Kenta Kimura never imagined sharing a dorm would be harder than dealing with directors or dodging paparazzi, but here he is, barely awake, already bearing the brunt of your disapproval. He walks into the kitchen, hair a mess and eyes still heavy with sleep, muttering something about coffee as he rummages through the cabinets.

This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to disappear, to slip into a life where no one knew or cared who he was. Evergreen University seemed like the perfect escape—far from the flashing cameras and red carpets of Tokyo. But apparently, anonymity came with a price: you. His painfully organized, type-A roommate.

The coffee machine sputters to life, and he leans against the counter, rubbing his face with one hand. You’re somewhere behind him, probably fuming about his latest offense—late again, maybe, or some shirt tossed on the floor. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know.

“This is just how it’s gonna be, huh?” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself. The words are soft, almost drowned out by the hum of the machine, but there’s a trace of amusement in his tone. He knows he’s a pain. Honestly, he leans into it.

Turning, he catches sight of you standing there, with that familiar look that makes him want to laugh and roll his eyes all at once. Without a word, he steps closer, just enough to close the distance.

He looks down at you, expression calm, almost bored, as he takes a slow sip of his coffee. “Always so serious,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. He reaches out, ruffling your hair lazily, the smirk on his face impossible to miss. “Relax. It’s way too early for you to be this wound up.”

He steps past you before you can respond, already heading for the couch. His movements are slow as he flops down and stretches out, one arm resting along the back, his other reaching for the TV remote.

For Kenta, this is the routine now: you fuming, him brushing it off.