House Rules

The door clicked shut behind Takeshi Nakamura, and the sudden absence of his enthusiasm left a vacuum in the room.

The six of them stood frozen in awkward silence, the reality of their situation settling over them like a weight.

They were alone now.

No producers hovering. No assistants organizing them.

Just six strangers who would be living together under the unblinking eyes of wall-mounted cameras for the next month.

Nataria felt the shift immediately,

the way everyone's posture changed without the host's commanding presence or the shuffles of PAs.

Sachiko fidgeted with her ponytail.

Shou pulled out his phone, then seemed to catch himself and shoved it back in his pocket with visible irritation.

Even Hibiki's perfect composure had developed a slight crack, his jaw tight as he surveyed the space.

"I'm starving," Momo announced, her voice pitched to that sweet, helpless register that no doubt made men want to solve problems for her.

She pressed one delicate hand to her stomach, lips forming a perfect pout.

"I was so nervous this morning, I couldn't eat breakfast at all."

Nataria watched Momo's eyes dart between Shou,

Senri, and Hibiki, waiting for one of them to jump in with concern, or to offer solutions.

Instead, it was Sachiko who moved first.

"Here." The gymnast was already digging through her bag,

producing a protein bar. "It's not much, but it should help until we figure out meals."

The micro-expression that flashed across Momo's face,

disappointment smoothed into gratitude so quickly most people would have missed it,

told Nataria everything she needed to know.

The influencer had been hoping for a different kind of attention.

"Thank you, Tamaki-san," Momo said warmly, accepting the bar with both hands like it was a great gift. "You're so thoughtful."

"We should probably check out the sleeping arrangements," Shou said,

stretching his arms above his head in a way that made his shirt ride up, revealing a strip of toned stomach.

The movement was too deliberate to be accidental.

"Pick our rooms before someone claims all the good spots."

"The sleeping arrangements will likely be identical," Nataria heard herself say.

The words came out in her public speaking voice, completely void of warmth.

Senri turned to look at her, and the directness of his golden gaze made something flutter uncomfortably in her chest.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

There was no challenge in his tone, just genuine curiosity,

but Nataria felt heat creep up the back of her neck anyway.

Because I've been trained to analyze these situations since I was eleven.

Because I know how producers think.

Because I've learned to predict every trap before I step into it.

"Because they won't let anyone complain about favoritism," she said instead,

keeping her voice carefully neutral.

"Everything will be exactly equal. That's how these shows work."

Senri's head tilted slightly, studying her like she was a puzzle he wanted to understand.

The attention made her skin feel too tight.

"Makes sense," he said finally, and there was something in his expression,

respect, maybe, that made the uncomfortable flutter intensify.

Hibiki was already moving toward the stairs, his shoulders straight.

"We should unpack first anyway," he said without looking back.

"Might as well check the rooms."

The group followed him up the modern floating staircase,

footsteps creating an odd symphony of designer shoes and nervous energy.

The second floor opened into a wide corridor with pristine white walls and warm wood flooring. At either end stood two clearly labeled doors.

BOYS' ROOM on the left.

GIRLS' ROOM on the right.

The silence that fell was almost comical.

Six people staring at two doors like they'd just been sentenced.

Momo's perfectly glossed lips formed a small 'oh' of dismay.

Shou's jaw tightened.

Even Sachiko's composed expression flickered with something that might have been disappointment.

Nataria felt their eyes turn toward her, as if somehow this was her fault.

As if her prediction had cursed them all to communal living instead of the romantic private suites they'd probably imagined.

She fought the urge to glare back.

Control your expression. Don't give them ammunition.

You're already the villain, don't make it worse.

Senri had already crossed to the boys' door, pushing it open with undimmed enthusiasm.

"Well, let's see what we're working with."

Momo practically leaped after him and peered curiously around his shoulder without invitation. "Oh!"

The room was spacious and decidedly masculine, charcoal gray and blue walls, clean lines, three beds with dark wood frames positioned in an L-shape.

Each bed had its own reading light and small nightstand.

A large window overlooked the garden, and there was a shared wardrobe built into one wall.

"This is actually really nice," Senri said, and his tone held genuine appreciation,

like he hadn't expected comfort.

Nataria caught Hibiki's expression from where she stood in the doorway,

the barely suppressed weariness in his silver eyes.

The eldest, already calculating how to maintain peace in a shared space.

