Your Roommate is Secretly a Girl online!!

The first thing you heard when you got home was the unmistakable sound of someone losing their absolute mind over a video game.

“OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

A loud thud followed, then the frantic clicking of a keyboard.

“NO, NO, NO! GET BACK HERE, YOU CAMPING LITTLE—”

The sound abruptly stopped.

A few seconds of silence passed before a much quieter voice muttered, “...I’m uninstalling this stupid fucking game.”

Welcome home.

Your roommate, Akira, had apparently been having a productive afternoon.

And by productive, you meant he’d spent the last six hours locked in his bedroom, playing video games, consuming enough energy drinks to power a small city, and accomplishing absolutely nothing else.

The apartment itself was relatively quiet, save for the faint mechanical hum of his computer and the occasional angry outburst coming from behind his door. You’d grown accustomed to this by now. Living with Akira meant accepting that your peaceful evenings would occasionally be interrupted by the sound of him declaring war on his monitor.

You’d also learned that asking him to clean his room was about as effective as asking a brick wall to do your taxes.

As you passed his bedroom, you noticed that the door was cracked open.

Inside, Akira was sprawled across his gaming chair, wearing an oversized black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that had seen considerably better days. His messy black hair stuck out in several directions, partially obscuring his tired gray-brown eyes. His headphones rested around his neck, and an empty energy drink can sat precariously close to the edge of his desk.

His room was, as usual, a disaster.

Clothes littered the floor. Snack wrappers occupied several questionable locations. A pile of laundry had claimed the corner beside his bed, and his desk was buried beneath controllers, cables, and various other objects that probably hadn’t been touched in weeks.

Yet somehow, his gaming setup remained immaculate.

Priorities.

Akira leaned forward, squinting at his monitor before abruptly spinning around in his chair.

“Oh, thank God. You’re home.”

He pointed at you as though you’d just arrived to answer a divine summons.

“Get over here for a second.”

He waited approximately half a second before continuing.

“Actually, never mind. Bring me something to drink while you’re at it. Anything’s fine.”

He turned back toward his monitor, apparently considering the conversation concluded.

Then he paused.

“...And before you start complaining, I’m in the middle of something.”

His character promptly died on-screen.

Akira stared at the monitor.

A vein practically materialized on his forehead.

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE—”

He caught himself, inhaled deeply, and slowly turned back toward you with the forced composure of a man attempting to convince himself that he was a functioning member of society.

“...Anyway.”

He folded his arms.

“What’s with the face? You look like you’re about to give me a lecture.”

His gaze drifted toward the hallway, then back to you.

“And don’t even THINK about bringing up the dishes. I was going to take care of those.”

A beat.

“...Eventually.”

He flashed you a smug little grin, apparently rather pleased with himself.

Then his attention returned to his computer, where a notification had appeared in the corner of his screen.

His expression changed almost immediately.

“Oh, shit. Mimi’s going live in twenty minutes.”

The words escaped his mouth before he seemed to realize he’d said them aloud.

He froze.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his eyes shifted toward you.

“...What?”

He cleared his throat and quickly clicked away from the notification.

“Nothing. It’s just some streamer I watch sometimes.”

He leaned back in his chair, trying far too hard to look casual.

“Anyway, are you gonna get me that drink or what?”

His expression returned to its usual smugness, but there was something oddly hurried about the way he turned back toward his monitor.

For a moment, you could have sworn he was hiding something.

Then again, this was Akira.

He was probably hiding dirty laundry.

Probably.

The evening had been relatively peaceful.

For once, the apartment wasn’t filled with the sound of your roommate screaming at his computer, complaining about his teammates, or loudly insisting that he could stop playing whenever he wanted.

You almost wondered if something had happened to him.

Almost.

But you had more important things to worry about.

Mimi was live.

Your favorite streamer had just started her evening broadcast, and you’d settled comfortably into the couch with your phone or laptop, ready to spend the next few hours enjoying her company.

On the screen, Mimi practically radiated warmth.

Her long pink hair was styled beautifully, decorated with little ribbons that matched her pastel outfit. Her makeup was immaculate, her accessories coordinated, and her oversized gaming headphones had a pair of adorable decorative bows attached to them.

She looked like she’d stepped straight out of an anime.

“Hiiii, everyone! ♡”

Her voice was sweet and cheerful as the chat began filling with greetings.

“Welcome back! I missed you guys! How’s everyone doing today?”

She leaned toward the camera, reading the rapidly appearing messages with a delighted smile.

“Awww, you’re all so sweet! And yes, yes, I know! Today’s outfit is new!”

She turned slightly, showing off the details of her frilly pink top before giggling.

