My Girlfriend Wanted an Open Relationship, So I Broke Up with Her and Found a Sweet Yandere - Chapter 42

The door rattled under my fist.

Once. Twice. Again.

Metal against wood, sharp in the quiet of the stairwell.

“Oi—who the hell is it—”

Locks shifted from inside. Something scraped. The door cracked open, chain still hooked, and a face pushed into the gap.

Unshaven. Heavy-lidded. Mid-forties, maybe older. The kind of tired that didn’t come from work.

“…What.”

“It’s me. From 203.”

A pause. His eyes narrowed, then flicked down the hallway behind me like I was hiding something.

“…What do you want at this hour?”

“There’s a leak.”

Another pause.

Then a long, slow exhale through his nose.

“…A leak.”

“Yeah.”

He stared at me for a second longer like he was weighing whether it was worth stepping outside.

It wasn’t.

But he did anyway.

The chain slid off. The door opened wider. He stepped out in slippers, jacket thrown loosely over a t-shirt, scratching the side of his neck.

“You couldn’t wait till morning?”

“No.”

He clicked his tongue.

“…Fine. Show me.”

We walked back without another word. His steps were slow, mine a little too fast.

The door to my apartment was still open from earlier.

…drip.

He heard it before he saw it.

“…Huh.”

I stepped in first. He followed, stopping just past the entrance.

His gaze moved up.

The stain had spread more.

Darker now. Wider.

Another drop formed.

…and fell.

…drip.

He watched it for a moment. Then another.

“…Tch.”

“That wasn’t there before.”

“No shit.”

I didn’t respond.

He stepped further in, craning his neck slightly to follow the line across the ceiling toward the bathroom wall.

“…Probably the pipe upstairs.”

“Then fix it.”

He let out a short laugh. No humor in it.

“At this hour?”

“You’re the landlord.”

“And you’re the tenant.”

His eyes shifted to me, flat.

“I don’t do miracles.”

I looked at the floor.

Water had spread further while I was gone. A thin layer creeping outward, reflecting the light in uneven patches.

I moved past him without saying anything and grabbed what I could reach first—my bag, the books on the low table, the charger cables. One by one, I set them on the bed.

He watched.

Didn’t help.

“…You got anything else on the floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Then move it.”

“I am.”

Another drop.

…drip.

He clicked his tongue again.

“You’re lucky I don’t charge you maintenance like the others.”

That stopped me.

My hand paused mid-motion, a notebook half-lifted.

“…What.”

“You heard me.”

He shrugged lightly, like it was nothing.

“Cheap rent, no maintenance, flexible deadlines. You think that’s normal?”

I didn’t answer.

“…No, right?”

Silence.

“…This kind of thing happens,” he went on, glancing up again. “Old building. Pipes freeze, crack, whatever. Not my fault.”

Another drop hit the floor.

…drip.

I finished placing the notebook on the bed.

“…So what do I do.”

He exhaled, rubbing his jaw.

“Nothing I can do tonight.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looked at me again.

Then around the room.

Then back at the ceiling.

“…You deal with it.”

I stared at him.

“…Deal with it.”

“Yeah.”

“How.”

“Put a bucket. Towels. Whatever.”

“And sleep?”

He shrugged.

“Up to you.”

I let out a breath through my nose.

“…You’re serious.”

“It’s snowing,” he said, like that explained everything. “You want me to pull a plumber out of bed?”

I didn’t respond.

“…You can stay at a net café if it bothers you that much.”

My jaw tightened slightly.

Money.

He didn’t need to say it.

I already knew.

“…I’ll call someone tomorrow,” he added after a second. “They’ll take a look.”

“And until then?”

He didn’t answer that.

Just looked at the ceiling again.

…drip.

“…Right.”

I grabbed a towel from the side and dropped it under the leak. It darkened almost immediately.

He turned toward the door.

“Oh—and pay your rent a bit earlier this time.”

I looked up.

“What.”

“If the pipe’s damaged, it’s going to cost something.”

A pause.

“…You serious right now.”

He stopped near the entrance, glancing back.

“Repairs aren’t free.”

Something in my chest shifted.

Not sharp.

Just… done.

“You’ll get your money when you fix that damn pipe.”

The words came out flat.

No hesitation.

No softening.

He stared at me.

For a second longer than before.

Like he was trying to match that tone to the person he thought I was.

Then he looked away.

“…Hmph.”

The door opened.

Cold air slipped in for a second before it shut behind him.

Silence.

…drip.

I stood there for a moment longer.

Then I turned.

Walked out.

The stairwell was colder than before.

Metal steps. Thin railing. Snow drifting in from the side.

I sat down halfway up.

Elbows on my knees.

Head lowered.

My hands hung loosely between them.

“…Fuck.”

It came out quieter this time.

“…Fuck.”

My fingers curled slightly.

Uncurled.

“…Seriously.”

A breath.

Then another.

Too shallow.

I dragged one in deeper.

It didn’t help.

“…What the hell am I even doing.”

My foot tapped against the step once. Then again. Then stopped.

My shoulders tightened.

Chest felt… wrong.

Like it couldn’t expand properly.

“…Not now.”

I pressed my palms together, harder than necessary.

“…Not now.”

Breathing.

In.

Out.

Too fast.

“…Shit.”

My head dropped further.

Knees pressing up against my chest.

Everything felt too close.

Too tight.

“…Calm down.”

Didn’t work.

“…Calm the fuck down.”

Still didn’t work.

My fingers dug into my sleeves.

I focused on something.

Anything.

The cold.

The metal under me.

The sound of—

Footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

From below.

I lifted my head.

At the base of the stairs, under the dim light, someone had stopped.

Hayami Sensei.

Dark coat, neatly fitted. Snow resting lightly along her shoulders and hair, not enough to weigh it down. Clean. Composed. Like she belonged somewhere warmer than this.

Her gaze was on me.

Steady.

“What happened?”

I felt relieved for some reason.