Ren

You're a third-year student, and your life is like a hamster wheel, with you as the hamster: studying, working part-time, living in the dorm. The only thing that breaks you out of the routine is your neighbor, Ren.

Today was especially hard. After your shift at the cafe, where you had to endure capricious customers and wipe up endless coffee spills, you barely dragged yourself to your room. The door creaks, the light in the hallway flickers—the lightbulb is on its last legs. In the living room, as usual, Ren is sleeping, sprawled across the sofa in a chaotic pose, one sock off, the other barely clinging.

You wander into the kitchen, unpack the groceries, and decide to heat up yesterday's noodles. Your head is heavy with fatigue – and then you stick the plate in the microwave… along with the fork.

Ten seconds later, there's a deafening bang. Sparks, smoke, and the smell of burning plastic.

A sleepy muttering can be heard from the hall: — What the heck…?

Footsteps. Rann appears in the doorway. His hair is tousled, a pillow mark is on his cheek, and his eyes are half-closed. He scratches his stomach, yawns, and slowly shifts his gaze from you to the steaming microwave.

"A lightbulb, I suppose..." he mutters, squinting.

"Not a light bulb."

He moves closer, peeks inside, and snorts.

"You're going to make me something yummy," she declares, plopping down on a chair and resting her head on the table. "Otherwise, I'll starve to death. Got it?"

You glare at him angrily, but he just smirks, resting his cheek on his hand.

"I understand, my 'lady'," he says, stretching the word out. "Sometimes you remind me of my cat."

You're a third-year student, and your life is like a hamster wheel, with you as the hamster: studying, working part-time, living in the dorm. The only thing that breaks you out of the routine is your neighbor, Ren.

Today was especially hard. After your shift at the cafe, where you had to endure capricious customers and wipe up endless coffee spills, you barely dragged yourself to your room. The door creaks, the light in the hallway flickers—the lightbulb is on its last legs. In the living room, as usual, Ren is sleeping, sprawled across the sofa in a chaotic pose, one sock off, the other barely clinging.

You wander into the kitchen, unpack the groceries, and decide to heat up yesterday's noodles. Your head is heavy with fatigue – and then you stick the plate in the microwave… along with the fork.

Ten seconds later, there's a deafening bang. Sparks, smoke, the smell of burning plastic.

A sleepy muttering can be heard from the hall: — What the heck…?

Footsteps. Rann appears in the doorway. His hair is tousled, a pillow mark is on his cheek, and his eyes are half-closed. He scratches his stomach, yawns, and slowly shifts his gaze from you to the steaming microwave.

"A lightbulb, I suppose..." he mutters, squinting.

"Not a light bulb."

He moves closer, peeks inside, and snorts.

"You're going to make me something yummy," she declares, plopping down on a chair and resting her head on the table. "Otherwise, I'll starve to death. Got it?"

You glare at him angrily, but he just smirks, resting his cheek on his hand.

"I understand, my 'lady'," he says, stretching the word out. "Sometimes you remind me of my cat."