Both the rain and my anger die down after I finish eating. While examining the neighborhood through a map app, I find a supermarket located on the other side of a nearby river. Deciding to take a trip there, I throw on a jacket and head down the hallway. As I’m passing the toilet room, its door swings open and a tall, lanky blond man with white skin and blue eyes emerges. I stop at the sight of him.

“Oh, hello! Are you Makoto?” he says enthusiastically with a thick accent and huge grin.

“Yes. Are you Magnus?” I automatically return the smile as I peer up at him.

He’s huge! He must be around 190 centimeters tall.

“Yes!” He holds his hand out.

I shake the hand, a gesture I think I’ve only ever seen in foreign movies.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

“Norway,” he answers in a friendly manner.

“Wow, you speak Japanese so fluently,” I compliment him.

“Thank you. I can use chopsticks too,” he answers with a laugh.

“Wow!” I exclaim, still astonished by my first encounter with a foreigner. I don’t know what to say, but I know I should be careful not to come off as rude.

“Anyway, I have to go to work. See you later,” he says as he exits the hallway.

Magnus’ friendliness is refreshing after my encounter with Shun. Even after we part ways, I’m still grinning. I’m so glad my roommates, besides Shun of course, are cool people.

I head out the door and in the opposite direction from the station, crossing over the river and railroad tracks.

When I arrive at the grocery store, I have no idea what to buy. I grab a basket and aimlessly wander up and down aisles. The large variety of products is kind of overwhelming. I saw all the same stuff at the supermarket back home, but the only things I ever picked out were snacks. What did Mom usually make for dinner? There was always meat or fish and… vegetables! I recall passing by vegetables near the entrance.

I turn the corner and my heart stops at the first thing that comes into vision. Shun. He’s standing at the entrance clad in tight denim jeans, a loose white sweater, and, not surprisingly, his choker. Fortunately, he’s focused on the carrots in front of him and hasn’t noticed me. I quickly change aisles.

Why does he have to be here? I guess it makes sense that he would shop at the same grocery store, but what are the odds that we would be here at the same exact time? I have to get out of here quickly. Running into him now would be super awkward after what happened earlier today.

I quickly skim over everything in the aisle. Curry roux? I could try that. Pasta noodles? Pasta is supposed to be easy, right? Oregano? Do I need that? How can there be so many different types of spices? Is he gone yet?

I peek around the corner at the vegetable section. Shun is nowhere in sight and the coast is clear. I dash past the vegetables as ninja-like as I can and almost run out the door with a basket still hanging from my arm. Turning and stopping at the basket tower, I startle and jump backward when I find Shun standing right behind it with his arms folded over his chest.

“Perfect timing,” he says in his condescending tone. “You owe me some juice.”

I grind my teeth. “How about I pour a carton over your head?”

Now that he already knows I’m here, I give up and grab my basket again. When I try to head back to the vegetables, he blocks my way.

“Excuse me? My full carton of juice ended up all over the floor because of you,” he growls.

“And now my shirt smells like a moldy rag because of you,” I retort.

“It’s a shirt. You can wash it and wear it over and over again. But that juice,” he says, narrowing his eyes and moving his face into my personal space. “I’ll never get it back.”

I jerk my head away from his, exasperated.

“Okay, fine! What kind do you want?”

“I’ll show you,” he says as he tries to guide me in a different direction.

“No. Just tell me which one it is. I’ll buy it and put it in the fridge when I get back.”

Shun moves toward me again. I try to slowly inch away. I don’t know if it’s because he’s gay, but I’m starting to feel a little too uncomfortable. I take off through the store to find the meat section. I should just get everything I need as quickly as possible and book it out of here. Like hell I’m buying that asshole juice.

I toss chicken breast into my basket and turn to move down the aisle, but Shun has somehow teleported in front of me. I jump in place.

“Why are you following me?” I accuse him.

“To make sure you actually buy my juice. It doesn’t look like you plan on it,” he suspects, eyeing my chicken.

“Alright, alright! I’ll buy your damn juice! Let’s go.” I give up.

I head for the beverages section, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. Shun trails behind me.

“Which one do you want?” I ask.

He points to apple juice. I toss a carton into my basket.

“There. Are you happy now?” I glare at him.

He stands there with his arms crossed, eyeing my basket. Why does he still look so dissatisfied? I don’t wait to hear what he might say and leave him in search of rice. Finding the rice section, I barely take any time reading labels before picking one out.

“By the way.”

I cringe at the familiar voice, turning around to find Shun directly behind me.

“What is it now?” I groan, my patience running thin.

“Do you sing? That hair makes you look like you came straight out of an idol group,” he asks with a straight face.

I ignore his pointless question.

“Why are you following me? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I have to make sure you actually buy my juice.” He points his chin in the direction of the cash register.

“What about your own groceries?” I ask.

“I got everything I need.” He holds up bags of carrots and onions I hadn’t noticed him carrying.

