「 Hiroshi 」

I walk down the corridor of the dormitory with my rucksack slung over one shoulder, trying to ignore the faint smell of reheated coffee and old books that always hangs in the air. The fluorescent lights flicker from time to time, equally tired of the university routine. My room is the third on the right, the door with a small sticker of a black cat that Nathan stuck there at the beginning of the term. He said it looked like me. I laughed at the time, but now, every time I look at the sticker, I wonder if he really sees me like that; quiet, observant, distant.

I turn the handle and enter, feeling the slight creak of the wood. The space is small but organised on my side, books stacked on the desk, a mug with leftover tea and my headset carefully folded next to the laptop. On Nathan's side, the bed is unmade, as usual, and his recording microphone rests on the table, next to a notebook full of notes that I never dare to look at. The faint smell of his aftershave still floats in the air, and for a moment I close my eyes, absorbing every detail before letting out a sigh.

I let my rucksack fall gently to the floor and stretch, feeling the tense muscles in my shoulders complain about the long day. My eyes, however, drift to Nathan's messy bed, to the slightly rumpled sheets and the black shirt forgotten on the pillow. He always sleeps anyway, throwing himself on the bed without thinking, and somehow it suits him. Carefree, but with a presence that fills the room effortlessly.

Nathan has this way of occupying space without trying. Tall, broad-shouldered, with slightly messy dark brown hair, I've seen him run his hand through it without really caring. His skin is pale, contrasting with his intense, deep brown eyes that, when illuminated by the room's dim light, seem to carry secrets that he never says out loud. When he speaks, his low, deep voice has a natural rhythm, each word unhurriedly measured. I know because I listen. Always.

Not that I should notice so much. Not that I should know exactly how the curve of his smile appears when he laughs at something silly or how his neck subtly twitches when he's concentrating on writing in his notebook. But I do. And without realising it, I run my fingers over the cover of my own notebook, distracted, while my mind insists on drawing his image, as if he were here, even when he's not.

I'm lost in my own thoughts when the handle turns and the door opens with a lazy push. Nathan walks in, dragging his feet, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the world on them. His grey sweatshirt is crumpled, the strap of his rucksack hanging down on one side, and his hair, normally just messy, now looks like a complete disaster, he's possibly been running his hands through it all day in frustration. As soon as he closes the door with a gentle push of his foot, he lets out a long sigh, almost a groan, and throws his rucksack against the wall before throwing himself unceremoniously onto the bed.

- I hate statistics. - he mumbles against the pillow, his voice muffled, dragged down by tiredness.

I let out a low laugh, even though he hasn't said anything funny. There's something almost childish about the way he throws himself around like this, a boy defeated by the day. I know he takes his studies seriously, but I also know that when he's stressed out like this, everything seems heavier than it really is. Almost without thinking, I get up from the chair and approach the shelf next to the bed, picking up one of the packets of biscuits he always forgets to buy. When I turn round to offer it to him, I find his half-closed eyes watching me, as if he's only just noticed me.

- I brought it for you. - I say, waving the packet in the air. He blinks a few times, processing my action, before raising his hand and taking the biscuit with a lazy nod.

- Thanks, Hiroshi. - he mutters, already tearing the packet with his teeth. His voice is still low, scratchy with tiredness, but for some reason the sound makes something strange in my chest. I just shake my head and go back to my desk, pretending that I wasn't trapped in that moment longer than I should have been.

Nathan chews his biscuit slowly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, debating something internally. After a few seconds of silence, he lets out a sigh and turns his head towards me.

- Hey, Hiroshi. Saturday afternoon... I'll need the room empty for a few hours.

It's not a question, it's a statement. He says it in his usual casual way, without even explaining why. I know why. I know exactly why he needs privacy, and my heart squeezes at the memory of the last time I heard him recording. His voice, soft, enveloping, running through my headset like a secret told just to me. Of course it's not for me. But the moment I hear it, I can pretend.

I nod, keeping my expression neutral.

- Fine. I can stay out.

Nathan just mumbles something in thanks before closing his eyes again, too exhausted to prolong the conversation. I, on the other hand, am already planning everything. On Saturday, I'll leave the room like it's nothing, settle down on the sofa in the living room with my headphones on and let his voice envelop me again, as if it were made for me.

I try to focus on my own tasks after Nathan closes his eyes, but my mind insists on wandering. My eyes wander over the books stacked on the desk, and I remember that I have a late reading for my English literature class. I should pick up the book now, get at least a few chapters ahead, but as soon as I open to the bookmarked page, the words scramble before my eyes. English is a very difficult language. My brain refuses to co-operate.

