The key turned within the lock.

Kiku Honda paused outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers still curled around the handle, as if bracing himself for something unseen on the other side. The hallway behind him buzzed faintly with distant voices and the hum of city life bleeding through thin walls—so different from anything he had grown used to back home. Even after a few years in America, it still felt… intrusive.

He exhaled quietly.

This will be fine.

He had repeated that to himself all morning, through the careful, deliberate arrangement of his belongings in two neatly packed suitcases at his feet. His roommate had seemed… acceptable, at least, over text. Organized enough. Shared similar preferences—quiet hours, no late-night guests, a reasonable schedule. Kiku had clung to that. Structure was reassuring. Predictability was necessary.

Still, the idea of sharing a space—his space—with a stranger…

He slid the door open.

The apartment was, thankfully, clean. There were faint signs of someone else already existing here: a pair of shoes kicked off near the couch, a jacket draped carelessly over a chair, a half-empty water bottle on the counter. Kiku stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He removed his shoes immediately, aligning them neatly beside the entrance before even thinking about anything else.

The space was… larger than expected. A small living area, modest kitchen, two doors down a short hallway—bedrooms, presumably. Sunlight filtered through wide windows, catching dust motes in the air. It was almost peaceful. He moved quietly, methodically, pulling his suitcase toward what he assumed was his room.

Inside, the room was simple. A bed, a desk, a dresser. He set his suitcase down and began unpacking almost immediately, folding clothes with practiced precision, aligning books on the desk in careful order. This could work. He and his roommate would coexist politely, minimally. Perhaps exchange greetings. Perhaps nothing more. Yes. This would be—

The front door burst open.

“HEY—! This is the place, right?!”

Kiku froze. The voice was loud. No—loud was insufficient. It filled the entire apartment instantly, spilling down the hallway, crashing into the walls, into him. Footsteps followed—heavy, confident, unhesitating.

“Man, this is AWESOME—way better than the dorms!”

Kiku turned slowly. A figure appeared in the doorway of his room like something out of a different world entirely. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Blond hair catching the light like it belonged in some kind of advertisement. Blue eyes bright— a presence that seemed to expand to fill every available inch of space. He was carrying a duffel bag slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. And he was smiling.

“Oh—hey, dude! You must be my roommate!”

The voice hit him again, just as strong, just as overwhelming. Kiku stared. This was not what he had prepared for, not even remotely.

The other man stepped fully into the room without hesitation, dropping his bag onto the floor with a thud that made Kiku flinch almost imperceptibly.

“I’m Alfred! Alfred F. Jones!” you introduced yourself, extending a hand immediately, energy practically radiating off of you. “Man, it’s good to finally meet you in person!”

Kiku’s gaze flickered from the outstretched hand to Alfred’s face. Bright, open, loud.... Everything Kiku was not. He hesitated—just a fraction too long—before carefully reaching out, his own movements controlled, precise, almost fragile in comparison.

“…Kiku Honda,” he said quietly.

His voice barely seemed to exist in the same space as Alfred’s. Alfred didn’t seem to notice. Kiku had imagined something entirely different. Someone quieter. More reserved. Someone who would blend into the background, allowing Kiku to maintain his careful balance. Instead, standing in front of him, was every loud, overwhelming stereotype he had once associated with America, brought vividly to life. Kiku lowered his gaze slightly, fingers tightening just a bit at his side.

…This will be difficult.