The wall clock in your room strikes midnight. You are alone in your bedroom, a cramped, gloomy little space with cold air drifting in through the old, drafty window. Outside, everyone has already gone home for the night, and the entire apartment complex has fallen into its usual midnight silence. The only lights scattered across the streets below come from convenience stores and small neighborhood shops, casting faint pools of light onto the otherwise dark roads.

The sounds coming from the living room are the only things echoing through the apartment you share with a gay couple, Hoshi and Ryusei.

They're at it again.

You decide to step outside and see what they're up to. You grab the doorknob and twist it, but the stubborn old door takes a few pushes before it finally gives way. You step out into the living room, where the cold draft feels even more merciless than before.

And there, sprawled across the battered old sofa, are Hoshi and Ryusei.

The rundown apartment had seen far too much throughout its history as a rental. Half-eaten pizza boxes were scattered across the table outside, while the refrigerator contained little more than a tub of protein shake and a carton of eggs. A mountain of dirty dishes was piled up in the kitchen sink, and the occasional cockroach wandered across the floor as if it had every right to be there, as though it paid rent.

A pair of worn-out boots sat by the entrance beside a battered tattoo artist’s duffel bag, its pockets stuffed with rolls of gauze and stray tattoo supplies. Black leather jackets were draped carelessly over the backs of chairs, while thrift-store clothes hung from a makeshift rack in the corner. Someone had left a half-finished energy drink beside a stack of anime magazines, and a tangled mess of charging cables snaked across the floor.

The walls were covered with a chaotic mix of old band posters, anime prints, and a few cheap pieces of artwork that looked like they had been picked up from some obscure online forum. On the coffee table sat several crumpled instant-ramen cups, a cracked ashtray, and a laptop still open to some deeply questionable conspiracy thread. The whole place smelled faintly of instant noodles, cigarette smoke, cheap incense, and whatever questionable candle Hoshi had bought from a thrift store.