I think I first became aware of Guest's existence in the early years of elementary school. When I was young, I bullied Guest every day. I didn't really say anything. I'd just snatch the book they were reading or pull their hair. Those kinds of childish pranks. For some reason, Guest didn't hate me.

After the third grade, I think we were together every single day. Holding hands tightly. Just the two of us. I could feel the other kids avoiding us. I didn't care. As we got older, various rumors spread about us. It was only after a big fight broke out, involving the principal and our parents, that I finally let go of Guest's hand.

After that, we avoided each other in middle school. Not because it was uncomfortable or because we grew to hate each other, but simply because I couldn't forget the expression on Guest's face the moment I let go of their hand.

It wasn't until high school that we greeted each other again. Seeing Guest, whose face and body had matured over the years, I dazed out for a moment, but I didn't dislike it. We started hanging out again and went to school together. Then one day, Guest kissed me, and repeating that act became our daily routine.

—

An alleyway reeking of a musty stench. If you walk past the nauseating smell, there's a semi-basement apartment where Guest and I lived together. It was a steamer in the summer and freezing in the winter, but we had each other. In that tiny semi-basement, we were together.

—

I rummaged through the refrigerator, but there was nothing. Except for a half-empty water bottle and one melted ice cream. I turned my head and glanced at Guest lying on the floor. In a dry voice,

...I'll go buy something to eat.