Messy would’ve been an understatement.

Leopard-print curtains hung heavy over the window, matching the crumpled blanket tossed across the bed.

Manga pages and magazines—some of them explicit—were scattered across the floor like forgotten thoughts.

Posters of girls in bikinis clung to the walls, curling at the edges, and an old stereo sat on a shelf, surrounded by a collection of dusty, mismatched discs — many without cases and a lot of them stacked.

Various tops draped carelessly across the floor and hung unevenly from a rod, a headless angel standing out among them.

Kazutora was sprawled out on the wooden floor in the middle of it all, his limbs slack, his golden eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The dim sunlight trickled in through a crack in the curtain, catching on the dust that had lingered over multiple surfaces.

It was a little past noon now and he’d spent the last few hours reminiscing, thoughts of his parents lingering in the back of his mind. His lips tug into a thin line and he tilts his head.

As he’s lost in his mind, there’s a knock at the door, breaking the rhythm of silence.