“I spent forever putting everything together this morning, so I’m really happy you like it!”

It was easy to see why Mimi had become so popular.

She had a way of making her streams feel personal, as though she were chatting with a room full of friends rather than an audience of thousands. Whether she was playing games, telling stories, or simply talking to her viewers, there was something genuinely comforting about watching her.

And tonight was no different.

Until—

“YO, HAVE YOU SEEN MY CHARGER?!”

The voice came from somewhere down the hallway.

You didn’t even need to look up to identify its owner.

Akira.

Your beloved roommate. Your daily headache. The human embodiment of an unskippable tutorial.

His footsteps approached, followed by the sound of someone opening a cabinet and rummaging around with absolutely no regard for the concept of putting things back where they belonged.

“Seriously, where the hell does everything in this apartment go?!”

A pause.

“...Never mind. Found it.”

You heard the unmistakable sound of a drawer being slammed shut.

Then Akira appeared in the living room.

He wore his usual oversized black hoodie, loose sweatpants, and a pair of headphones hanging around his neck. His messy black hair was sticking up in several directions, and his expression suggested that the entire world had personally inconvenienced him.

He stopped when he noticed you on the couch.

His eyes drifted toward your screen.

Then toward you.

Then back toward the screen.

“...What’re you watching?”

He wandered closer without waiting for an answer, leaning over the back of the couch to get a better look.

On your screen, Mimi was laughing at something one of her viewers had said.

Akira went completely still.

It lasted barely a second.

But it happened.

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and something resembling recognition flashed across his face before he quickly schooled his expression into its usual look of disinterest.

“Oh.”

He straightened up.

“You’re watching Mimi?”

There was a strange amount of emphasis on the name.

He immediately shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and shrugged.

“Didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff.”

On the screen, Mimi clapped her hands together.

“Okay, everyone! Let’s get started! I’ve been looking forward to playing this all day!”

Akira glanced at the stream again.

For the briefest moment, his expression softened into something almost fond.

Then he caught himself looking and scowled.

“...Her streams are pretty popular, I guess.”

He walked around the couch and dropped into the opposite seat, grabbing a nearby cushion and pulling it into his lap.

“What’s so special about her, anyway?”

He sounded genuinely curious, although he was trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t.

“She’s just some girl playing video games, right?”

He glanced at your screen again.

“...Not that I care.”

A few seconds passed.

Then, without taking his eyes off the stream, he added:

“Her outfit’s pretty good, though.”

He immediately looked at you.

“I mean, the COLORS. The color coordination. Whatever.”

His face remained perfectly straight.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He grabbed the television remote and began pressing buttons, despite the fact that the television wasn’t even on.

“Anyway, move over. I’m sitting here.”

He settled deeper into the couch, trying to look as though he hadn’t just spent the last thirty seconds asking increasingly specific questions about your favorite streamer.

On your screen, Mimi smiled brightly at her audience.

“Alright, cuties! Let’s have some fun tonight! ♡”

Akira’s fingers tightened slightly around the remote.

“...She’s got a nice voice.”

He paused.

Then he slowly turned toward you.

“WHAT? I said nothing!”

He looked away, his cheeks carrying the faintest hint of pink.

“God, you’re annoying.”

And just like that, your evening with your insufferable roommate had begun.

Meanwhile, Mimi’s livestream continued uninterrupted.

And Akira was apparently going to spend the rest of the night pretending he wasn’t listening.

There were three things you knew about your roommate, Akira.

One: he was a lazy, obnoxious gamer who considered cleaning his room an optional side quest.

Two: he had the attention span of a goldfish whenever someone asked him to do something productive.

And three: despite being one of the most irritating people you’d ever met, he was, in his own strange way, a decent roommate.

What you didn’t know was that Akira had a secret.

A rather big one.

It was a perfectly ordinary evening when you first noticed something strange.

Akira had been acting suspiciously all afternoon. Normally, his bedroom door was left open, allowing the sounds of his games and his occasional outbursts to fill the apartment. Today, however, it had remained firmly shut.

You’d heard him moving things around inside. Drawers opening and closing. The occasional frustrated muttering. At one point, you’d even heard music playing.

And then there was the package.

A large cardboard box had arrived that afternoon, addressed to Akira. When you’d asked him what was inside, he’d snatched it away from you and disappeared into his room without giving you a proper answer.

“None of your business,” he’d said.

Naturally, that had made you curious.

Now, standing outside his bedroom, you could hear him talking.

Except something about his voice was different.

“Okay, the lighting looks good...”

A pause.

“No, wait. That’s too bright.”

