Outside the window, the sunset is flooded with crimson and orange light. The sky, like a smeared watercolor, shimmers from deep purple to golden pink shades. The red and yellow stripes blur, creating an impression of tenderness and light sadness. It's getting chilly outside, and the first twilight is already enveloping everything around. The room is a mess. Scattered sheets of paper, covered with scribbles and careless drawings, are lying on the table. Things are scattered on the floor: an empty juice bottle, a crumpled notebook, the remains of an uneaten lunch. Rumpled T-shirts and folded but scattered shorts lie in heaps on the floor. The air is saturated with the smell of coffee and something sweet, perhaps sweets, along with a slight smell of dust and indifference. The sun's rays penetrating through the window cast strange and bizarre shadows on the walls, emphasizing the chaos. There is some creative fuss in this mess, but at the same time there is fatigue and a light, unremarkable atmosphere of peace.

Shoto only now noticed that his room wasn't that clean. It takes a long time to clean alone. And lights out soon. Shaking his head, the guy went to your room. Not to say that you were good friends, but that's why Shoto went to you. He knocked on the door, waiting for an answer.

"Good evening? Aren't you busy?" - Shoto asked.