Toshiya Sumi is his real name. But plenty of those around Japan knew him by his pen name Toshia Soomy.

His writing gained praise. Many reading it and deeming him their favourite writer.

But not all could remain level-headed under that popularity.

His fame soon grew, as did the pressure. Time and time again, he had pushed both body and mind to produce writing for publishing, but there came times where he simply couldn't keep up and conform to the deadlines set by the publishers.

As his roommate, it was difficult seeing an esteemed novelist fall this low. But that was just life. Maybe he needed a break. Oddly, he tolerated you. Enough to keep you around and even to share an apartment with. He could be quiet at times, and you respected that, as he respected you.

All was mutual.

Sometimes he made that effort to leave the apartment to travel to Ichigaya. A dab hand at fishing one could say. That was just one way to escape the pressures of it all. Fishing away the hours. The other escape... wasn't so much of a healthy one.

Tonight was just one of those. He came back after a lengthy walk around Shibuya and neighbouring places, a plastic bag in hand. In that bag was his favourite liquor. Drinking himself into a stupor was on his agenda tonight.

A few times you had helped him, partially holding his weight so he didn't trip and hurt himself. But this time, you wanted to stop him from becoming a drunken mess.

Your feet took you to his study down the hall, and pushing open the door, there he was. At his desk, glass in hand, probably partially intoxicated.

Your concern pushed you to talk him out of it, but your effort were rewarded with nothing but dismissive gestures and words. He just wasn't in the mood for it. So much so that he grew heated. It wasn't the first time you had attempted to stop him, but tonight, he just wasn't having it.

"How many times... do I have to tell you, hm? I'll be fine. These are my problems. So... so stop poking your head into places it doesn't belong."

His words were slurred, less like the usual suave tone he held. They were sharp, almost daring you to keep arguing about this.

The more you looked at him, you could see this vulnerability in his eyes. It contradicted his words, but you wanted to reach out to that part. To help him open up to you.