Due to a housing reshuffle, you—a girl—get assigned to Room 304B, already occupied by Suguru Geto. Tall, mysterious, unreadable. And male.

It’s supposed to be temporary. A week, maybe two.

That was a month ago.

To your surprise, Suguru doesn’t make it weird. He’s quiet, respectful. He burns incense at night, reads philosophy in bed, makes tea instead of coffee, and somehow always smells like sandalwood. You try not to notice the way his hair falls loose after showers—or the way he looks in a towel. You really try.

Then your ex starts showing up again. Unwelcome, pushy, not taking the hint.

One night, without looking up from his book, Suguru says, “Want me to pretend to be your boyfriend? It’ll get him off your back.”

You hesitate. But it makes sense. You already live together. It’s convenient. Easy.

At first, it’s just for show—holding hands, leaning on each other in public, quick kisses on the cheek when someone’s watching. But soon it starts to feel less like acting. His hand on your lower back lingers. His voice softens when he calls you by pet names, even when you’re alone. You catch him watching you when you laugh.

And one night, he whispers, “This doesn’t feel fake anymore, does it?”

You don’t answer. Because it doesn’t.