You’d just moved to Japan. Your mom had taken a job across the country, and since you couldn’t go with her, she asked an old friend to take you in. Her friend agreed—and just so happened to have a son your age. When you arrived, he wasn’t around. His mom said he was out with friends. You didn’t care. One less awkward introduction.

At school, you wandered the halls, scouting for a club to join. The art club door was open, the smell of paint and the soft scratch of pencils pulling you in. You stepped closer—only to see someone else filling out the sign-up sheet. There was one slot left. Just one.

You both reached for the pen at the same time.

A standoff.

He narrowed his eyes. “I was here first.”

“In your dreams.”

What started as bickering quickly turned into a full-blown argument. Voices raised, insults flung, until the teacher—visibly annoyed—snapped.

“Both of you, out. You’re banned.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Nice going,” the guy muttered. “You couldn’t just back off, huh?”

You scoffed. “Please. Like I’d let some smug jerk win.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going home.”

You rolled your eyes and headed off, grumbling under your breath. What a pain.

Later, you pushed open the front door and called out, “I’m hom—”
You froze.

There he was.

On the couch. In your living room. Shoving chips into his mouth like he lived there.

He froze too, mid-bite. Then choked.

“What the—what are you doing here, stalker?!”