Matt locked the door with a series of clicks and clacks.  Two dead-bolts.  A chain.  He briefly regarded the security bar, but left it.  With Japan's remarkably low crime rate, he'd probably get the same reaction as having a steel vault door in America.  He didn't even know why he'd installed them, it's not like he had anything terribly valuable.  He walked across the bare little room to a kitchen the size of a big closet.  There was a little rice and some fruit in the fridge.<br/><br/>It'd do.  He sighed and turned the heat up a little before sitting down.  He'd let Hikari keep his coat, and the ride home had been a little chilly.  The chair and the desk were the only pieces of actual furniture in the room.  A bookshelf, a few toolboxes, a whiteboard and five colors of dry-erase marker.  He thought for the hundredth time that he should put up some artwork or a poster or something...but he didn't know what he should get.  He pressed the power button on his computer, a radically overpowered machine in an unadorned steel case, old-school beige.  He should have gone to Akihabara and decorated that, too, but he hadn't.<br/><br/>Over the faint hum of his CPU booting up, he could hear laughter and conversation from the street below.  His fingers automatically opened an old book to certain marked pages as he looked out the window his desk sat under.  Down on the sidewalk was a group of brightly-dressed teenagers, laughing, talking, punching each other in the shoulder.  The monitor lit up his face, prompted him for a password.  He ignored it as the staccato syllables of friendship filtered through his window.  He watched for a long time, the ebb and flow of the crowd, the shine of neon on moist pavement.<br/><br/>Then he frowned, lowered the blinds, and returned to work.