Alina woke with a groan, blinking against the sunlight that had dared to sneak through her curtains. She fumbled blindly for her phone on the nightstand, finally dragging it to her face with one half-shut eye. 8:07 a.m.
"Ughhh," she groaned, throwing the phone back down. She tugged her blanket higher, curled into it like a burrito, and tried to convince herself she could sleep for just five more minutes. Her stomach, however, had other plans. It rumbled, loud enough to remind her that noodles weren't enough for her last night.
Reluctantly, she threw off the blanket and stumbled out of bed, hair sticking out like a nest. Slipping her feet into mismatched slippers, she trudged toward the bathroom, rubbing her eyes.
But the moment she stepped inside, she froze. The place was… spotless.
Her toothbrush stood upright like a soldier. The toothpaste cap she never put back on was neatly screwed in place. Her towel, which she clearly remembered tossing over the sink in a damp heap, was now folded like it had been ironed. The mirror gleamed, not a single splash of water on it. She blinked once. Twice. Then rubbed her eyes again.
"…What in the name of all things soapy…?"
Alina leaned forward, scanning the counter like it was some kind of crime scene. Her skincare bottles, her messy hair ties, the comb she'd abandoned, they were still there, but lined up like obedient little soldiers in perfect order.
She crouched, poked at the folded towel suspiciously, then stood up straight, her mouth hanging open.
"Wait… wait-wait-wait." She pointed at the towel as if it might answer her. "Did my unsocialized roommate just… clean up after me?"
Her jaw dropped further as the realization settled in. She slowly backed out of the bathroom, holding the doorframe like she'd seen a ghost.
"Okay… okay, Alina," she muttered to herself, pacing. "Either there's a ghost who's secretly obsessed with housekeeping, or…" She gasped. "My mysterious tenant is a cleanliness freak!"
She imagined him, whoever he was, silently sneaking in while she slept, folding towels, straightening bottles, maybe even glaring at her brush for leaning the wrong way.
Her lips twitched. "Well, at least someone cares about this place," she admitted, scratching her head sheepishly. Then she added with a dramatic roll of her eyes, "But seriously, who folds a damp towel? That's not hygiene, that's… that's torture."
Shaking her head, she shuffled to the kitchen, her brain still buzzing from the discovery. She yawned as she passed the dining area, and then froze again. The cupboard.
Something was off. She couldn't put her finger on it immediately, but then she realized the bowl she had used last night, the one she'd washed and shoved carelessly back in? It was now stacked neatly with the others, aligned like a perfectly organized family.
She groaned loudly, covering her face.
"Oh, God. He definitely saw it. He saw my crime of careless dish-stacking and fixed it. I'm living with a dish-police officer!"
Alina slumped onto a chair, hair falling into her face, muttering like she was being haunted.
"This is so unfair. I get the unsocial roommate, and on top of that, he's a cleaning psycho. What if he starts inspecting my room next? What if he starts… folding my socks?!"
The thought made her shiver. She pushed her hair back and let out a dramatic sigh. "Great. Just great. I'm basically living with a ninja maid."
Still half asleep, she poured herself a glass of water and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. A small part of her, the part that enjoyed being taken care of, without admitting it, was secretly grateful. But her pride wouldn't let her say it out loud.
Instead, she muttered with mock seriousness, "Fine. You win, Mr. Unsocialize. Keep cleaning. I'll keep… being me."
She dragged herself to the couch, plopped down, and pulled the throw pillow into her arms. Somewhere deep down, though, she wondered:
What kind of person was this roommate? Silent, mysterious, cleaning up after her like some invisible shadow.
The bell above the café door jingled softly as Alina pushed it open, yawning into her fist. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans hit her nose instantly, warm and inviting. Customers sat scattered around the morning regulars with laptops, a couple of students bent over notes, and an elderly man who came every day just to sip tea and people-watch.
Alina tied on her apron with sluggish movements and stepped behind the counter, where Maya was already working with practiced ease, pulling a shot of espresso.
"You're late," Maya said without looking up, her voice calm but teasing.
"I'm alive," Alina countered, slumping against the counter dramatically. "And that's more than enough effort for a morning."
Maya chuckled, finally glancing at her. ''You look like you fought with your blanket."
Alina groaned, resting her head on the cool counter surface. "Not my blanket. My roommate."
Maya froze mid-pour. Her eyebrows shot up. "Wait, you actually met him?"
"Not met," Alina said, waving a hand. "Experienced him. Big difference."
Maya leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Experienced him? What does that even mean?"
Alina straightened, throwing her hands up in exaggerated disbelief. "Maya, he's… a cleanliness freak! Like, psycho-level. I woke up this morning, and my bathroom looked like it was staged for a magazine shoot. My towel was folded, my brush was standing like it was in military service, my skincare bottles lined up like they were attending roll call."
Maya blinked, then burst out laughing. "No way."
Alina smacked the counter for emphasis. "Do you understand how creepy it is to go to bed knowing your towel was hanging like a wet potato sack and waking up to it folded with… with corners!"
Maya pressed her hand over her mouth, giggling uncontrollably.
Alina said dramatically, pointing her finger. "Who folds towels like that?!"
Her loud tone made a couple of customers glance over, and Maya waved them off with a quick apology before leaning closer, whispering. "Honestly? That sounds kind of… nice."
Alina gasped as if Maya had committed treason. "Nice? NICE? He cleaned my side of the bathroom, Maya! Do you know how personal that is?!"
Maya chuckled, tapping her chin. "I mean, it's better than the opposite, right? Imagine living with someone who leaves dirty socks everywhere."
Alina groaned, covering her face. "Don't you dare make me feel guilty for being messy in my own house."
Maya smirked knowingly. "Okay, okay. But seriously, this makes sense."