Instead, I find myself staring at the edge of the desk, tracing imaginary lines on the wooden top, while my mind jumps between loose thoughts. I need to revise my notes for the history exam. I should also wash my t-shirts before they become unbearable to wear. And maybe buy some more tea, because my box is almost empty. But underneath all these little worries, one thought persists, insistent. Saturday afternoon.

I know I shouldn't be so anxious about something so simple. There's nothing special about listening to Nathan record; I've done it several times without him knowing. But for some reason, it feels different now. Maybe because every time he whispers into the microphone, my skin crawls as if those words were meant for me. Maybe because imagining his voice filling the silence makes me feel a connection that doesn't really exist.

I let out a sigh and close the book I haven't even started. The truth is that I'm counting the hours. Pretending not to, but counting.

Frustrated with my own inability to concentrate, I pick up my headphones and slide my mobile across the table until I find my old playlist, one I haven't listened to for a long time. Japanese songs, from my homeland. I do this without thinking too much, just looking for something to fill the silence in a different way to Nathan's voice.

As soon as the soft melody begins, I feel an unexpected tightness in my chest. The first song is one that my mum used to hum while cooking, and suddenly nostalgia hits me hard. I close my eyes and allow myself to sink into that feeling for a moment. It's been five years since I was last in Tokyo, since I last sat round the table with my family, hearing their voices live instead of through distant and increasingly rare video calls.

My sister is probably in her final year of high school now. My parents probably carry on with the same routine as always, waking up early, braving the crowded trains, coming home tired, but somehow finding the time to ask if I'm eating properly. I always say yes, even when my diet basically consists of coffee and Nathan's stolen biscuits.

I open my eyes and look around the cramped room, feeling a different weight. University here has always been a dream, a fresh start. But sometimes, even surrounded by people, I feel distant. I wonder if I'll ever go home again or if this messy dormitory, this silent routine next to Nathan, has become my definitive new home.

I pick up my mobile phone and open the conversation with my sister. The last contact was almost a month ago, a photo of her cat sleeping on her study books, accompanied by a "he studies more than me". I laughed at the time, but now, staring at the screen, I feel a tightness in my chest.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I think of what to say. "How are things?", "Studying hard?", "Mum still complains that I don't call?" Anything would do, just to break the distance. But then I look at the clock and remember the time zone. Back in Tokyo, it must be almost five in the morning. She's not going to answer any time soon. Maybe not for a day or two, when she has time.

I let out a sigh and delete the unfinished message, tossing the mobile next to the pillow. Sleep doesn't come, but there's nothing I want to do either. I just lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the hours pass in silence.

On the other side of the room, Nathan sleeps soundly, his breathing slow and steady. For a moment, I allow myself to just listen, to concentrate on the rhythmic, almost soothing sound. I close my eyes and, without realising it, lose myself in this rhythm until tiredness finally takes me with it.

「 Nathan 」

I wake up feeling like I've had too little sleep. My muscles are still heavy, my mind is foggy, but the dim light coming through the gap in the curtain tells me that it's already daylight. I have no idea what time it is, and frankly I don't care. I just lie there, listening.

There's a sound coming from the kitchen, soft movements, the clink of utensils, something bubbling lightly. Hiroshi. He always moves in a controlled, almost silent way, probably afraid of disturbing the space around him. But when you're used to silence, any noise seems louder.

I stretch and run my hand over my face before finally standing up. The icy floor beneath my feet makes me shiver for a moment, but I ignore the sensation and walk to the door. Before I leave the room, I stop for a second. I think about what I have to do today, the weight of Saturday approaching, and for some reason I let out a sigh without realising it.

When I get to the kitchen, Hiroshi is standing with his back to me, stirring something on the hob. The smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, mixed with a faint aroma of toasted bread. He hasn't noticed me yet. I watch for a moment, without hurrying, without saying anything.

I stand there for a moment, watching Hiroshi without him realising. The way he moves - calm, methodical, almost too careful - has always struck me. His black hair falls slightly over the back of his head, still messy from sleep, but not in a sloppy way. On the contrary, it looks natural, always in the right place.

Her features are delicate, but not fragile. His pale skin contrasts with the darkness of his hair, and there's something about his profile, the soft line of his jaw and the subtle arch of his eyebrows, that makes him always look serene, even when he's distracted. Or maybe it's just me.

The truth is that I never pay much attention to people. Not what goes beyond what's necessary. But Hiroshi is different. Somehow, he occupies the space without ever demanding attention, and maybe that's exactly what makes me notice him more than I should.

I take a step forwards and rest my hand on the doorframe, the sound finally catching his attention. He turns round, blinking as if coming back to reality, and stares at me for a second before offering a slight nod, an almost imperceptible gesture.

His dark eyes widen for a moment before he quickly turns back to the cooker. It doesn't take much to notice the subtle change in his posture. He stiffens a little, his fingers gripping the spoon more firmly than necessary.

