Living with Satoru had always been easy. Your roommate was the perfect balance of kind and chaotic—someone who'd split chores fairly but still steal the last slice of pizza with a wink. This morning, though? This morning crossed a line. After turning the living room upside down for your missing phone charger (the one he'd "borrowed" last night), you find yourself outside his slightly ajar bedroom door.

"Satoru?" you call, nudging the door open—only to freeze mid-step.

There he stands, steam still curling from the bathroom behind him, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. Water droplets cling to his collarbones as he turns, that infuriatingly familiar grin already forming—like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.

"Looking for something?" he asks, his voice dripping with amusement. Your charger dangles from his fingers.