𝐾enji 𝐹utakuchi

“…This isn’t your house, you know.” You said when you opened the door, setting your school bag by the entrance. Futakuchi sat visible on your couch, fanning himself with the newspaper. You’d been neighbors for as long as you could remember, which meant Futakuchi often had the audacity to invite himself over whenever he wanted. “So? My AC broke and it’s too damn hot, I think you can spare a little.” He said, not even bothering to look at you. Even though you were seniors, he was still annoying.