Chapter Text
One of the girls is at the apartment next door again. I can hear them from my genkan as I put on my shoes to leave for the day.
It’s always the same routine. A girl goes in for a few minutes in the morning and comes back out with a bento, as a cheerful voice wishes them a good day. Usually they respond with something along the lines of ‘have a good sleep’.
So she probably works nights. Not all that strange, admittedly, but there’s something about the schedule that seems off to me. Maybe it’s the fact that I have never seen her leave or return, even though my erratic schedule means I usually see everyone on our floor at some point.
Or it could be the curtains she keeps closed all day, even on weekends. I can hear her moving around quite often so she’s not darkening the space to sleep. She clearly likes a clean house, as the soft hum of the vacuum through the walls is what I hear, usually.
Just one of a number of irregular quirks I notice about my neighbour.
Every day there are incredible smells coming into the hallway from her apartment. So enticing that even my usually apathetic stomach growls for attention when I walk by.
And there’s an incredible amount of packages that leave her apartment on a weekly basis, picked up by a courier — many deliveries addressed to her as well.
It’s one of these packages that has me standing in front of her door today. The package was left in front of mine, and I planned to simply drop it off at its rightful doormat and head home, where I would skip dinner and go to bed.
Instead the door opens, revealing my previously unseen neighbour—in all her aproned glory—rushing towards me. I step back in surprise as she gets a look at me.
“Moko-sa—ah!” She stops herself mid-step, short orange hair bouncing with the motion.
Bowing, she apologizes. “I’m sorry; I thought you were my friend coming to visit.”
“No, no worries. But…” I watch her tilt her head to the side as I pause. “How did you know I was outside your door?”
“Oh! Well I heard you walk over and stop at my door. And my friend said she’d be here later, though I should have realized she wouldn’t be this early … Again, I’m sorry for startling you and almost running into you,” she bows again.
“That’s … very good hearing.” I respond. I’m usually light on my feet.
We stare at each other for a moment, before she breaks the silence. “Can I help you with something?”
“No,” I reply, noticing the forgotten package in my hand. “I just wanted to drop this off for you. You are Mogami Kyoko-san?”
“Yes! Oh thank you. I wonder if I gave them the wrong unit number …” she trails off as I hand her the small box.
“No,” I say again. “Must have been a mistake of the delivery person.”
“Well, thank you for dropping it off. Have you moved in recently?” Kyoko asks.
“Yes, I’m Tsuruga Ren. Nice to meet you,” I say with a small bow of my own. “I just moved in next door a couple months ago.”
“It’s very nice to meet you Tsuruga-san.” She bows a full 90 degrees. So proper.
A delicious aroma drifts into my nose from somewhere inside the apartment, and my stomach growls. Maybe I won’t skip dinner after all. I’m sure there’s some convenience store onigiri leftover in my fridge.
Slightly embarrassed at the sound coming from my body, I give my goodbyes and move to leave.
“Would you like to come in for dinner?” Kyoko offers, causing me to turn back.
“Thank you, Mogami-san, for the offer, but I couldn’t impose on you like that.” My stomach decides to make itself known again, and she smiles patiently.
“It’s no imposition at all. I make so much and I can’t eat it, so I’m always giving it away to friends anyways. Unless you have something on the stove, or other plans for dinner?”
When I tell her what I plan to eat, Kyoko suddenly changes her attitude; face scrunching and flushed, she scolds me for my lack of nutrition, and insists I join her for a light meal.
It really does smell delicious, and I finally relent. Maybe I’ll satisfy my curiosity about her while I’m at it.
I seem to be under her wing now, as the invitations to meals have become a regular occurrence.
I’m not sure if she sees me as personally helpless, or if I’m just the recipient of excessive grocery-buying.
Her apartment is tidy and warm and I find myself wanting to spend time in that space, breathing in the smells of her cooking and the pine and fall spices from scented candles.
The thought that I am being treated as special enters my mind but I shove it away.
“Do you like cookies? Moko-san never likes it when I make sweets.” She’s staring at me with big, hopeful eyes, and I get the feeling this Moko-san denies her a lot.
I must have less fortitude than she does, as I end up leaving with a large container of cookies. There are more than I could ever eat, but I’ll think of something so they don’t go to waste.
“Where did these come from again?”
“My neighbour.”
“They’re amazing.”
Over the next hour I watch Yashiro-san eat half a dozen of the things, so I cannot doubt his sincerity.
Another package is misplaced on my doorstep. Once again I’m standing at the door of my next door neighbour, and once again it opens without my prompting.
I haven’t seen Mogami-san in a while, and it’s been quiet from her apartment, so I’m hopeful for an opportunity to visit.
The door swings open and the resident stumbles out, grabbing my arm and yanking hard. I stagger forward, clearly not who she expected—Mogami-san’s expression shifts as the realization sets in.
Her eyes stare into mine and I start to question my memory, as I was sure she had amber-coloured eyes, not the colour I see now.
Mogami-san seems to be moving slowly and I wonder if she’s unwell.
“Are you ok?” I ask as her eyes narrow and drop down from my face.
“She’s fine.” A voice I recognize as one of the friends — I think it’s Kotonami-san — states as my arm is pulled out of Mogami-san’s grip and I’m pushed aside.
I’m still holding the package as the door closes in my face.
I leave the box at the door, and begin my trek back to my own apartment as my thoughts slowly start to catch up to current events.
One thought niggles in the back of my head, pushed aside as I go through the motions of taking off my shoes, buttoning my pyjamas, and brushing my teeth.
I lay in bed and the memory surfaces in hazy high definition.
Eyes normally a golden amber, seem to glow a burnt red as they drop down to stare intensely at my neck.
And … were those fangs?