The knock on Haruki's door came at 9:47 PM, soft enough that he almost missed it over the sound of rain pattering against his window. He'd been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the familiar sounds of the dormitory settling into evening—distant conversations, someone's music playing three rooms down, the hum of the vending machine at the end of the hall.
He wasn't expecting visitors. He never had visitors.
When he opened the door, Noa stood in the hallway holding two cups of what smelled like actual coffee and wearing an expression that was equal parts determined and uncertain.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
They looked at each other for a moment, and Haruki became acutely aware that he was wearing an old t-shirt and pajama pants, while she was still in her day clothes—jeans and a sweater that looked soft enough to touch.
"I brought coffee," Noa said, holding up one of the cups. "As an apology."
"For what?"
"For running away after class today. And for being weird about the whole neighbor thing. And for..." She paused, searching for words. "For asking you to be honest and then getting scared when you actually were."
Haruki stepped back from the doorway. "Do you want to come in?"
"If that's okay."
His room looked exactly the same as it had when she'd glimpsed it the night before—neat to the point of sterility, everything in its place, no evidence of actual living except for the notebook open on his desk and the unmade bed he'd been lying on.
Noa handed him one of the coffee cups and looked around with the same careful attention she brought to everything else. "It's very... organized."
"You can say sterile. I know what it looks like."
"I was going to say careful." She settled into his desk chair, cradling her coffee cup between her hands. "Like you're ready to leave at any moment, but also like you're trying very hard to stay."
The observation was uncomfortably accurate. Haruki sat on the edge of his bed, leaving space between them that felt both necessary and artificial.
"Where did you get actual coffee at this hour?" he asked.
"There's a 24-hour café downtown. I walked there after I got out of the lab." Noa took a sip, then added quietly, "I needed to think, and I think better when I'm moving."
"What were you thinking about?"
"You. Us. This whole situation." She gestured vaguely at the space between them. "The fact that I've spent two years perfecting the art of keeping people at a distance, and then you show up and somehow manage to be next door, in my class, at my library table, and in my head all at the same time."
Haruki felt something flutter in his chest. "In your head?"
"Don't let it go to your ego." But Noa was almost smiling when she said it. "I mean, you're an interesting case study. Transfer student with attachment issues who accidentally keeps ending up in my space."
"Is that all I am? A case study?"
The question came out more serious than he'd intended, and Noa's almost-smile faded. She set down her coffee cup and looked at him directly.
"No," she said quietly. "That's the problem."
---
The rain picked up outside, drumming against the window with increasing intensity. Haruki's room felt smaller with Noa in it, but not uncomfortably so—more like the walls had drawn closer to create a pocket of intimacy against the storm.
"Can I ask you something?" Noa said.
"You seem to be making a habit of that."
"Your friend from your old school—Mirei, right? You mentioned her name in the library." Noa was looking down at her coffee cup now, not meeting his eyes. "What was she like?"
The question caught him off guard. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I'm trying to understand what kind of person you fall for. What kind of connection you're looking for." She paused, then added more quietly, "What I'm competing with."
"You're not competing with anyone."
"Aren't I? You transferred schools to get away from her, but you still carry her photo in your pocket. You still think about texting her. She's still taking up space in your head, even if she's not physically here."
Haruki felt exposed, like Noa had been reading his thoughts without permission. "How do you know about the photo?"
"You touch your jacket pocket when you talk about her. Same way people touch their phone when they're thinking about calling someone." Noa finally looked up at him. "So what was she like?"
He was quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to explain Mirei without making it sound like he was still in love with her. Maybe because he wasn't sure if he was or not.
"She was... safe," he said finally. "Comfortable. We'd been friends since middle school, so being around her felt like coming home. She laughed at my jokes, even the bad ones. She remembered things I told her. She made me feel like I was worth paying attention to."
"That sounds nice."
"It was. Until I ruined it by wanting more."
Noa was quiet for a moment, processing this. "What made you think she might want more too?"
"Little things. The way she'd lean against me when we were watching movies. How she'd text me good morning before she texted anyone else. The fact that she never dated anyone seriously, even though plenty of guys were interested." Haruki ran a hand through his hair. "I thought maybe she was waiting for me to make a move."
"But she wasn't."
"No. She was just... being a good friend. And I misread everything because I wanted it to mean something it didn't."
Noa nodded slowly. "So now you're afraid to read anything into anyone's behavior because you might be wrong again."
"Something like that."
"Even when someone brings you coffee at ten PM and sits in your room asking about your ex-almost-girlfriend?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that Haruki wasn't sure he was ready to examine. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain intensified against the window.
"Noa..."
"I know. I know this is complicated. I know we're both carrying around damage from other people, and I know getting involved with your next-door neighbor is probably a terrible idea." She stood up abruptly, pacing to the window and back. "But I can't stop thinking about what you said in class today. About being afraid of being understood."
