Chapter 204 - 203 : Jennifer Winslet

Chapter 204: Chapter 203 : Jennifer Winslet

The apartment was on the third floor of a narrow, old building on the edge of the city. It was tiny — no bigger than a normal studio, maybe thirty square meters if you were generous. The previous tenant had left it in a rush after deciding to move to the countryside, so the rent was ridiculously low. Haruto had taken it without thinking twice. Money was the last thing on his mind.

He moved in on a rainy Sunday.

The truck arrived at 9 a.m. He sat on the tiny balcony, watching the rain pour down in sheets, and felt something cold settle in his chest. His parents had left him in Japan six months ago. Two years had been taken from him already. Now the apartment they had once shared was gone, and he was alone with only this cramped little room.

He carried his suitcase up the narrow stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. The building smelled of damp wood and old cigarettes. When he finally unlocked the door, the place was worse than he expected.

The previous tenant had left it empty except for a single mattress on the floor, a small wooden table, and a broken plastic chair. There were no curtains. The toilet was in the corner, the sink was rusty, and the balcony was barely big enough to stand on. But the view from there... the view was actually beautiful.

He stood on the narrow balcony for a long time, watching the rain mix with the lights of the city below. The buildings were close together, so the balconies of neighboring apartments almost touched his own. He could see the windows of the apartment directly across the narrow gap. Someone was cooking ramen inside, the steam rising in slow clouds. The rain kept falling, turning everything into a soft, gray watercolor.

Haruto went inside and started cleaning.

He swept the floor first. The dust was thick, but it came off easily. Then he mopped it with the bucket he had bought that morning. The water turned dirty quickly, but he kept going until the floor was clean and shiny. He rearranged the furniture — the small bed against the wall, the table under the window, the single chair that creaked when he sat on it. He brought in a cheap futon from the second-hand shop and laid it on the bed. He added a small lamp on the table, a few books, and a framed picture of his parents that he had carried with him since the illness.

By evening the room looked almost livable.

The balcony became his favorite place.

He sat there for hours, the rain still falling, watching the lights of the city flicker on one by one. The apartment next door was close enough that he could see the woman hanging laundry. She was young, maybe twenty. She was humming while she pinned up clothes. Haruto watched her for a long time, feeling something he hadn’t felt in two years.

Alive.

Wanted.

Then the loneliness hit again, harder than before.

That night, after the rain stopped, he sat on the edge of the new bed and opened his laptop. The screen was small and cracked in one corner, but it was enough. He clicked on the first link. The first video. Then the second. Then the third. He closed the door, turned off the lights, and let the screen glow blue on his face.

He told himself it was just temporary.

He told himself he would stop after tonight.

But the words felt like lies.

The next morning he transferred to a new high school.

He woke up at 6:30 a.m., the tiny apartment already feeling like home. He wore his old uniform, the one that still smelled faintly of his parents’ apartment, and walked to the new school under the gray morning sky. The building was larger than his old one, but the hallways felt smaller. The students whispered when he walked past. He kept his head down and sat in the back row, the same way he used to sit in his old class.

School was his only escape.

But even in the classroom the loneliness followed him.

At lunch he ate alone on the rooftop, the wind cold against his face. After school he went back to the tiny apartment on the third floor. The balcony was his only real comfort. The neighbors’ balconies were close enough that he could see their faces clearly. He watched them the same way he used to watch the girls in his school — from a distance, safe, hidden.

And every night, the same thing happened.

He locked the door. Turned off the lights. Opened the laptop. The screen glowed blue on his face while his hand moved under the blanket. Three times. Sometimes four. Always after midnight, when the city below became quiet and the loneliness felt loudest.

He never told anyone.

He never thought about telling anyone.

He just kept doing it, because the alternative — facing the emptiness of the apartment every single night — was too terrifying to survive.

So Haruto, the boy who had once been a normal second-year high schooler, became someone else.

He became the lonely boy on the third floor.

The boy who watched his neighbors from his balcony.

The boy who fucked himself three times a day just to feel something real.

The boy who was waiting for the day his life would change again.

The rain started again at 9 p.m.

