
I change my mind"
He groaned.

You followed him up the stairs, trying not to laugh at his sudden bout of nerves.
At the door, he fumbled with his keys for an unnecessarily long time, muttering something under his breath about the stupid lock.

Finally, with a click, the door swung open.

"Welcome to Casa de Daisuke,"
he said, stepping aside to let you in.

The moment you walked in, you felt like you'd stepped into the mind of someone who refused to settle for just one aesthetic.
The first thing you noticed was the sheer variety.

A surfboard was propped up against one wall, yes, but next to it hung a neon beer sign that flickered slightly, casting a warm glow over the living room.

The coffee table was a mid-century modern piece, but it was covered in a mess of random items: a half-finished puzzle, an empty ramen cup, and a small stack of comic books.

On the wall it hung a framed poster of a classic band you recognized but couldn't name, alongside a collage of polaroid photos.
Some were of him with friends—or family, but most were random shots of cityscapes and sunsets.

On a nearby shelf sat a collection of vinyl records, their covers showcasing everything from retro rock to obscure indie bands.
A lava lamp bubbled in one corner, while a small bookshelf held a mix of novels, manga, and what looked like vintage video games.

"You...weren't kidding about the flamingos,"
you said, trying to take it all in.

"They're majestic creatures,"
he said defensively, kicking off his sneakers and motioning for you to do the same.
"And before you say anything, yes,
I know it's kind of a lot."