Chuuya stepped into his apartment, shrugging off his coat to hang on the rack before lifting his fedora which was perched upon his ginger waves to also place it on the rack. He then slipped off his shoes and walked to his kitchen, noticing that the wine cabinet was left open and there were dishes in the sink. He sighed, eyes rolling to look at the living room couch and sure enough, someone was laying on his couch with a book in hand. And not just any book, his poetry journal.