Haruto sat on his narrow balcony, the cold water soaking his hair, and looked across the narrow gap at the apartment next door.

Someone was standing at their window, watching the rain.

Few days later...

The afternoon sun was already starting to tilt lower when Haruto sat on the narrow wooden balcony of his tiny third-floor apartment. The city stretched out below him in soft golden light, the buildings close enough that the neighboring balconies almost touched. He had bought a small bottle of coffee that morning — black, strong, the kind that burns your throat but keeps you awake. He sipped it slowly, the hot liquid warming his chest while his mind wandered.

His new apartment was exactly what he expected: tiny, but clean. The balcony was his favorite place in the world now. He could see the sky, the street, and the world below without anyone looking at him too closely.

And today, someone new was looking at him.

On the balcony directly across the narrow gap stood a girl.

She was in her early twenties, maybe twenty-three. Her hair was a rich, warm brown that caught the sunlight like polished wood. She wore a loose white T-shirt that draped loosely over her body and very short shorts that barely reached mid-thigh. The fabric was thin, slightly damp from the washing machine still running behind her. She moved with the relaxed grace of someone who had grown up in a warm country — long limbs, sun-kissed skin, and a quiet confidence that made Haruto’s mouth go dry.

She was beautiful. Not the delicate, fragile kind he had seen in magazines. This was the kind of beauty that felt alive — soft curves, long legs, and a calm strength in the way she hung the clothes to dry. Haruto’s eyes kept drifting to her chest. The loose T-shirt clung to her boobs as she reached up to pin something to the line, the fabric stretching just enough to show the gentle bounce and the dark outline of her nipples. He told himself it was nothing. He had watched too much porn lately. His brain had started seeing every woman like an object. Lustful. Hungry.

He knew it was wrong.

He knew he had to stop.

But the loneliness was still loud in his head, and the coffee in his hand suddenly tasted bitter.

He stared.

Harder than he should.

His gaze burned into her chest, then her waist, then the soft curve of her hips. The short shorts rode up slightly as she stretched, revealing the smooth line of her thigh. Haruto felt his cock twitch under the pant he had casually draped over his lap. He forced himself to look away, staring at the street instead, but the image was already burned into his mind.

Then she turned her head.

Their eyes met.

Haruto’s heart slammed against his ribs. For one frozen second, he was caught. Her gaze was calm, curious, and completely unafraid. She looked at him the way she would look at any new neighbor — polite, warm, a little amused.

Haruto instantly looked away, his face burning. He stared at the opposite building like it had personally offended him. His coffee cup rattled slightly in his hand.

Then he heard her soft voice.

"Hello."

He looked back at her.

"Hello," he said, trying to sound normal.

"We are neighbors. We didn’t greet each other, right?"

Haruto forced a small smile, the kind he used to give people.

"Yeah... I’m Haruto. I just moved here recently. You?"

The girl tilted her head, her brown hair falling over one shoulder.

"I’m Jennifer Winslate. I came from abroad for a medical internship. I moved into this apartment one week ago. Nice to meet you, Haruto."

Haruto blinked. "You’re... from abroad?"

She nodded with a small, genuine smile.

"England. I came for my internship at the university hospital. This apartment is perfect — quiet, clean, and close to the hospital."

Haruto felt something loosen in his chest. She was warm. Friendly. Not like the girls he used to see in porn who only wanted attention. She sounded polite. Her Japanese was good — clear, with just the slightest accent — but it wasn’t perfect. She rolled her r’s softly, spoke a little slower than a native speaker.

Haruto smiled again, this time without trying.

"Nice to meet you too, Jennifer. I’m looking forward to it... as neighbors."

She laughed softly, a light, musical sound.

"Same as you."

She turned back to the clothesline, hanging the last piece of laundry. The loose T-shirt rode up slightly as she reached high, revealing a small strip of smooth, sun-kissed skin above her shorts. Haruto quickly looked away again, his face still warm.

He took another sip of coffee, the bitterness on his tongue suddenly tasting almost good.

He sat there on his tiny balcony, watching the girl next door hang her clothes, and felt something strange and new settle in his chest.