lex ⋆˚࿔

# - masterlist ⋆˚࿔

one shots

don’t pretend - steve harrington x reader

series - in progress

temporary fix - steve harrington x reader

conflict resolution - keys mckey x reader

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જ⁀➴ reqs open!

an: tysm for all of the love on the first chapter!! i hope you love this one mwah

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The room is still mostly dark, pale morning light barely pushing through the blinds across from the bed. For a second you just lie there staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself you’re not actually awake yet. Your body still aches from hauling half your life out of that motel yesterday, and the stiff mattress definitely isn’t helping. Somewhere outside the apartment, a car horn blares. You groan quietly into your pillow, the chaotic city awake before you. Something you’re definitely going to have to get used to. You force yourself upright after another minute, hoodie twisted messily awkwardly around you from sleeping in it. Your sleepy eyes scan the clothes that are half unpacked, chargers that are tangled across the desk, one shoe somehow sitting near the bathroom door for reasons you can’t explain. You were never the messy type, sure sometimes things would get disorganized but nothing was ever this chaotic for you, so this was driving you a bit insane. 

You grab your phone off the nightstand to check the time. 

7:12 AM.

If you go back to sleep now, you already know you’ll wake up late and humiliate yourself on your second day. So instead, you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle toward the kitchen half awake, rubbing one eye while the apartment is still quiet. At first, it almost feels like you live alone, and god you wish you did. You walk into the kitchen and remember exactly why you don’t. No groceries, no coffee, no food.

You stare into the empty fridge anyway, hoping food will magically appear. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter.

“Yeah. I checked already.”

His voice makes you physically jump. Keys is leaning against the hallway entrance like he’s been standing there long enough to witness your disappointment in real time. Which you’re sure he was happy by. Glasses on, hair messier than yesterday somehow, black sweats hanging low on his hips and a dark t-shirt that looks wrinkled enough to suggest he slept in it. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” you say, pressing a hand briefly against your chest dramatically before shutting the fridge harder than necessary.

“Food isn’t gonna magically appear y’know,” he says dryly as he walks past you toward the cabinets.

“I had hope,” you defend.

“That was your first mistake,” he says. 

You narrow your eyes at him immediately. “Do you ever stop talking like that?”

Keys glances over his shoulder slightly. “Like what?”

“Like a condescending asshole,” you answer as you lean against the counter.

Instead of replying, he opens a cabinet.“Okay,” he says after a second, shutting it. “This is actually worse than I thought.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “You didn’t buy groceries, Mr.I-had-somewhere-to-be-after-work?”

He turns toward you slowly, eyebrows lifting behind his glasses like he genuinely can’t believe you just asked that. “Why the fuck would I buy groceries?” he asks. “I got here at like eleven,” he says, grabbing the bottle of water from the counter.

“And?”

“And I went to sleep,” he replies before taking a sip.

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. I’m showering before I pass out from malnutrition.” 

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You stand there half asleep letting the water hit your shoulders. The muffled sound of cabinet doors opening in the kitchen, grunting coming from Keys’ bratty mouth, footsteps moving across the hardwood floors, Keys dropping something followed immediately by a quiet “shit” from somewhere outside the bathroom door. The water’s barely warm, but it’s enough to wake you up slowly while steam fogs the mirror and curls around the ceiling. You probably should’ve showered after your shift last night, but you just needed a good night sleep. 

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You physically jump. “What the fuck?” you yell over the water immediately, whipping the glass door with your hand to see if you can see anything, even though the door is locked. 

“Hurry up!” Keys shouts through the door.

You stare toward the bathroom entrance in disbelief. “Oh my god, relax!”

“You’ve been in there forever.”

“It’s literally been ten minutes!”

“It’s been twenty-five!”

The banging on the door continues.  

You shut your eyes tightly. “Keys, I swear to god—”

“I still have to get ready too!”

“You’re a man!” you yell back. You roll your eyes hard enough it physically hurts before rinsing conditioner out of your hair and the body wash off of your body faster. You try ignoring him after that, it lasts maybe thirty seconds.

More knocks continue. 

“Keys!”

“What?!”

“STOP DOING THAT.”

“You’re taking forever.”

“You’re being insane.”

“This is our first morning living together and you’re already holding the bathroom hostage!”

You blink. “You make it sound like we’re fucking married!”

“I’d rather die.”

“Can you?” you joke under your breath. 

Another knock hits the door, then another, then somehow louder ones, leading you to snap. You shut the water off aggressively before wrapping a towel around yourself as fast as possible and storming toward the bathroom door dripping wet and furious. 

You yank it open just enough for your head and shoulder to show through the gap. “What is WRONG with you?” you hiss. 

Keys is standing there mid-knock with his fist still half raised, and then he freezes. His eyes flick up automatically before darting away almost just as fast, which honestly surprises you considering he’s spent the last few minutes trying to break the bathroom door down.

“You were banging on the door like the building was on fire,” you continue, glaring at him. “Are you incapable of acting normal for even one second?”

Keys clears his throat awkwardly before finally lowering his hand. “I need to piss and get ready.”

“You need to check yourself in.”

