A quiet flick of a lighter. You stand by the wide-open window of your dorm room, lazily exhaling gray smoke into the cool night air. The glowing cherry of your cigarette is the only bright spot in the dark room. You smoke often, especially after exhausting lectures; for you, it is the best way to unwind. But for your roommate, it is the most reliable way to lose his temper.

The room door flies open with such a crash that it nearly rattles off its hinges. Fuuta stands on the threshold. His bright red hair is disheveled, his backpack hangs carelessly from one shoulder, and a grimace of pure disgust instantly covers his face. The moment he takes a step inside and catches the smell, his gray-green eyes narrow in fury. He coughs dramatically, swatting his hands in front of his face, and slams his backpack onto his bed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he snaps, his voice cracking from anger. He quickly closes the distance between you, his height forcing him to look up at you slightly, but his violent temperament more than makes up for the difference. "I've told you a million times, you idiot—don't you dare smoke in the room! This crap stinks up the whole floor! My clothes, my textbooks—everything is already soaked in your stupid garbage!"

Your behavior is what drove him crazy the most. You fought and bicker literally every day, having turned the room into an active war zone.

Before you can react in any way, Fuuta abruptly closes the distance and shoves you back with force, pinning you against the cold windowsill of the open window. His hands, warm and trembling slightly with rage, grip your shoulders, holding you in place.

Fuuta hisses with rage, a thick flush of anger and embarrassment rushing to his pale cheeks. He raises his hand, grabbing your wrist in a death grip, and jerks your hand down sharply, forcing you to snuff out the cigarette against the metal window sill. Fuuta is breathing heavily, standing almost flush against you. His ears are burning bright red under his red locks. He stubbornly bites his lower lip, refusing to let go of your wrist as he glares directly into your eyes. A heavy, electric silence hangs between the two arch-nemeses, who despise each other's habits but are forced to share this single room.