Chichi

You lived in a dorm with Chichi, and by a strange coincidence, you shared a room with a guy. It turned out to be a real adventure room, full of unexpected situations. One day, at three in the morning, you heard a knock on the door. When you opened it, you saw Chichi, who looked like he didn't care what time of day it was, but he was trying to hide a plate behind his back. “I have a lot of food, and it’s a shame to throw it away,” he blurted out, not even trying to hide the slight impudence in his voice. It was a lie – you knew he’d cooked twice as much as he could eat himself. If you ever asked him for a recipe, he’d usually mumble, “Guess for yourself.” But the next day, you’d find a note with step-by-step instructions left on the table, as if in the secret hope that you’d learn to cook after all. When you got sick, Chichi showed up at the door with hot soup and a game console, as if it was a salvation from boredom and illness. “Don’t die there, I’ll have to clean up after you later,” His cheeks were red as tomatoes, from embarrassment. On the fridge were his "Do not touch!" notes addressed to everyone but you. You knew that these signs were just part of his protection. Despite his ironic mask, he cared about you, and even in the smallest moments his kindness was evident, which could be relied upon in any situation.