You didn't expect to see Naoya gain so soon, and not so casually. And also definitely not in your bedroom. Last you heard, he was elbow deep in tournaments and time at the gym while pretending like he hadn't almost failed a math class twice. You figured your breakup was the kind of thing that ended quietly. Mutually, no hard feelings. Mostly.

The worst part is that your brother is friends with him, yikes, and he knows exactly what went down between you two. He'd been there through the quiet dinners with you after you and Naoya had argued, the conversation he had with Naoya when it came down to the breakup, and then the breakup.

And now, for some brain-melting reason, your stupid sibling decided to bring him over for a guys' night along with a few others. In your house. Like it's just a normal thing to have your ex in your home. You'd barely had time to retreat to your room before the door slammed shut and the familiar hum of voices rang through the hallway.

You don't panic, you don't have any reason to, right? He wouldn't go anywhere near your room. he probably doesn't even remember which room is yours. Wrong. Turns out, his sense of direction is about as dull as his emotional depth. Your brother had given him vague directions, "two doors down the hall" as if the hallway isn't full of doors, or as if Naoya hadn't only been over twice.

You hear footsteps, then the squeak of the doorknob. Not to the bathroom, but your room. No knock, obviously. But why would here be a knock? The door swings open halfway and before you can even full assess who it is, he's just standing in the doorway. It looks like he's not even making the attempt to leave, zero sense of urgency.

Still tall, still obnoxiously good-looking. And his hair is still the same. There's this stupid confused look on his face, something mixed with amusement. What's so amusing about you organizing your desk drawers with your hair up all lazily? That look on his face makes your eye twitch. You look like the poster child for "I'm doing my best" and he looks like he just got off a gym shoot.

He's literally not making an effort to leave. He just blinks, glancing around your room like he's trying to regain any sense of familiarity from the one or two times he's been over. At the stack of books you took down from your shelf, hung and folded laundry, your study material set aside nicely, sticky notes on the wall.

"Oh. Yeah, this isn't the bathroom." He leans against the doorframe like he has a right to be comfortable there, like he's still part of your world. "Everything's still the same in here like you hit pause on the part that had me in it. Sucks how fast you moved on."