Another pause, followed by the sound of something being placed on a desk.

“God, why is this so difficult?”

You frowned.

Was he talking to himself?

Before you could think too much about it, you reached for the doorknob.

The door wasn’t locked.

You pushed it open.

“Alright, MimiMochi nation! We’re gonna be—”

Akira stopped speaking.

Completely.

For a moment, the entire room seemed to freeze.

Your roommate sat in front of his computer, surrounded by an assortment of makeup products, hair accessories, and carefully arranged clothing. His usual black hoodie had been discarded over the back of his chair.

Instead, he was wearing a beautiful pastel pink outfit.

The frilled top was decorated with delicate ribbons and lace, complemented by a heart-shaped choker and matching accessories. The outfit looked carefully chosen, every detail coordinated with the others.

His dark hair was still unmistakably his own, messy bangs falling across his forehead. His pink wig sat on a stand beside the monitor, waiting to be styled into place.

His makeup was partially finished, giving his face a softer, more feminine appearance without completely hiding the familiar features you’d seen every day.

And sitting right in front of him was a microphone, a webcam, and a monitor displaying a familiar streaming interface.

You recognized the username immediately.

MimiMochi.

Your favorite streamer.

The girl whose videos you’d watched countless times. The adorable content creator whose streams had accompanied your late nights. The person whose sweet voice and cheerful personality had become so familiar that you could recognize her laugh almost anywhere.

And she was sitting in your roommate’s bedroom.

Except she wasn’t a girl.

It was Akira.

Your Akira.

The same guy who stole your food, left dirty dishes in the sink, and once spent twenty minutes arguing with you about whose turn it was to take out the trash.

He stared at you.

You stared at him.

His eyes slowly widened as the realization of what had just happened sank in.

“...”

He glanced toward the open door.

Then at you.

Then at the outfit he was wearing.

Finally, his gaze landed on the computer screen, where the streaming software was still open.

His face went bright red.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

He shot out of his chair so quickly that it rolled backward and collided with his bed.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU KNOCK?!”

He grabbed the nearest pillow and clutched it against his chest, as though a decorative cushion could somehow undo the last thirty seconds.

“GET OUT! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!”

He pointed frantically toward the hallway, his usual smug composure completely shattered.

“YOU CAN’T JUST WALK INTO PEOPLE’S ROOMS LIKE THAT!”

He paused.

His eyes darted toward the computer.

“Oh, my God.”

He practically lunged for his mouse, frantically checking the streaming software.

“Please tell me that wasn’t live. Please tell me I didn’t just—”

He stopped.

The room fell silent.

Slowly, he turned back toward you.

There was a long, agonizing pause.

“...You didn’t see anything.”

He said it with the desperate conviction of someone who knew perfectly well that you had seen absolutely everything.

His cheeks were burning. His hands nervously tugged at the frills of his outfit, and he seemed to have completely forgotten what he was supposed to do with himself.

“Okay. Listen.”

He took a breath.

“This is not what it looks like.”

Another pause.

He glanced down at his clothes.

“...Okay, no, it IS what it looks like, but that’s not the point!”

He dragged a hand down his face.

“ .”

For once in his life, Akira seemed to have absolutely nothing sarcastic to say.

His eyes flicked toward the monitor again. Mimi’s profile picture glowed in the corner of the screen, an adorable pink-haired avatar smiling innocently back at him.

He looked like he wanted to crawl under his desk and live there permanently.

Then he noticed something.

His gaze shifted toward you, narrowing with sudden suspicion.

“...Wait.”

He stared at you for another moment.

“Hold on.”

His expression changed from sheer panic to dawning horror.

“No.”

He shook his head.

“No, no, no. Don’t tell me...”

He slowly pointed at the screen.

“You know who Mimi is, don’t you?”

His voice grew quieter.

“...You’re not actually one of her viewers, are you?”

He searched your face, desperately hoping for an answer that would somehow make this situation less humiliating.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, he muttered:

“...Please tell me you don’t watch my streams.”

He immediately straightened up, trying to reclaim at least a fraction of his dignity.

“Actually, no. Don’t answer that.”

He folded his arms, despite the fact that he was still clutching the pillow against himself.

“Whatever you think you saw, you’re keeping your mouth shut about it.”

He lifted his chin defiantly.

“And if you laugh, I’m changing the Wi-Fi password.”

He stared at you.

His face turned an even deeper shade of red.

“...I’m serious.”

For someone who had spent years arguing over absolutely everything, Akira had never looked quite so completely defeated.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, one horrifying thought kept repeating itself.

His roommate had just discovered that Mimi was real.

And Mimi was him.