After treating me to breakfast, Brian left the apartment to head to work.

Finally reclaiming my usual routine, I brewed myself a fresh cup of coffee and got started on the day's tasks. At first, I couldn't concentrate on anything in front of me, but gradually, the familiar rituals helped me find my way back to my own world.

A spacious room. Light-colored curtains. Simple, clean, yet distinctive interior design. My desktop was organized, of course, and even the bookshelves in the back storage room—hidden from clients—were neatly arranged.

Yes, this was my world.

I nodded contentedly as I examined the texture and feel of a leather sample that had arrived.

A perfectly harmonious room and my work as an interior designer. These two essential elements made up my life, nothing more and nothing less. The things that could get me back on my feet even in the worst of times... I'd stopped asking myself whether I loved this job, but I still didn't mind spending hours sanding something down if needed, and I'd do needlework too. And when everything came together exactly as I'd envisioned, fitting perfectly into a room—I still couldn't help but jump for joy.

Just as I was savoring my gratitude for this work, a call came in from the ground-floor reception. Still in high spirits, I answered, only to nearly leap out of my skin at the bombshell that followed.

"Hi, Luke! You have a visitor."

"A visitor?!" My mind went blank at the words of Wyatt, the concierge known for his pleasant demeanor. "I don't have any appointments today...!"

As I frantically scattered notebooks and devices everywhere, Wyatt—praised for his impeccable work ethic but notorious for never remembering names—continued.

"You know, that lady with the medium-length hair who visits you often."

"Jayne!"

The moment I shouted the name, understanding dawned.

The lovely lady who had entrusted me with her home's interior some time ago and had since dropped by the office regularly for furniture arrangement consultations and to have me clean up her half-finished DIY disasters—Jayne Elder. As it happened, she was the one who had supported my independence and rented me this space at a bargain rate.

She had one vice that plagued everyone who knew her.

She never made appointments.

The fact that she still had friends despite this fatal flaw was testament to her virtues and charm outweighing her shortcomings.

I confirmed her visit with reception and hung up, then scrambled to put the kettle on. I flung open the refrigerator and retrieved a rum-soaked fruit pound cake—her favorite—that happened to be left over.

Jayne always showed up when I had free time, as if she were some kind of psychic. And always with impeccable timing, right when this pound cake was in the fridge. If she wasn't psychic, she must have planted listening devices somewhere in this office. No—even bugs and surveillance cameras couldn't explain timing this perfect.

I quickly tidied up the work spread across my desk and opened the front door to await her.

Before long, Jayne appeared, heralded by lively chatter—her own, of course—and beamed at me. Dazzling blonde hair. Lips perpetually curved into a smile regardless of the occasion. Despite constantly jetting off to islands and beaches and resort destinations, her fair skin was dewy and luminous. When I'd been invited to her sixtieth birthday party, I'd been genuinely stunned to learn her actual age.

Jayne strode toward me with leisurely, long steps, arms spread wide.

"Oh my, darling! It's been ages!"

"Hey, Jayne. I can't wait to hear what you've done this time."

"My, what a wicked thing to say, bad boy!" She laughed heartily as she hugged me, then murmured into my ear. "...That wall. Are you sure we can't tear it down? I've found a sofa that would be absolutely perfect for that room."

"...I told you, no. There's a load-bearing pillar inside. Do you want to experience 'engineer's thumb' in real life? Accept the floor plan as it is unless you want to kiss the ceiling."

Jayne clicked her tongue softly at my words, then released me with a smile as though nothing had happened and turned around.

At the end of her gaze, the woman who had been quietly watching our exchange offered me a fragile smile.

"Hello."

She noticed my gaze and spoke in a hoarse voice. She was like a crescent moon on the verge of dissolving in Jayne's overwhelming radiance.

"Hello, welcome to my office! Are you with Jayne?"

"She's your client, boy. I'm the escort."

"Right, right. Why don't you ever tell me these things in advance?"

I said something I knew was pointless, then turned properly to face her.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Lucas. Interior designer—this is my office."

She stared at my extended hand with a stiff expression.

Then, just before the pause became suspicious to Jayne and me, she clasped it. There was something challenging in her gaze, and I tilted my head inwardly.

But more than the meaning behind that look, I found myself strongly intrigued by how completely her demeanor had shifted in an instant. At first glance, I'd pegged her for her early fifties, but in the moment of our handshake, that impression grew younger. The dark circles under her eyes, the tired skin, the shadowed gaze that seemed to reflect her inner state—these dulled her appearance and made her seem older than she probably was, despite her neat and tidy attire.

"I'm Maria. Pleased to meet you."

"Welcome, Maria! Please, come in. Just to confirm—Jayne didn't drag you here against your will, did you? You should tell me if she did."

Maria's smile deepened slightly at my words, and Jayne raised an elegant eyebrow.

