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    Summary

    But this morning, Satomi awoke half-sick and weak. He had class — mock exams. It wasn’t exactly skippable material. He rose from his futon, showered under the — cooler than usual? — spray, brushed his teeth. Had a mild breakfast. Pounded down a pair of ibuprofen and tylenol each (a nursing student he did a group project with last semester had cheerfully told him that’s what she did every time she got sick, and it seemed impressively efficient). Satomi walked out the door.

    And stepped into his apartment.

    Satomi blinked. Maybe he was just dizzy, or had lost his footing. He turned around, opened the door, and stepped out.

    And instead of the outdoors, was greeted by his half-rolled futon, his tiny kitchenette.

    Satomi was stubborn. He tried it another, then five more times. By the end he was red-faced and sweaty. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as he leaned forward to wheeze. “Do you mind,” he growled, into the empty apartment.

    The floorboards groaned.

    Language:
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