The first night began quietly. Himari stayed inside her room, her back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. The soft glow of a single paper lantern illuminated the space, casting long shadows on the tatami floor. Outside the door, Kaito Matsumoto stood steady, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of the corridor's lanterns. He was quiet at first, as though waiting for her to make the first move. She didn't.
"So," he finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was light, teasing. "This is how it's going to be, huh? You hiding in there and me out here? Not much of a challenge for me if you're this quiet, Himari."
She didn't respond. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she pulled her knees closer, resting her chin atop them. She could hear the faint rustling of fabric as he moved, then the creak of the wooden floor as he settled down. He wasn't leaving.
"Alright then," Kaito continued, undeterred. "I'll just keep myself entertained. Let's see…" There was a pause, followed by a soft laugh. "You know, this reminds me of a summer festival when I was a kid. There was this game—knock on the door and see if anyone answers. I was terrible at it. Guess I'm making up for it now."
Himari blinked, caught off guard by the randomness of his words. She tilted her head slightly, curiosity tugging at her despite herself. Why is he talking so much?
"That festival was wild," Kaito went on, his voice carrying easily through the thin door. "I spent most of the night chasing after a goldfish that wouldn't stay in the scoop. It's probably still laughing at me from some pond somewhere."
Despite her best efforts, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She quickly smothered it, shaking her head. Focus, Himari. He's just trying to get under your skin.
But Kaito wasn't stopping. He launched into a story about his disastrous attempt at learning to paint in high school. "Let's just say the art teacher gave me an A for enthusiasm and left it at that," he said with a laugh. "But hey, I'll have you know my stick figures were legendary."
The image of a young Kaito, frustrated over a canvas, flashed in her mind, and Himari's lips twitched again. She hugged her knees tighter, refusing to give in to the amusement bubbling beneath her surface.
"You're probably thinking I talk too much," Kaito said after a moment, his tone shifting slightly. "But someone's got to break the silence, right? And if I'm honest..." He trailed off, and for the first time that night, his voice carried a note of sincerity. "It's kind of nice knowing someone's there, even if I can't see them."
Inside, Himari's chest tightened. She rested her head against the wall, staring at the lantern's glow. His words were unexpected, catching her off guard. She'd spent so long feeling invisible, a ghost in her own world. Yet here was someone acknowledging her presence, even without her saying a word.
Kaito didn't let the moment linger. His tone brightened again as he launched into another story, this time about a stray cat that had claimed his family's porch as its territory. "It showed up one day and refused to leave," he said, the grin evident in his voice. "We named it Captain because it had this scar over its eye, like it'd been through a hundred battles. Captain eventually decided I was its personal pillow. Imagine waking up to a ten-pound cat sitting on your chest."
Himari's fingers unconsciously relaxed their grip on her knees. The tension in her body began to ebb, her mind drifting with his words. There was something about his stories—the energy in his voice, the vividness of his descriptions—that drew her in despite herself.
Outside, Kaito shifted, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned back against the wall, gazing at the darkened sky beyond the corridor. The crickets' chirping filled the silence between his words, a natural rhythm that seemed to accompany his tales.
"You know," he said after a while, his voice softer now, "I get the feeling you're a good listener. Most people can't sit still long enough to really listen. It's rare."
Inside, Himari's breath caught. She didn't know why his words struck a chord with her, but they did. She'd always felt like a background character in her own life, someone who observed but rarely participated. Hearing someone recognize even that small part of her felt strangely comforting.
As the hours passed, Kaito's stories began to blend with the ambient sounds of the night. His voice grew softer, but his energy never wavered. He talked about his travels, his failed attempts at learning to cook, and even the time he accidentally dyed his hair green in college. Each story was more ridiculous than the last, but somehow, they felt genuine. Real.
By the time the first light of dawn crept into the sky, Himari realized she hadn't spent the night tangled in her usual whirlwind of thoughts. Instead, she'd been carried along by his voice, lulled into a rare sense of calm.
Outside, Kaito stood and stretched, his movements slow and unhurried. The faint sound of his joints cracking made her smile faintly, despite herself.
"Well, night one down," he said casually, his voice carrying an undertone of satisfaction. "Ninety-nine to go. See you tonight, Himari."
She didn't reply, but she listened to his footsteps as they retreated down the corridor. When the sound faded completely, she finally exhaled, leaning her head back against the wall. Her heart felt oddly unsteady, and she couldn't tell if it was from relief or something else entirely.
As the morning light filled her room, Himari's thoughts lingered on Kaito's words. He was loud, unpredictable, and entirely too comfortable in his own skin. But there was something about him that made the prospect of ninety-nine more nights seem a little less daunting.
And for the first time in a long while, she wondered if maybe—just maybe—she wouldn't mind hearing more of his stories.