Theres an door connecting your apt together

Skyline Towers with a soft ding, spilling late-afternoon college rush into the lobby. Yuji steps out first—black hair still messy from the wind on his bike ride back, oversized black tee clinging slightly from the humidity, gray sweatpants low on his hips. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, earbuds dangling unused around his neck. He’s already mentally running through his evening: drop bag, quick shower, then the night shift at the coffee shop. He doesn’t make it five steps. A rough hand snags the front of his tee, yanking him forward hard enough that his sneakers skid on the tile. Yuji’s eyes snap up—cold, black, narrowing instantly. The guy’s bigger than him by maybe twenty kilos, buzz-cut, cheap gold chain, the kind of sneer that thinks it’s intimidating. Yuji recognizes him immediately: Tatsuya, the lowlife from last semester’s underground poker game. The one who’s been texting threats for the past two weeks. “Where’s my money, bitch?” Tatsuya snarls, knuckles white around the fabric, twisting it so the collar digs into Yuji’s throat. “You think you could hide forever? Six thousand yen, asshole. I gave you a week. That week ended yesterday.” Yuji doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t raise his hands. Just breathes slow through his nose, jaw locked so tight a muscle ticks in his cheek. Inside, something hot and violent uncoils—imagining exactly how easy it would be to drive an elbow into Tatsuya’s windpipe, follow with a knee to the groin, then keep going until the guy stops moving. He’s done worse for less. But he forces it down. Barely. “Wallet’s gone,” Yuji says, voice flat, dangerously calm. “Lost it somewhere. You’ll get it when I find it.” Tatsuya laughs—short, ugly. “Bullshit. Pay up or I start breaking shit you actually care about.” He yanks harder, pulling Yuji’s face closer. “Starting with that pretty face of yours.” Yuji’s eyes flick to the side—people in the lobby pretending not to watch, security camera blinking red in the corner. He exhales through his teeth. Then— “Yuji…?” The voice is soft but unmistakable. Feminine. A little hesitant. Both heads turn. She’s standing just inside the lobby entrance, long black hair spilling over one shoulder in a loose curtain, round face framed by the fading daylight. Doe eyes—big, dark, usually soft—widen slightly as she takes in the scene. She’s in her usual campus look: oversized knit sweater, pleated skirt, white sneakers. Backpack slung over both shoulders. In her right hand, she holds a familiar black leather wallet, dangling by the chain like she’s not sure if she should step closer or bolt. “I… saw this on your seat in the lecture hall after class,” she says awkwardly, voice quieter now that she’s closer. Her gaze darts between Yuji’s face and Tatsuya’s fist still twisted in his shirt. Nervous swallow. “Thought you might need it.” Tatsuya’s grip loosens—just a fraction—as his eyes slide over her. Slow. Appreciative. Predatory. “Damn, cutie,” he drawls, letting go of Yuji entirely to turn toward her. “You look like a baby deer. Lost your way?” His grin widens, teeth flashing. “Who’re you? His girlfriend? His little side piece? His whore?” The lobby air goes still. Her lashes flutter once—surprised, processing the sheer audacity. Then her expression shifts. The softness vanishes. Eyes narrow, lips press into a thin line. She scoffs—short, sharp, annoyed. “Thanks, brother,” she says, voice dripping ice now, “but no. I’m not his girlfriend. Nor his whore.” She pauses, letting the words hang. “Hell, I’m not even his friend.” Click of her tongue—loud, irritated. Without another word she steps forward, closes the distance to Yuji in three quick strides, and slams the wallet against his chest. Hard. The impact makes a dull thwap; the chain rattles. “Here,” she mutters, eyes flicking up to meet his for half a second—something unreadable flashing in those doe eyes—before she turns on her heel. She doesn’t wait for thanks. Doesn’t look back. Just strides straight toward the open elevator, long hair swaying with each annoyed step. Tatsuya blinks, thrown. “The fuck—?” Yuji doesn’t hesitate. He snatches the wallet from where it’s still pressed to his sternum, pivots, and slams it—full force—into Tatsuya’s open palm. The smack echoes. “Six thousand,” Yuji says, voice low and lethal. “Count it. We’re done.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He’s already moving—long strides eating up the distance to the elevator just as the doors start sliding shut. He throws an arm out, catching the edge, forcing them open again with a mechanical whine. She’s inside, standing against the far wall, arms crossed tight under her chest, staring at the floor numbers like they personally offended her. Cheeks faintly flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the slow burn of irritation. Yuji steps in. Doors close behind him with a soft thud. Silence. Thick. Electric. The elevator begins its slow climb. She doesn’t look at him. Just keeps her gaze fixed on the glowing 10. Yuji leans back against the opposite wall, arms folded, wallet now tucked into his back pocket. He studies her profile—the way her lips are still pursed, the slight flare of her nostrils, how her fingers dig into her own sleeves like she’s holding herself together. Finally, he speaks. Voice rough. Lower than usual. “You didn’t have to do that.” Her eyes flick to him—sharp, guarded. “Didn’t do it for you,” she snaps back, too quick. “I just didn’t want your dumb ass getting jumped in the lobby. Landlord already hates us enough without blood on the tiles.” A beat. He huffs—a sound that’s almost a laugh, but darker. “Still. You could’ve walked away.” She rolls her eyes, but the movement is jerky, annoyed. “Yeah, well. Apparently I have terrible impulse control when people talk shit.” Another floor ticks by. 7… 8… Yuji pushes off the wall. Takes one step. Then another. Until he’s close enough that she has to tilt her head back slightly to keep glaring at him. He doesn’t crowd her—not fully. But he’s in her space. Always is. “Thanks,” he says. Simple. No smirk. No tease. Just the word, quiet, rough around the edges. Her gaze wavers—drops to his mouth for a split second, then back up. Something flickers in those big eyes. Not softness. Not yet. Just… acknowledgment. “Don’t mention it,” she mutters. “Seriously. Don’t.” The elevator dings. 10th floor. Doors slide open. She steps out first—fast, like she’s escaping. Long black hair swings behind her as she heads straight for her door. Yuji follows. Slower. When she reaches her entrance and fumbles for her keys, he stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets. “Hey.” She freezes. Doesn’t turn. He waits until she glances over her shoulder—annoyed, curious, maybe a little wary. His voice drops. Just for her. “Next time someone grabs me like that… you can just watch. Or walk away. But if you do step in again?” A small, crooked tilt to his lips—not quite a smile. “I won’t let you leave that easy.” Her breath catches—just barely. Then she scoffs again, softer this time. Turns fully, key in the lock. “Noted,” she says dryly. “Now go pay your debts, delinquent.” Door clicks open. She disappears inside. Yuji stands there another second—staring at the closed door, the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo still lingering in the hallway. Then he exhales. Long. Slow. Turns toward his own apartment. The poster-covered hole between their living rooms waits like always—silent, mocking, paper-thin. He smirks to himself as he unlocks his door. Yeah. She’s definitely not just a neighbor anymore.