The next day dawned dark and strangely eerie inside the hotel suite.
Heavy, light-blocking curtains were drawn tight across the window, suffocating the morning sunlight.
No lamps were switched on, leaving the room in a heavy, disorienting twilight.
In this oppressive gloom, Trizha was still sleeping where she had collapsed the night before: curled against the locked master bedroom door, her head tilted awkwardly to the left, snoring softly with a slight trickle of drool.
A few seconds later, she woke up slowly, her eyes blinking in the darkness.
She gazed around the unfamiliar room with a residual sleepiness, then stood up, stretching her arms above her head with a long, satisfying yawn, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes.
A moment passed, and then the crushing weight of reality hit her: she had slept against the door.
She had spent the night hiding after kicking her roommate. The realization that Nomoro might still be in the suite sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her.
"Shoot..." She thought to herself.
She carefully, meticulously unlocked the door and pushed it open just a crack, peering out into the living room.
It was silent.
The space seemed empty; Nomoro was nowhere in sight.
Trizha let out a silent, shaky sigh of relief, deducing that he had likely gone out early to do whatever mysterious, quiet things he usually did.
Since, apparently, he wasn't seen too much back in school.
"Phew... he's not around, huh." She muttered confidently.
With her confidence immediately restored, she flung the door wide and stepped out.
She walked casually, a slight, victorious smile already forming on her face, as if she had successfully navigated a minefield and banished all evil from her immediate proximity.
Suddenly, her peripheral vision caught a flash of movement.
Nomoro.
Her instincts, honed by years of school-yard maneuvering and last night's pure terror, instantly took over.
Before her brain could even fully process the situation, she ducked low and performed a frantic, awkward dive, concealing herself entirely behind the nearest large, velvet couch.
Her heart immediately began to hammer against her ribs, and a bead of nervous sweat tracked down her temple.
She had been too casual; she had miscalculated.
Meanwhile, Nomoro was blissfully unaware of the dramatic performance unfolding behind him.
He was wearing a simple, clean dark blue t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair held back by a functional black headband. It was an unnecessary accessory considering his hair is short, but, oh well, he looked cute wearing it.
He is also using a high-quality hotel broom to meticulously sweep the luxurious carpet, humming a simple, unrecognizable tune to himself.
And he is, quite simply, cleaning the hotel room. Because it seemed that some of the employers forgot to clean this room.
He paused in his sweeping and glanced briefly toward the couch where Trizha had vanished.
Apparently, hhe had already noticed her before Trizha herself could.
"Why did she suddenly hide on the couch like that..." Nomoro thought to himself. "I heard there was a trend of some sort of action sequence... is she practicing it? Oh well, not that I should be minding it..."
A confused drop of sweat rolled down his clean face. He shrugged internally and continued his work.
In actuality, he had seen Trizha emerge, but knowing how upset she was yesterday, he understood that giving her space and allowing her to believe she was unseen was the best course of action.
He was paying attention only to the dust bunnies.
"He didn't see me, did he? I hope not..." she thought nervously. "I don't want to approach him just yet...!"
Moving with exaggerated stealth, Trizha began to army-crawl away from the first couch and toward the second, where a pile of her luggage-neatly organized by Nomoro just moments ago-was sitting.
She quietly muttered her current mission statement under her breath. "Sneak, sneak, sneak..."
Reaching her bag, she kneeled down and quietly opened it, extracting fresh clothes and toiletries for a bath.
The entire process was conducted under the intense, self-imposed pressure of not being noticed.
"He didn't steal anything inside of my bag while I was away, didn't he? I need the money to buy some emergency miso ramen! Survival first!"
Her internal financial anxiety satisfied, she slowly turned and began to creep toward the bathroom, a fortress of solitude and steam.
"Sneak, sneak, sneak," she mumbled again, her face a picture of exaggerated alertness and caution.
Taking a morning bath was her daily routine, but today it felt like an Olympic event.
Meanwhile, Nomoro had moved into the suite's kitchenette area and was simply watching her increasingly bizarre movements from the corner of his eye while pouring a glass of cold water.
He was growing more confused with every stealthy crawl and murmured word but, true to his word from last night, he chose to ignore it and mind his own business.
He took a long, cool drink, completely oblivious to the intricate espionage Trizha believed she was performing.
A few minutes later, Trizha was in the bathroom, luxuriating in the shower.
The sound of rushing water, which Trizha conveniently ignored, was loud enough to clearly signal her location to anyone in the suite-a fact Nomoro was already well aware of, though he wasn't keeping track.
After a refreshing while, Trizha emerged from the bathroom, dressed in comfortable, clean clothes.
She let out a soft sigh of relief, savoring the feeling of normalcy, but the peace was instantly shattered by the short-circuiting realization that Nomoro was still around.
Her heart rate spiked again, and she immediately prepared to execute a hasty retreat back into the master bedroom.
Suddenly, a loud, familiar voice bellowed her name from just outside the main suite door, causing Trizha to freeze mid-step.
"Trizha...! Come out there, we're gonna hang out! Or are you busy making-out with your 'male' roommate~?"
It was Wyne, saying that loudly and teasingly and loudly, standing outside the door, her fist raised to knock again.
Margaret was next to her, calmly chewing bubblegum that she bought not too long ago, looking slightly bored.
Trizha felt a deep blush immediately stain her face. She prepared to shout back an irritated, furious denial.
But before she could release a single word, Nomoro calmly walked past her, heading directly for the main door, not even minding for a fact that he just simply walked past her.
Trizha flinched violently, instinctively ducking and hiding behind the side of the nearby couch yet again, melting into the shadows with the speed of a startled cat.
She watched, horrified, as Nomoro reached for the handle.
Wyne, meanwhile, was slowly growing impatient due to the lack of response.
"No response... is she really making out? That idiot, it's too early and you're too young! I'll just burst in then!"
Wyne grinned, taking a step back, hitching up her shorts, and preparing to execute a theatrical tackle to open the door. Margaret watched her with a faint, worried line in her brow.
"She's going to break her bones." Margaret thought.
Just as Wyne lowered her shoulder and began to sprint toward the door, the door opened slowly, quietly, pulled inward by Nomoro.
Wyne skidded to a stop, her confidence instantly replaced with a wide-eyed expression of shock and intimidation.
Margaret, however, was silently disappointed that Wyne stopped before something horrific could happen. But that was instantly changed when she looked up at Nomoro's tall, well-built stature and clean, quiet demeanor.
Her expression showed immediate amazement, her eyes sparkling in unconcealed admiration.
The guy was scary, and she loved every single part of it.
"Oh, shoot, its him." Said by Wyne.
"Whoa..." And said by Margaret.
Nomoro, still wearing the dark blue t-shirt and headband and holding the broom handle loosely, simply looked down at the two girls.
His expression was completely unreadable, his small, cat-like irises seeming to stare deep into their very souls.
This silent, intense gaze gave Margaret a sense of strange, compelling excitement, while Wyne was struck dumb with a deep, immediate sense of intimidation by this tall, silent stranger who had nearly been tackled by her.