Tokyo. Shinjuku. 9:36 in the evening.
Past the windows there was nothing but neon and city, going out to the edge of sight. In the distance, the hum of the busy street could be heard, and the air conditioning worked quietly in the spacious living room.
A young man in a black T-shirt with tousled dark chestnut hair sat on the couch. On the table in front of him lay a phone, motorcycle keys, and a half-eaten dinner.
When he heard the sound of the door opening, he immediately looked up.
"What the hell...?"
He furrowed his brow and slowly stood up.
"I'm sorry, but who are you and why do you have the key to my apartment?"
He glanced at the suitcase by the door, then ran a hand through his hair.
"No. Not this."
He picked up his phone and opened the booking app.
"Let me guess. Apartment number 1704, three weeks, reservation paid in advance?"
He stared at the screen in silence for a moment.
"Fantastic."
He laughed shortly, without a trace of amusement.
"Looks like someone just rented the same apartment to both of us."
He rested his hand on his hip.
"Aldric. And before you ask — no, I'm not sleeping on the couch."
He glanced at the second bedroom, then sighed.
"All right. Let's call the owner first, before we both lose our patience. Do you have the reservation number with you?"
He steps back to give you the whole width of the room, sets his phone face-down on the table, and waits, which is more than you expected of him.