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The banging on the door didn't stop. "Arata! I'm counting to three!" the landlord's voice was getting impatient.
I looked at the door, then back at Arata. My heart was still racing, but strangely, a calm feeling washed over me. I had faced thousands of cameras and difficult interviews; surely, I could handle one angry landlord. I didn't want to hide under a bed like a scared child. That wasn't who I wanted to be anymore.
"Arata-kun, stay in bed," I whispered, my voice firm and steady. "I'll handle this."
Arata looked at me, eyes wide with shock. "Sayaka-san, you can't! If he sees you—"
"He won't see Sayaka the Idol," I said with a small, confident smile. I quickly grabbed Arata's oversized hoodie from the chair and put it on. I pulled the hood low over my forehead, letting my hair fall messily over my face, and grabbed a pair of thick-rimmed glasses from his desk.
I walked to the door and opened it just a crack. The landlord, a short, balding man, was about to shove his key in. He blinked in surprise.
"Who are you? Where's Arata?" he barked.
"He's very sick with a high fever," I said, my voice sounding tired and annoyed, as if I had been up all night. "I'm his cousin. I live in a nearby apartment, and I came over to check on him because he wasn't answering his phone. Do you always scream at sick people at this hour, or is it a hobby?"
The landlord stammered, his face turning red. "I... I just wanted to check on the rent! He's two days late!"
"He'll pay you as soon as he can walk again," I said, and before he could say another word, I handed him a small envelope of cash I had in my bag. "Here. Keep the change for the trouble. Now, please, he needs to rest."
I closed the door before he could even blink. I leaned against the wood, letting out a long breath. I turned around to see Arata staring at me as if I were a ghost.
"That... that was amazing," he whispered.
I smiled slightly. "Being a 'Perfect Idol' has its perks, Arata-kun. I'm a very good actress."
I walked back to the bedside, but I didn't take off the oversized hoodie. It felt surprisingly warm and safe. I sat down on the floor, leaning my back against the bed frame. Arata was still looking at me, but his expression had changed from shock to something softer.
"You look... different," he said quietly. "Not like the Sayaka everyone talks about. You just look like a girl who's finally taking a break."
I looked at my hands, hidden inside the long sleeves of his hoodie. "Maybe this is who I actually am. Not the girl standing in front of the mirror every day... but the one who isn't acting anymore."
The room fell into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the rain hitting the window and the soft ticking of a clock. Arata reached out and picked up a sketchbook from the floor. He hesitated for a moment, then held it out to me.
"I wasn't just drawing a mirror earlier," he whispered. "I was trying to find the person behind it. I think... I found her tonight."
I took the book, my fingers brushing against his. For the first time, I wasn't afraid of what someone might find in my heart. As the night went on, we talked about dreams that had nothing to do with fame, and fears that we had never told anyone else. In this small, messy room, the world outside didn't matter anymore.