Daniel's POV.
She grew more insistent, acting as if she had the right to order me around in my own home. The audacity of this girl was infuriating.
"Why don't you want me to come in?" she teased through the cracks in the door. "Shouldn't a geek like you be thrilled to have a childhood friend visit, like in those cartoons you watch? Isn't this supposed to be a 'flag' or something?"
"First, you're just my childhood acquaintance, not my friend. Second, I'm not a geek. And third, I know you're just here to mess with me and mock my otaku life!" I retorted, banging the door again for emphasis.
She didn't back down. Instead, her voice dropped to a mischievous whisper. She warned that if I didn't let her in, she'd spread rumors around the neighborhood that I watched "inappropriate" anime videos in my room.
"W-what? That's not true!" I stammered, my heart skipping a beat. "And even if you told people, it wouldn't matter—I'm a guy! People expect that!"
"Oh, really?" she countered. She wasn't done. She brought up how I used to act like a superhero with imaginary powers to impress the younger kids at the park. That wasn't a big deal to me—I had my reasons for playing along back then—so I dared her to go ahead and spread her rumors, hoping she'd finally give up.
"I'll also tell everyone you wear women's clothes and pose in front of the mirror!" she added, her voice ringing out clearly.
Her words hit me like a physical punch. My stomach dropped. I remembered the time she'd barged in and caught me trying on a girl's school uniform I'd borrowed from a cousin's cosplay stash. It was mortifying. Even though it was just a one-time experiment, hearing her say it out loud made my face burn with a heat that felt like a fever. Of all the days and times she could've shown up, it had to be that day. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
"What, Didi? Quiet all of a sudden? Want the whole neighborhood to know your little secrets?" she taunted.
Her threats left me no choice. My reputation was already thin, but I couldn't have that getting out. I reluctantly turned the lock and opened the door just enough to let her in.
"Fine. Just shut up," I muttered, looking at the floor.
Her smug reaction as she stepped inside, swaying her hips slightly, only made me angrier. She grinned like she knew she had me under her thumb.
"Nice room," she said, looking around at my posters. "Now, where's that fruit I brought you? You look like you need some vitamins."
"As long as she remembers that, she's got me by the throat," I thought bitterly, leaning back against the door as it clicked shut. I watched her start to pick through my desk like she owned the place. "What if I pushed her down the stairs to give her amnesia?" The mental image was tempting, but knowing my luck, she'd probably just survive and sue me for my last paycheck.
"Why are you even here, you witch?" I snapped, finally moving away from the door.
"I don't have classes today, so I thought I'd visit your sister. But she's still asleep, so I figured I'd hang out here and read," she replied casually, her voice airy and completely unbothered by my hostility.
She strolled further into my room, still carrying her basket of apples. With a careless thud, she plopped it down on my PC desk—right on top of my mechanical keyboard. I felt a vein throb in my temple. I couldn't tell if she actually didn't notice the expensive hardware underneath or if she was deliberately trying to see how long it would take for me to explode.
"Don't you have any new comics? Your old ones are so lame," she said, her fingers trailing over the spines of my manga collection, rummaging through the shelves with zero respect for my alphabetized system.
"Nobody asked you to read them! If you don't like the themes, you're free to leave my room," I shot back, reaching over to rescue my keyboard.
This woman with long black hair and a slender figure was Elisa Sandoval, my infuriating neighbor. She's 22, a rich kid, though you wouldn't guess it from her casual oversized t-shirt and those ridiculously short denim shorts. It was like her family could afford the mansion next door but couldn't spare enough fabric for proper clothes.
She's friends with my siblings, which is why she feels entitled to barge into our house whenever the mood strikes. My parents just let her come and go, probably because her family is wealthy and they think staying on her good side might eventually pay off. It's maddening how everyone in this house treats her like a guest of honor while I'm the one who actually lives here.
I quickly moved the basket off my keyboard and placed it on a small side table by the window, where the morning sun was hitting the floor. My brow furrowed as I watched her carelessly flip through a volume of Re:Zero, tossing books onto my unmade bed while taking a loud, crunching bite of an apple. I cringed, imagining a microscopic spray of apple juice landing on the matte covers.
"Hey, if you're going to read my manga, put down that apple! You'll get juice on them!" I scolded, pointing at the fruit.
"Oh, come on, they're just comics, Didi. Relax," she replied dismissively, not even looking up from the page. "Besides, these are so old you should throw them out or give them to the neighborhood kids instead of hoarding them in here."
"They're called a collection for a reason—they're meant to be kept! And please, stop scattering my stuff!" I shouted, though it felt like yelling at a brick wall.
She didn't care about my anger. Instead, she held the basket out toward me, offering an apple with a nonchalant shrug. I promptly refused, glaring at her to make it absolutely clear that her "peace offering" wasn't working.
"Don't bring food to my room again. If I'm hungry, I can go downstairs myself," I told her.
"Actually, I didn't bring this for you. It's for me to snack on while I read. But you can have one if you want," she said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
I froze, my face heating up. I felt a surge of embarrassment for assuming the apples were a gesture for me. Instead of backing down, I doubled down on my pride, crossing my arms. "I don't want anything from you. I might end up owing you something, and I'm not interested in that," I snapped.
"Oh, relax, Didi. These aren't even mine. I just saw them on your kitchen table downstairs and thought they looked good," she said nonchalantly, flipping another page.
I was stunned. She had the nerve to walk into our kitchen, eat our apples, and then offer me one like she'd gone out and bought them herself. "You're unbelievable," I muttered, grabbing a clean towel from my closet.
I tossed the towel at her face, telling her to use it to keep my manga clean. Surprisingly, she didn't complain; she just caught it and used it to wipe her hands before picking up the next book.