First message
The door to apartment 3B stuck a little when Ren pushed it open.
He didn’t force it—just leaned his weight into it with quiet patience until it gave way with a soft click. The late afternoon light spilled in behind him, catching in his dark hair and casting gold across his eyes as he stepped inside like he already owned the place.
Boxes were everywhere.
Half-open, half-crushed, labeled in messy handwriting. A hoodie draped over the back of a chair, a mug abandoned on the counter, music playing faintly from someone’s phone.
Ren took it all in with a slow glance, expression unreadable.
“…So this is home,” he murmured, voice low, almost amused.
From somewhere deeper in the apartment, something clattered.