"How refreshingly impertinent you've become, boy. Maria asked me to introduce her to you."

"Really? I've never advertised, so it's rare for someone to come to me on their own."

As I escorted the two inside and glanced back, Maria offered a somewhat awkward smile.

"I'd heard about you from Jayne before. At the time, I had no intention of hiring you, but..."

"I told her you were skilled but not recommended."

"Jayne."

At my sullen pout, Jayne smiled serenely. Her look said I knew perfectly well why.

Maria continued.

"But something very painful happened recently, and your name came to mind. Going back to that house... I can't help but remember. I thought perhaps I should change everything."

"I did try to stop her."

"You don't have to keep stopping me!"

"But she seemed quite determined, so I brought her along. You know, like shock therapy. There's a chance it might refresh her spirits."

"Jayne!"

I protested at my valued client saying such things to a potential customer. She deflected my objection with a single elegant laugh and settled onto the sofa with practiced ease.

I'm gay, but even so, I think all women have a certain presence. The moment the two of them sat down, the office's atmosphere visibly softened and warmed—like placing flowers in a bare room.

I thought of this morning's scene, the four of us huddled over the desk, and couldn't help but smile wryly. Hard to believe this was the same place. In the end, people are always the main feature of any interior.

"So, Maria. I take it you're here to consult about your home's interior design?"

I set macadamia-flavored tea before them, along with milk, coconut sugar, and cake, and asked. Maria tilted her head ambiguously. As I studied her body language, trying to determine if it was affirmation or denial, she spoke softly.

"Yes... I suppose that's what it would be."

Even her answer was vague.

While Maria appeared lost in thought, Jayne—who had been eyeing the offered cake with satisfaction—took a deliberate first sip from her Odessa Platinum cup. No help there. I gave up on Jayne serving as interpreter and opened my mouth.

"So, what you'd like to discuss with me—is it the coordination of your entire home or a specific room? Or would you first like to hear about what interior design even involves?"

"Ah, yes. I'd like to hear a bit about it."

Maria nodded, looking relieved at my question.

"I don't necessarily want to change the interior right away. It's just... I've never had anyone look at my room's design before, so I wondered what it might be like. Having taken up a professional's time, I hope this isn't rude."

"Not at all."

I smiled and assured her.

"So basically, you like your current home, but you'd like advice if there's anything worth changing about the interior?"

"Yes, yes. That's it. I really don't intend to change anything by force."

"Okay, Maria. I promise I won't show up at your house uninvited with a drill. First, can you tell me about your floor plan?"

I pulled out the paper I'd prepared and sketched the layout as Maria haltingly described it.

An unremarkable, common floor plan. A suburban single-family home, probably.

I had her mark the furniture placement, then asked if she had any photos that might give me a sense of the house.

"I took some this morning. I hope they convey the image—it was built about five years ago."

Maria handed me her smartphone. Looking at the photos of her home, I nodded involuntarily.

"I understand why you don’t want to force a change. You've put a lot of care into this."

At my words, Maria smiled faintly.

It was a very Maria-like home, I thought. Unassuming at first glance, but meticulously crafted furniture down to the smallest detail, and a carefully calculated room arrangement. Yet somehow, it felt more dignified than her demeanor suggested, with something like a strong will underlying it.

I stopped. I looked again at Maria's floor plan and furniture arrangement.

Noticing me deep in thought, Jayne finished her cake with refined movements and spoke.

"My, darling. When you're thinking hard like that, you look just like an adolescent boy."

"...Jayne, I am clearly a mature adult man by any measure."

She dismissed my protest with a sultry laugh and continued.

"If you’ve noticed something, just say it. Hesitating to speak isn’t like you at all."

Prompted by Jayne, so accustomed to drawing things out of people, I admitted defeat early. I had the resigned certainty that I would never win against her for as long as I lived.

"I'm going to ask something a bit intrusive, Maria."

Urged on by her, I took the plunge and addressed Maria.

"The man of this house—your husband. What kind of person is he?"

Maria seemed startled by my sudden question.

She returned a vague answer, her guarded smile slightly stiff.

"What kind... well, a masculine man, I suppose."

At her answer, I looked down at the paper again and stroked my chin with the first knuckle of my index finger. A smooth sensation, utterly unrelated to masculinity.

I dropped that finger to the paper, pointing to the second room from the back of the floor plan as I continued.

"This is your room. You have one child living with you. They live in this room, and this one is your husband's. Am I right?"

"Yes, that's correct, but... How did you—"

From the furniture arrangement, I answered simply. In truth, her attitude when speaking of her husband and the relationship I'd inferred from it were also factors.

"—I think he's under tremendous stress. This house carries no sense of his belonging."

She raised her questioning gaze to meet mine.

"Has he become more intimidating since coming to this house? Maria. By 'he,' I mean your husband."