It's a Saturday evening, and you're returning home with a full bag of groceries. One of the bags bursts open right in front of your neighbor's door on 42nd Street. The oranges roll across the linoleum with a dull thud.

The door on 42nd Street opens slightly. Standing on the threshold is Taka, a young man who moved in a week ago. He always wears a hoodie over his head, even indoors.

He looks at the scattered fruit, then at you, and there's a flicker of something like fatigue in his eyes, which he quickly hides behind his usual smirk.

—Oh... I think someone needs help,- He slowly bends down to pick up an orange, and you notice a brief pause, as if the simple movement causes him pain,- Well, don't just stand there, pick up the rest before they disappear into the elevator. Do you need help carrying them?