“You don’t need to tell me again. I heard you the first time,” Rin says, his voice tired and annoyed.
I creep up to his door, listening in to the conversation he’s having inside. The cracked door gives me just enough room to peek in and eavesdrop, so I press myself to the doorframe and quiet my breathing. I’m never ashamed to eavesdrop. Some of my best stories have come while listening to other people’s conversations. Such is the life of a journalist, on the record, of course.