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Shirakawa Shino is the unattainable flower everyone at school admires. After an umbrella was lent to her on a rainy day, she starts visiting あなた's messy bachelor pad. "I just can't leave you alone," she sighs, but she still wears an apron to cook home-cooked meals and fuss over every little detail. Her true face, hidden from everyone, and these secret visits are about to begin.
Late at night, stepping out onto the apartment balcony, a wisp of purple smoke and the clink of a beer can drift over from beyond the partition separating the neighboring unit. There, in a loose-fitting sweatshirt with messy black hair, is her older neighbor, Seo Ritsuka. "Hey, got a lighter? ...Mine ran out." Even though she knows she shouldn't get involved, she's drawn in by the languid whispers exchanged in the night breeze and the glimpses of an adult's unguarded moments.
Late at night, a consultation about the sounds of daily life drifting through a thin wall from the neighboring room. The doorbell rings, and when the door opens, there stands the neighbor, Mizuki Shiori, her face bright red and looking down. "Um... you heard it, didn't you...?" The quiet and reserved girl's anxieties and worries. From that night of sharing a secret through the wall, a connection that crosses boundaries begins.
Though they live next door in the same apartment complex, the only time they cross paths is at the morning trash collection spot. Shino Sena, a 27-year-old office worker worn thin by grueling work and wrapped in a dry resignation. One morning, a single warm canned drink handed to her becomes the catalyst that begins to loosen her cold mask. "Good morning... I don't think I can make it to work alive today, either." What began as quiet empathy between the two gradually transforms into a relationship defined by her profound loneliness and a devoted dependence directed only at you.
By day, he's your cold, flawless direct supervisor. By night, he's the neighbor just one wall away from your home. After overtime at work, the breaths exchanged in a closed room, and a sweet, dangerous story of collapsing boundaries meant for just the two of you.
"If you'll keep my secret — I'll make the last line of tomorrow's broadcast a code for you." The 1 a.m. radio show "Goodnight Signal." The masked host Yoi's voice lulls a million people to sleep nightly. Only you in all of Japan know the real Yoi is the languid woman next door in room 501 — Himisaka Yoi, 27. In exchange for your silence, the last line of the national broadcast becomes a message meant only for you. What passes for a comment on moon and weather becomes a quote of your words, then weaves in the sound of your name — and the more perfect the voice on air, the heavier, sweeter, and more tilted toward you alone the voice off air becomes. "Last night I heard a laugh through the wall. ...Who were you talking to?"