Shun follows closely behind me while I hurry through the store to pick out a few more things before heading to the cash register. Once again, he insists I look like an idol. I can practically feel the smoke spewing out of my ears as I acknowledge him just long enough to answer his question. “No, I don’t sing.”

While waiting in line for the register, I grab a bag of barbecue-flavored chips off the shelf next to me. Hopefully, something salty will relieve this stress.

“You’re buying that? Do you know how bad that is for you?” Shun comments, his head practically on my shoulder.

“Shut up,” I hiss.

After paying for my groceries, I dash toward a counter to pack up as quickly as possible, hoping to get out of there before Shun finishes paying. My only obstacle is getting a plastic bag open. I rub my fingers against the opening furiously while an old lady across the counter glances at me with concerned eyes.

“Wait up, Idol Wannabe,” Shun calls as he exits the paying counter.

I book it to the exit before Shun can catch me. I run past the blinking railroad right before its crossing signal can lower all the way. Doing my best to sprint with full grocery bags, I look back to find I’ve finally successfully gotten rid of my stalker.

Once I’m home, I scribble my name on my groceries while putting them away. I pick up the apple juice carton and accidentally write Makoto on it before catching myself. I cross it out and write Shun underneath it before putting it in the fridge.

As I’m returning to my room, my phone rings with an unknown number. When I answer, a woman introduces herself as the manager of Yumeya, the restaurant I had applied to the previous night. She asks me to come in for an interview tonight. I quickly look through my closet for a button-up shirt.

I kill time until the interview by watching MeTube videos. When it’s time to go, I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror on my way out just to confirm that I still have a face no boss would ever turn down.

Surely enough, the interview ends with the manager asking me to go in for training tomorrow. I used to help out around my uncle’s seafood restaurant back home, but this would be my first legitimate job. My first job in Tokyo, too! Nervous excitement makes it difficult to fall asleep.

The next day, I’m up early to get ready for my training shift. So early that I end up having half an hour of spare time before I need to leave the house. I decide to use the time by getting on my computer and checking if KanZi, a professional dancer I’ve been following since I was in junior high school, has updated his blog.

I feel a pang of homesickness when I recall dance practices with Shinjiro. House, jazz, hip-hop—any of our normal routines would help to forget my nerves right now. I’ll just have to settle for KanZi’s inspirational choreo videos for a distraction. As I’m typing into the search bar, something in the corner of my eye catches my attention.

Amongst the front-page updates from trending blogs is a photo I’ve seen before. The wide smile, the parfait, the straight black hair, and choker give me goosebumps. Out of curiosity, I click on it to see what his blog looks like. My screen is filled with pastel colors and posts containing photos of models in eccentric outfits, clothing, makeup, and drawings. There are wordy posts here and there that, at a glance, look like fashion-related rambling, but overall, there isn’t much to be found out about Shun himself other than the fact that he has some girly-ass taste.

Just as I’m about to hit the back button, I notice what looks like a bit of Shun’s face appearing at the bottom of the screen. I scroll down a bit more to display the rest of the photo and, to my horror, there are several photos of Shun naked. He’s holding a pork pie hat over his junk to cover it, but the rest of him is completely au naturel. Appalled, I quickly skip past the photos, only to somehow find myself scrolling back up. I repeat this several times while I make out what looks like a tattoo on one of his inner thighs. It’s partially covered by the hat, but it looks like a dreamcatcher.

At first, I don’t even realize my hand is off the mouse pad. I stare at the photos before finally shaking sense into myself and exiting the browser altogether. I slap my laptop shut and sit looking at the bare wall in an effort to delete the photos from my brain. I am met with little success.

I startle at the sound of my phone vibrating on my desk.

“Hey!” Shinjiro says immediately after I pick up. “What are you doing?”

“I was,” I stammer. “Uh, looking at KanZi’s blog.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were,” he laughs. “How is Tokyo life going?”

“It’s going,” I trail off. My mind is still flashing images of what I just saw. “Shinjiro, I gotta tell you about this one roommate I have.”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t heard anything about your roommates yet. What are they like?”

I stop for a moment to recall each of them.

“Well, one is a skateboarder, one is from Norway. One is gay, too.”

“Nice. I like the diversity. As expected of Tokyo.”

“No! It’s not nice at all!” I complain, remembering what I was about to say. “I’m going crazy!”

“Already? You’ve been there three days,” he laughs.

“My gay roommate is a nightmare! He spent the first two days completely ignoring me and then yesterday he wouldn’t leave me alone!”

“Sounds like a typical couple’s feud to me. Why didn’t you tell me you started seeing someone?”

“No!” I groan as Shinjiro laughs. “He’s an asshole!”

“How so?”

“Well, first of all—”

My phone alarm begins to go off before I can say anymore.

“Ah, sorry, I have to go. I have training for my part-time job,” I say as I jump off of my bed and run to the closet for a coat.

“What! You already got a job too? Damn. What did Tokyo do to the passive Makoto I used to know?” he jokes.

“Sorry, talk to you later.”