"What about it?"
"I understand you." The words came out fierce, almost angry. "I understand why you transferred. I understand why you sit with your back to the room. I understand why you're afraid to want things, because wanting things means you might not get them, and not getting them means you have to face the possibility that you're not worth having."
Haruki felt like she'd reached into his chest and pulled out something he'd been trying to keep hidden. "Noa—"
"And the thing is," she continued, not letting him interrupt, "understanding you doesn't make me want to run away. It makes me want to stay and figure out what happens next. Which is terrifying, because I don't stay. I observe, I analyze, I keep my distance, and I leave before anyone can leave me first."
She stopped pacing and looked at him directly. "But I brought you coffee. At ten PM. In the rain. Because I couldn't stop thinking about you, and I couldn't figure out how to think about anything else until I came over here and said this out loud."
---
The silence that followed felt enormous, filled with all the things they weren't quite ready to say and all the things they'd just said without meaning to. Haruki could hear his own heartbeat, could feel the weight of Noa's honesty settling between them like a challenge.
"What are you asking me?" he said quietly.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm asking if you want to figure this out together. Whatever this is." Noa sat back down, but on the bed this time, close enough that he could smell her shampoo—something clean and simple that made him think of rain-washed mornings. "Maybe I'm asking if you're tired of being afraid."
"I'm exhausted by it," Haruki admitted. "But I don't know how to not be afraid."
"We could start small. Practice being seen, like Professor Akizuki said." Noa's voice was softer now, less fierce. "We could try being honest about small things and see what happens."
"Like what?"
"Like..." She considered this. "Like the fact that I've been listening for you to come home every night since I found out you live next door. Not in a creepy way, just... it's nice to know when you're there."
"Like the fact that I've been playing music quietly because I hoped you might hear it and know you weren't alone."
"Like the fact that I chose psychology as my major because I wanted to understand why people leave, but I'm starting to think what I really want to understand is why some people stay."
"Like the fact that I've read your note from the library about fifteen times, and every time I read it, I think maybe you're right about timing and honesty."
They were sitting closer now, though neither of them had consciously moved. The space between them felt charged, full of possibility and terror in equal measure.
"This is scary," Noa said.
"Yeah."
"We could mess this up. We could hurt each other. We could end up like you and Mirei, except worse because we'd still have to live next door to each other."
"We could," Haruki agreed. "Or we could figure out how to do it differently."
"How?"
"By not waiting too long to say the important things. By being honest about what we want instead of hoping the other person will guess. By..." He paused, gathering courage. "By admitting that I haven't stopped thinking about you since you told me I was in the wrong classroom."
Noa's breath caught slightly. "That's only been three days."
"I know. It's ridiculous."
"It's not ridiculous. It's just..." She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "It's just that I haven't stopped thinking about you either, and I don't know what to do with that."
The rain was slowing now, settling into a gentle patter that made the room feel even more intimate. Haruki could see the reflection of his desk lamp in the window, could see Noa's profile outlined in the soft light.
"We don't have to do anything," he said. "We could just... see what happens. Take it slow. Be honest about the small things and work our way up to the big ones."
"What would that look like?"
"I don't know. Maybe we could study together sometimes. Share the library table instead of taking turns. Have coffee that doesn't require a ten PM walk in the rain." He smiled slightly. "Maybe we could try being friends first, and see if we're any good at it."
"Friends," Noa repeated, like she was testing the word.
"Friends who are honest with each other. Friends who don't run away when things get complicated. Friends who..." He hesitated, then decided to risk it. "Friends who might become something more, if we figure out how to not be terrified of that possibility."
Noa was quiet for a long moment, considering this. Finally, she held out her hand.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Noa Hoshizaki. I'm a psychology major with trust issues and a tendency to overanalyze everything. I live next door to you, and I think you're interesting in ways that scare me."
Haruki took her hand, surprised by how warm it was. "Hi. I'm Haruki Sakamoto. I'm a literature major with attachment issues and a habit of running away from things I want. I live next door to you, and I think you see me more clearly than I see myself, which is terrifying and wonderful at the same time."
They shook hands solemnly, like they were sealing a pact.
"So," Noa said, not letting go of his hand. "What do friends who are practicing honesty do now?"
"I think," Haruki said, "they finish their coffee and talk about small things until the rain stops. And then maybe they say goodnight and go to sleep knowing that tomorrow they get to try this again."
"That sounds manageable."
"It sounds like a beginning."
Outside, the storm was finally passing, leaving behind the clean smell of rain and the promise of a clear morning. Inside, two people who had spent months perfecting the art of keeping their distance sat close enough to touch, practicing the much more difficult art of staying.
It wasn't love yet. It wasn't even romance, really.
But it was honest, and it was theirs, and for now, that felt like enough.
---
*End of Chapter 5*