- Good morning. - I murmur, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

- Ah... good morning - he replies a little late, seeming to need a second to process my presence.

I walk over to the table, pull out a chair and throw myself into it without ceremony. Only then do I realise why he's so nervous. I'm shirtless. It's a habit of mine, no big deal, but Hiroshi seems uncertain where to look. His eyes move too quickly, from the cup to the cooker, to the toaster, to anything that isn't me.

- What are you doing? - I ask, resting my chin on my hand.

- Tea - he replies quickly, perhaps too quickly. - And toast.

I let out a low sound of approval and let a smile escape, just to see if he reacts. He doesn't reply, just presses his mouth into a thin line, concentrating too hard on pouring the tea into his cup. But I notice the way his shoulders tense slightly, trying to hold himself together in the face of something he doesn't even fully understand.

I take a sip of the still-warm tea, feeling the warmth spread through my body as I watch Hiroshi squint. He's too busy for someone who's just making toast. He fiddles with the pot of jam, adjusts the knife, slides a plate across the table as if trying to find the perfect place for it.

I decide to strike up a conversation.

- Do you have plans today?

It takes him half a second to answer.

- Hm... to study.

- What for?

- History.

I raise an eyebrow. Short answers. His gaze fixed on what he's doing. He's always been quieter than most people, but now he seems... distant.

- Is everything all right? - I ask, bluntly.

He finally looks at me, a little too quickly.

- Yes, it is. - And he goes back to spreading jam on his toast.

I don't know why, but it doesn't sound like a convincing "yes". I think about insisting, but something tells me that if I push him, he'll close up even more.

I shrug and take another sip of tea. Maybe it's just tiredness. Maybe he just doesn't want to talk. But for some reason I get that nagging feeling that there's something wrong, something he won't tell me.

Before I can say anything else, the sound of a call interrupts the silence. Hiroshi's mobile phone vibrates on the table, and he quickly picks it up, his eyes widening slightly when he sees the name on the screen.

- Ah... chotto matte. - He mumbles to me before answering, bringing the phone to his ear. - Moshi moshi?

His tone changes completely. The voice that was once tense and hesitant now flows naturally, wrapped in a softness I've never heard before.

- Nee-chan? Hisaiburi da ne! Genki?

The reply from the other side comes quickly, and Hiroshi lets out a low laugh, relaxing his shoulders in a way he doesn't usually do with me.

- Un, un... daijoubu da yo. Gakkou wa... maa, isogashii kedo ne.

I stop pretending I'm not listening. I don't understand a word they're saying, but the way the words slide out of their mouths catches me. The language sounds melodic in his voice, so different from the restrained, methodical way he speaks in English.

- Eh? Boku no seikatsu? Betsu ni... itsumo doori da yo.

The sounds are light, almost like a whisper, and without realising it, I find myself watching the way his lips move as he speaks. The rhythm, the intonation, the ease with which the words come out. It's strange. I listen to him talk all the time, but now he sounds like someone else.

Hiroshi laughs again, and this time I realise how genuine it sounds, without any hesitation. Almost without meaning to, I smile along.

Without thinking too much, I start quietly imitating what Hiroshi says.

- Daijoubu da yo... - I mumble, trying to get the intonation right. The word sounds strange in my mouth, as if it doesn't belong there. I try again, this time lengthening the syllables a little. - Itsumo doori da yo...

I try not to laugh. It definitely didn't sound natural.

Hiroshi doesn't seem to notice my clumsy attempt to reproduce the language. He continues his conversation with his sister, his voice flowing so smoothly that it almost makes me want to keep trying.

- Maa, isogashii kedo ne... - I repeat to myself, but end up getting the pronunciation wrong. This makes me let out a low laugh, shaking my head.

I have no idea what I'm saying, but there's something amusing about the way the language sounds. I've never paid attention to it before, but now I realise how much more at ease Hiroshi sounds when he speaks Japanese. It's almost as if his English version is just a shadow of the original.

I cross my arms on the table and rest my head on them, still laughing at myself. If Hiroshi hears me, he'll probably give me that impassive look of someone who doesn't know whether to laugh or feel embarrassed. And for some reason, this idea amuses me even more.

Still laughing, I take out my mobile phone and open Google Translate. If Hiroshi can speak Japanese so naturally, then I can at least try to say something minimally decent.

I quickly type a simple, cute sentence, something like "Your Japanese sounds very nice". It seems safe enough. I press the translate button and stare at the characters that appear on the screen. I don't even try to read, I just trust blindly and press the audio icon to hear the pronunciation.

