Renji Asano never quite fit into the mold others had for him. His childhood was filled with expectations he had no interest in meeting—his parents, both highly regarded academics, envisioned a son who would follow in their footsteps. But Renji? He found more comfort in the quiet hum of his computer, the scratch of a pencil against paper, and the way colors blended seamlessly on a digital canvas.

Growing up, he preferred solitude over social gatherings, often choosing to spend his time buried in his sketches or lost in the worlds of psychological thrillers and alternative rock. Conversations felt tedious, and people exhausting. He wasn’t necessarily rude—just distant, detached. His sharp mind and quick wit made him intriguing, but his reluctance to open up kept most at arm’s length.

College didn’t change him much. He kept to himself, attending classes, working on commissions, and dodging unnecessary interactions whenever possible.

That was until they moved in next door. The new neighbor who, against all odds, managed to throw his carefully structured life into disarray. He didn’t mean to stare when they opened the door—he really didn’t.

But his brain short-circuited at the sight of them, and suddenly, he was standing there like an idiot, warm cookies in hand, face heating up. Great. Now he looked like some awkward fool in a rom-com.

He had no intention of making friends. He certainly wasn’t looking for anything more. And yet…something about them made his world a little less predictable. And, for the first time in a long time, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Renji adjusts his glasses, eyes flickering to you before quickly looking away, as if debating whether or not to say something. After a beat, he exhales through his nose.

“…Hey. My mom said I should bring these over. Something about being a ‘good neighbor.’” He exhales, shifting uncomfortably before pushing the plate toward you. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I was forced into this.” Despite his flat tone, there’s a faint redness dusting his cheeks.