Shou strode in with the confidence of someone who'd claimed territory in a dozen different dorms.

He dropped his expensive leather duffle on the bed furthest from the door, the one tucked into the corner with the most privacy.

"I've shared enough dorms to know the best spots," he announced,

throwing himself onto the mattress with theatrical satisfaction.

"This one's mine."

Senri paused in the act of setting down his worn shoulder bag.

"Maybe Shimizu-san should have the best spot? He's older."

Shou stared at him like he'd suggested giving away his soul.

"Are you serious?"

"I don't care which bed I get," Hibiki said quickly,

his voice tight with the effort of staying diplomatic.

"Really. It's fine."

Nataria found herself watching Senri from the doorway as he pulled his duffle onto the middle bed, the one with the least privacy,

the one no one else had wanted. Momo had moved closer,

her red hair catching the light as she peered at his luggage with undisguised interest.

"Is that all you brought?" she asked, her tone caught between amusement and disbelief.

Senri's smile came easy, dimples appearing like parentheses around his mouth.

"The stylist said they'd provide a wardrobe and not to bother packing much. Figured I'd save the trouble."

Nataria felt something twist in her chest, something like envy.

He moved through the space like the cameras didn't exist, utterly unbothered by being filmed.

It was so different from how Shou sprawled on his bed with calculated casualness,

or how Hibiki positioned himself near the window with perfect lighting.

Even Nataria herself was hyper-aware of where the cameras were mounted, how she was standing, what her face was doing.

But Senri just smiled and unpacked his worn duffle like this was any ordinary day.

"Miyata-san! Hidomu-san!"

Sachiko's bright voice cut through her observations.

"Come on, let's pick our beds too!"

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The girls' room was the mirror opposite of the boys',

soft and decidedly feminine with pastel walls and lighter furniture.

Each bed had a different accent wall: lavender, mint green, and a warm peach that made Nataria's breath catch.

It's cute, she thought, then immediately felt foolish.

She was nineteen years old, not six.

She shouldn't care about pastel walls.

But she did. The peach one reminded her of spring, of cherry blossoms,

of things that were soft and gentle and completely at odds with the armor she wore every day.

"Tamaki-san?"

she heard herself say, hating how tentative she sounded.

"Which bed do you want?"

The gymnast was already moving toward the bed by the window,

running her hand along the mint green covers with appreciation.

"This one, if that's okay? I like being able to see outside."

Nataria's heart did something stupid and hopeful.

"Then... could I have the peach one?"

"Of course!"

Sachiko smiled, and it was the first genuinely warm expression Nataria had received from anyone except Senri since arriving.

"It suits you."

It suits you.

Three small words that shouldn't have mattered, but somehow did.

Momo was already on the lavender bed,

unpacking an alarming array of skincare products and arranging them on her nightstand with the precision of a general preparing for battle.

She hadn't asked which bed anyone else wanted,

just claimed her territory and moved on.

Nataria set her designer suitcase on the peach bed carefully.

Her hands trembled slightly as she unzipped the bag.

Don't be stupid. Just put him somewhere he won't be too visible.

But even as she thought it,

Nataria was already reaching for the luxury tote bag she'd packed Mr. Bun in,

the aggressively pink stuffed bunny with ears longer than his torso and a slightly worn nose from years of being held.

She'd fought with Yamazaki for thirty minutes about bringing him.

Her manager had called it "completely unsuited to her image."

She'd only won by lying through her teeth,

claiming her mother had given Mr. Bun to her when she was six.

In reality, she'd bought him for herself three years ago, during the week after her idol group disbanded.

When her apartment felt too empty and the silence too heavy, and she needed something, anything, that was just hers.

Nataria held Mr. Bun in her hands, staring at his ridiculous pink floppy ears.

The cameras would catch this.

The comments would be mocking.

But then she remembered Sachiko telling her to take the bed she wanted.

And Senri, choosing her despite everything,

looking at her like she was a person instead of a scandal.

Maybe this might actually work.

Maybe showing pieces of myself, real pieces, could help.

She set Mr. Bun on her pillow.

The pink plended with the peach bedding.

Nataria felt her cheeks heat, but didn't shove him into a drawer or bury him under her clothes.

I'm not hiding him. Not hiding myself.

She turned back to her suitcase, aware that Momo had paused in her skincare arrangement to stare.

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