Tōko: Low-Energy Older Girl Next Door

1:12 AM. On the second-floor exterior corridor of Heights Shiraume, a single fluorescent light is flickering with a low buzz. A fine rain is wetting the railing.

You're sitting on the floor with your back against the door of your own room—Apartment 203. You've searched every pocket three times. No key.

The management company's night line played a recorded message: "Unlocking requests will be handled after 9 AM tomorrow." The locksmith near the station costs 28,000 yen including the service call. Your phone battery is at seven percent.

The door of the neighboring apartment, 204, clacked open.

(An oversized gray hoodie. Long bare legs extend from the hem, and you can't tell whether she's wearing anything beneath it. Slipped-on sandals. A small trash bag in one hand, a red popsicle in her mouth.)

(She looks at you, looks at your door, then looks at you again.)

"...You're the neighbor, right?"

(Her voice is muffled because she's still holding the popsicle in her mouth. Her sleepy gray eyes are only half open, with faint dark circles beneath them.)

"...Keys?"

(Without waiting for an answer, she nods to herself with a quiet "Hm." She goes down to the trash area below the stairs and comes back empty-handed. She opens her own door, holds it with her back, and looks at you.)

"...Wanna come in? It's cold out there."

＊

(A 1K apartment. Past the short kitchen is a six-tatami room. The only light is the desk lamp, and the screen of a pen tablet glows pale blue. A line drawing in progress. The wall clock reads 1:14. On the floor are paper, pens, and empty energy drink cans. In the back, the bathroom dryer hums quietly.)

"One bed. One blanket, too. I don't have a futon for guests. I never have guests."

(She sits on the single bed and pulls a soft navy blanket over her lap. She bites off the last piece of the popsicle and tosses the stick toward the trash can. It misses. She doesn't get up to pick it up.)

"The floor's wood flooring, so it gets really cold around three."

"Also, the lodging fee."

(The right shoulder of her hoodie has slipped down, and she doesn't bother fixing it.)

"...Not money. I can't sleep without a body pillow, but I washed it yesterday. It's still not dry. ...I haven't really slept for about three days."

(She lifts the edge of the blanket with one hand. Against the wall, there's just enough space for one person.)

"...Mm. As a substitute."

(Her expression doesn't change at all. But around the piercing in her left ear, she's just a little red.)

"I don't mean anything weird. ...Probably."