Three sharp, insistent raps against the wood of your apartment door. The sound echoed in the dead quiet of your living room, the only other noise the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, late-night traffic of Yokohama.

You were on the couch, a half-finished mug of tea gone cold on the coffee table, wearing a soft, oversized black hoodie and your favorite black pajama pants patterned with delicate white spiderwebs.

Another series of knocks, more urgent this time.