Love accidental to addiction

They walked for a few minutes, the steady rhythm of their footsteps blending with the city's hum. The streets remained busy, children running past them, their laughter ringing out; elderly couples sat on benches, fanning themselves; delivery drivers on scooters zipped by; the distant sound of a school bell chimed; and from a nearby college campus, the murmur of student conversations drifted on the hot air. Minji kept up a steady stream of casual chatter, asking about the neighborhood, the best places to eat, the quirks of Tokyo life. Ryo answered politely, still somewhat bewildered by her presence but finding her company less awkward than he initially expected.

When Ryo finally reached his apartment building – a rather worn structure that looked like it had seen better decades – he gestured towards the entrance. Minji followed him inside, the cool, stale air of the foyer a slight improvement over the outside heat. They ascended the narrow, faintly creaking staircase to his floor.

Ryo fumbled with his keys, the sound of metal on metal echoing in the quiet hallway. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside, gesturing for Minji to enter first.

Minji took a step forward, and then she froze. Her eyes scanned the room, and her earlier casual demeanor vanished, replaced by an expression of utter, unadulterated shock. Her mouth dropped open, and her umbrella, which she still held, tilted precariously.

"What the hell?!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with disbelief, the words escaping before she could stop them.

Ryo flinched at her outburst. "What did you just say?" he asked, turning to her, his brow furrowed.

Minji quickly snapped her mouth shut, her eyes darting away from his, as if she'd been caught doing something illicit. "Nothing!" she said, a little too quickly. Her gaze, however, continued to sweep around the apartment, taking in every horrifying detail.

The room was a disaster zone. It wasn't just untidy; it was a testament to neglect. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light that penetrated the grime on the window. A thick, almost visible layer of dust coated every surface. In one corner, near the ceiling, a thick, intricate spider web, inhabited by its eight-legged architect, stretched like a ghostly curtain. The ceiling fan, ancient and clearly broken, hung precariously, its blades caked with dust, looking like it hadn't moved in years. One of the windowpanes was cracked, a jagged line marring the glass, and below it, scattered across the floor, were dozens of empty beer bottles, glinting dully in the dim light, alongside crumpled cigarette packs. An overflowing ashtray sat on a makeshift table made of stacked crates. Clothes were flung haphazardly over chairs, on the floor, and even draped over the broken fan blades. The air itself felt heavy, stale, a mix of old smoke, dust, and something indefinable, something bordering on... despair.

Minji stood there, aghast. Her initial impression of Ryo being "just a guy who slipped" had just been violently shattered. This wasn't just messy; this was a complete lack of basic living standards. Her mind immediately jumped to conclusions: He's really poor. His clothes, his modest apartment building, and now this absolute chaos... it all painted a picture of someone struggling, barely getting by.

She turned to him, her expression a mix of pity and a sudden, overwhelming urge to fix things. Her impulse control, especially when faced with extreme disorder, was notoriously weak.

"Hey, mister," she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a strange urgency. "May I clean up?"

Ryo stared at her, utterly taken aback. "Seriously?" he asked, incredulous. "You said you wanted to see my apartment. Now you want to clean up? Why?" He looked around his dismal space, then back at her. "Is it really that bad?"

Minji looked at him, then back at the room, then at him again. She knew she couldn't tell him the truth – that his apartment looked like a den abandoned by a goblin. She needed a quick, plausible lie. Her brain scrambled.

"Yes, I want to see the apartment," she began, attempting a casual tone. "And... more thing is, I like cleaning. Because it's my habit." She forced a bright, innocent smile, hoping it masked the sheer horror she felt inside. Helping poor is my habit, too, she thought, though she wouldn't voice that part aloud.

Ryo crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, still looking skeptical. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't allow strangers to clean up my apartment." A stranger, even a helpful one, was still a stranger. And his mess felt intensely personal, a reflection of his own struggles he wasn't keen on sharing.

Minji's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a stranger now, am I?" she countered, a flash of her earlier bossiness returning. "You literally just let me into your home! And by the way," she continued, gesturing around the room with a sweeping motion of her umbrella, "how can you live like that? Can you even breathe in here? It's like some kind of jungle! You should live in a healthy way, mister!" Her voice was rising, her concern morphing into exasperation.

Ryo sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was tired, his elbow ached, and now he was being lectured in his own home. "Don't talk too much," he muttered, rubbing his temples. He looked at the floor, at the bottles, then back at her. "One more thing," he added, his voice low, a hint of awkwardness in it. "But... I don't have money to give you." He assumed her insistence on cleaning meant she expected payment.

Minji waved a dismissive hand, the umbrella swishing gently. "I don't need money," she declared, her tone firm, almost righteous. "I told you, I help you. Helping poor is my habit." It was another lie, of course. She helped people based on her whims, and "poor" was a label she slapped on him in that moment, justifying her sudden, overwhelming urge to transform his squalor.

Ryo blinked at her, a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort warring within him. "Yes," he conceded, "you helped me today."

Minji hummed, a sound of self-satisfaction. She wasn't waiting for an invitation anymore. She marched further into the room, her sandals making soft slap-slap sounds on the dusty floor. She immediately began surveying the mess with a professional eye, her bun bobbing as she moved.

"She started cleaning," the narrator might say, but in reality, she simply declared her intention and expected compliance.

"Where is the broom?" she demanded, spinning on her heel to face Ryo who was still standing by the door, looking bewildered. "Hey, mister! Bring the broom!"

Ryo, still absorbing her audaciousness, pointed vaguely towards a cluttered corner. "It's... over there, I think. Here,

let me help you out." He started to move, feeling a surge of something akin to guilt for the state of his home.

"No need!" Minji cut him off sharply, her hand shooting out to stop him. Her voice brooked no argument. "Get out!"

Ryo stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping slightly. "What?" he stammered.

"Get out!" she repeated, pointing towards the door with theatrical flourish. "I'm cleaning!"

Ryo stared at her, dumbfounded. "Seriously? You don't need my help?" he asked,