- Anata no nihongo wa... - I begin, trying to repeat what I hear. But then my expression changes as I fumble with the strange sounds. - ... baka mitai da ne.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I notice the immediate change in Hiroshi's posture. He freezes in place. His gaze fixes on me with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

- E-eto... nee-chan, gomen ne. Ato de denwa suru. - he says hurriedly into the phone, clearly uncomfortable. Then he hangs up without waiting for an answer.

I frown.

- What? What did I say?

Hiroshi stares at me for a second, blinking slowly.

- You just called me... a complete idiot.

My mouth drops open, but no words come out. I glance back at the mobile phone screen, and my stomach sinks as I realise my mistake. The sentence I wanted to say has turned into something like "Your Japanese is ridiculously stupid".

- Oh, shit. - I mutter, feeling the heat rise to my ears. - I didn't mean that!

Hiroshi continues to stare at me, still processing what he's heard.

- Seriously, I'm sorry. The translator tricked me! - I put my hands up, trying to look as innocent as possible.

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just sighs, rubbing his temple as if he needed patience.

- Nathan... just... don't try to speak Japanese again.

I laugh, a little nervously, but Hiroshi doesn't seem entirely convinced of my innocence.

Hiroshi sighs, still holding the mobile phone as if he needed a moment to absorb what had happened.

- I'm going to lie down for a while... - he says, walking past me with an indecipherable look on his face. - I still have time before you need the room.

He doesn't say it in full, but his tone suggests that he wants to be alone for a while. I feel even worse. He must think I wanted to mock him, or that I'm trying to ridicule his language.

Damn.

I see the bedroom door close behind him and I let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. How could I have been such an idiot? I just wanted to say something nice and ended up insulting the guy. And what's worse, Hiroshi never says much about himself. The fact that he was speaking Japanese with his sister seemed like a rare moment when he really let loose... and I've ruined it.

I pick up my mobile phone and open the browser. If I want to redeem myself, I have to do it right.

"Japanese culture for beginners."

I click on the first link and start reading. Terms of respect, formalities, how to address people... it all seems much more complex than I imagined. It's not just a different language. It's a whole way of thinking.

The more I read, the more I realise how much Hiroshi must have to adapt all the time, thinking about what to say and how to say it, choosing the right words in English, a language that perhaps doesn't sound so natural to him.

And I, with a simple translation error, may have spoilt what could have been a moment of connection.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to fix this. Somehow.

I'm so focused on the mobile phone screen that I don't even realise how much time has passed. The more I read, the more I realise that Japanese culture is full of details that I had never stopped to consider.

I click on the first link and start reading. Terms of respect, formalities, how to address people... it all seems much more complex than I imagined. It's not just a different language. It's a whole way of thinking.

The more I read, the more I realise how much Hiroshi must have to adapt all the time, thinking about what to say and how to say it, choosing the right words in English, a language that perhaps doesn't sound so natural to him.

And I, with a simple translation error, may have spoilt what could have been a moment of connection.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to fix this. Somehow.

I'm so focused on the mobile phone screen that I don't even realise how much time has passed. The more I read, the more I realise that Japanese culture is full of details that I had never stopped to consider.

The formality, the respect implicit in every expression, the way even a simple "thank you" can have different levels of politeness depending on the situation... It's not just a different language. It's a completely different way of communicating.

I bite my lip, reflecting. It must be exhausting for Hiroshi to live between two worlds all the time, always choosing the right words, trying to fit in. I wonder if he misses speaking without having to think so much, without having to mentally translate every feeling before expressing it.

- What are you looking at?

Hiroshi's voice pulls me out of my thoughts so suddenly that I almost drop my mobile phone. I look up and see him standing in the bedroom doorway, blinking slowly, his face still slightly marked by the pillow.

Damn. I have no idea how long he's been there.

- Ha... nothing. I mean... - I put my hand to the back of my neck and lower my mobile phone a little, feeling strangely caught out. - Just... doing some research.

Hiroshi frowns slightly and walks over to the table. His eyes drop to the screen before I can switch it off.

- Japanese culture?

There's no judgement in his voice, just surprise. But somehow it makes me more uneasy.

- Yeah, I... - I sigh, deciding to be honest. - I felt a bit bad about talking rubbish before. I didn't want you to think I was making fun of you.

He stares at me for a moment, and something in his expression changes. I can't tell what, but I feel like my words have taken him by surprise.

Hiroshi looks away, takes a deep breath, and then sits down in the chair opposite me.

- I didn't think you were mocking me... it just came as a shock to hear it out of the blue. - He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little uncomfortable. - But you don't have to worry about that.

Silence settles in for a moment, and I find myself watching Hiroshi more closely. He seems... different now. Less tense, perhaps. As if he's processing something he doesn't want to say out loud.

Perhaps, for the first time, he's realised that I really do care.