Alina lowered her hands, frowning. "Makes sense? How?"
Maya leaned on the counter casually. "Ryan. Think about him. He's the one who arranged the place, right? That guy is obsessed with order. He once told me about stacking mugs in height order, Alina. So, if your roommate is Ryan's friend, it's only logical he'd be the same."
Alina tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Wait. You're telling me it runs in their friendship?"
"Exactly." Maya smiled like she had cracked a code. "Birds of a feather. If Ryan's that tidy, his friend must be a mirror image."
Alina groaned again, this time louder, grabbing her ponytail in frustration. "Fantastic. Just what I needed. A double agent of tidiness in my life."
Maya laughed so hard she nearly spilled the cappuccino she was frothing. "Admit it. You secretly like it."
"I do not!" Alina snapped, then immediately softened. "…Okay, maybe the noodles last night were delicious, and maybe the bathroom smells weirdly nice this morning, but that's not the point."
Maya grinned slyly. "So, he cooks and cleans?"
"Shut up," Alina muttered, cheeks warm.
Maya leaned closer, voice dropping like a gossiping teenager. "You know, this sounds like one of those dramas where the unsocial roommate secretly turns out to be...."
Alina slapped her arm. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. He's not some K-Drama main lead, he's just… my unsocial roommate with cleaning issues."
Still laughing, Maya straightened and got back to work, but her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Whatever you say, Sleeping Beauty."
Alina rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed an order slip. Maybe Maya was right. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing to have a roommate who cleaned up after her. Still, she wasn't about to admit that out loud.
The wall clock in the hallway had just struck nine when Kai slid his key into the lock of the door. He twisted it quietly as he stepped inside. The door creaked open to reveal chaos. His hand froze on the knob.
The first thing that hit him was a trail of clothing on the floor, scarves, a crumpled top, something floral that looked suspiciously like a dress strewn carelessly across the polished wooden flooring.
Kai's brows shot up, his lips parting slightly. His gaze flicked to the left. A pair of slippers, one upturned, one abandoned halfway across the rug, lay like crime scene evidence.
He stepped inside, the soles of his shoes crunching lightly against something. A hairbrush. Right in the middle of the living room.
Kai bent to pick it up, holding it as though it were a foreign object, his expression unreadable. His gaze traveled further—to the dining table. Plates, crumbs, a half-drunk glass of juice, and was that… hair ties? A lipstick cap?
His mouth fell open a fraction, disbelief slipping past his carefully maintained calm. The house, his sanctuary of precision and order, looked like a storm had danced through and left mid-spin. Then, slowly, he set the brush back onto the table.
He slid off his blazer with practiced ease, draping it over the nearest chair. His fingers moved to his tie, loosening it until he could pull it free. He folded his sleeves up to his forearms, exposing lean muscle corded with veins, the picture of controlled irritation. Finally, he popped open the top two buttons of his shirt, releasing the tightness around his neck.
His eyes swept over the battlefield of a room again. And then he sighed.
"Ryan," he muttered under his breath, voice low, almost a growl. "You didn't warn me about this. You absolute traitor."
For a second, his lips twisted upward in a humorless smile, but it faded as quickly as it came.
Without another word, Kai moved. He fetched the broom first, sweeping the trails of dust and crumbs scattered across the floor. Each motion was precise, sharp. The bristles hissed against the tiles, and with each sweep, a part of his irritation found release.
His thoughts, however, were relentless. Who the hell lives like this? Clothes on the floor? Shoes abandoned in the middle of the walkway? A hairbrush on the carpet? Does she intend to build a nest out of her belongings?
He pressed his tongue to his cheek, shaking his head. Ryan. You said, "She's chill." Chill? This is not chill. This is… an environmental hazard.
The broom clattered back into place once he was done. He crouched next to the table, picking up each item carefully. Hair ties are stacked neatly. Lipstick cap placed to the side. He wiped the surface with slow, deliberate strokes until it gleamed under the overhead light.
His shirt stuck faintly to his back, but he didn't stop. The kitchen was next. A faint sticky residue stained the counter, and he scrubbed it down until his reflection stared back at him.
By the time he'd finished the floors, wiped the tables, straightened the cushions, folded the stray clothing, and lined up the shoes, the house finally breathed again. Order. Harmony. His breathing evened out, his muscles loosening.
Kai leaned against the wall for a second, exhaling. His reflection in the glass cabinet showed him: hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-unbuttoned.
And here I am. Cleaning up after a stranger. His lips quirked dryly. Ryan, I hope you choke on your food. With that, he headed to the bathroom.
Steam fogged the mirror as hot water cascaded down his body. Kai braced his palms against the cool tiles, closing his eyes as the tension melted from his shoulders. The chaos of the living room still lingered in his mind like a stubborn stain.
If this is day one… how many more hurricanes am I supposed to endure?
Fresh silk whispered against his skin as he slipped into his midnight black, perfectly pressed, cool against his freshly showered body. He rolled his shoulders once, tension finally ebbing. But he wasn't done. The kitchen called again.
Opening the fridge, he scanned the contents. Vegetables, eggs, and a few staples. Nothing elaborate, but enough for him to throw something together. His movements were unhurried, graceful in their precision. Chopping vegetables with practiced rhythm, whisking eggs, stirring them into a pan with the ease of someone who found order in even the smallest of tasks.
A light, fragrant dish soon filled the air, simple but nourishing. Nothing too heavy, just enough to settle his stomach. He plated it neatly, ate without rushing, and washed every utensil afterward. The counters gleamed again, restored to his preferred state.
Finally, he poured a glass of water, and as he was about to drink it, his phone rang, that voice coming from his room. Leaving the glass on the dining table. He went inside to receive the call.