Keys rubs the back of his neck briefly, still not really looking directly at you anymore. “You done yelling at me?” he asks finally.

“No.”

“Cool.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “You’re actually the most irritating person I’ve ever met.”

Keys stares at you for a second longer like he’s debating whether arguing with you is worth the energy this early in the morning. His hair’s still messy from sleep, glasses slightly crooked on his face, one hand braced against the hallway wall while the other rubs tiredly over his jaw.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose.“Can I use the bathroom now?” he asks flatly.

You blink at him once before answering just as flatly. “No.”

You grin sweetly and shut the door the rest of the way in his face.

The second it closes, another knock rattles the wood, and maybe even the whole city of Boston. 

“Seriously?”

“You’re annoying,” he calls through the door.

“And you’re obsessed with me!”

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Twenty minutes later, the bathroom counter looks like a small explosion and Keys’ worst nightmare. Makeup bags half unzipped, hair products scattered everywhere, one hoop earring missing in action already. Steam still clings faintly to the mirror while music plays softly from your phone beside the sink. You finish your makeup a few minutes later — soft liner, glowy skin, lip gloss. Cute enough to feel put together without looking like you tried too hard, even though you absolutely did.  

You grab your outfit off the edge of the sink and change quickly, tugging the dark jeans up your legs before buttoning the white blouse. After comes the jewelry — rings, layered necklaces, earrings after finally finding the missing hoop sitting somehow how on the interesting colored bathroom rug. 

When you finally step out into the hallway, Keys is already dressed. He glances up automatically when he hears you, then pauses for like half a second too long. 

 “So,” you say slowly, grabbing your bag off the couch, “did the bathroom survive your incredibly urgent crisis?”

Keys blinks once before looking away again toward his phone. “Barely, you’re lucky I took a shower last night.” 

“You know,” you continue casually, “for someone who was acting like he was moments away from death, you sure took your time getting ready.”

“I get ready fast,” he says simply.

“Yeah. I can tell.”

“You look expensive again.”

You stare at him immediately. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, grabbing his backpack off the counter. “You just do.”

“That is genuinely one of the weirdest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

“And yet you understood exactly what I meant.”

You open your mouth, then close it again because annoyingly enough. He was somewhat right, but you weren’t gonna give him that satisfaction. Because the minute Keys Mckey won any argument, you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Keys notices your silence immediately, and the corner of his mouth twitches slightly like he just won something, but he fucking didn’t. 

You point at him instantly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That weird little smug nerdy bitch face.”

“I don’t have a weird little smug nerdy bitch face.”

“You absolutely have a weird little smug nerdy bitch face.”

He grabs his keys off the counter. “You’re very judgmental before eight in the morning.”

“And you’re still talking.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

The apartment gets quiet for another second while both of you gather your stuff near the front door. The weird domestic normalcy of it makes something in your chest feel oddly off balance, like this shouldn’t already feel routine. Keys opens the door first, stepping aside just enough for you to walk through.

You pause briefly. “…thank you,” you say suspiciously.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“And there he is.”

You roll your eyes as you walk past him into the hallway, already hearing the apartment door lock behind you. The elevator ride downstairs is quiet for exactly twelve seconds before Keys opens his smart ass mouth. 

“You know,” Keys says casually beside you as you both walk down the hallway, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “I think it’s interesting you called me insane this morning when you’re the one who almost started a hostage negotiation over the bathroom.”

You stare at him immediately. “You were banging on the door like a cop.”

“You were in there forever.”

“I was showering.”

“I don’t wanna know what you were doing in there.” 

You scoff loudly as the elevator dings open.“Oh my god,” you mutter while stepping inside. “I was taking a damn shower, bro- just shut up I don’t wanna hear another word come out of your mouth.”

“And yet,” he says easily beside you, “you keep talking to me.”

“That’s because unfortunately we live together now.”

“Temporary tragedy.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. The second the sound leaves you, Keys glances over. 

You point toward him dramatically. “Don’t get comfortable. That wasn’t for you.”

“Sure, California.”

“I hate that nickname.”

“I know.”

The streets outside are busier this morning than yesterday. People flooding sidewalks with coffees in hand, crosswalk signals beeping endlessly while traffic fills the intersections. Soonami Studios sits only a few blocks away, the giant glass building catching pale morning light across the windows. Somehow, despite the fact that you met less than twenty-four hours ago, you and Keys already fall into step beside each other naturally.

 “You walk really fast,” Keys says after a minute.

“You walk really slow.”

“No, I walk normal. You move like someone’s chasing you.”

You scan the people around you as you and Keys walk. People on their phones, some sitting down at bus stops, some to the side outside of the storefront having conversations. “Oh my god Keys stop chasing me-.”

Keys’ eyes widen instantly from the stunt you just pulled. He speeds up to you, shushing you as if you were going to get him in trouble.  “Are you out of your mind?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “You said I moved like someone was chasing me, made it a reality I guess.”

Keys shakes his head in disbelief, his jaw beginning to clench. By the time you both walk into the office building lobby, the studio’s already chaotic and alive with movement. Developers drifting between departments, monitors glowing through glass meeting rooms, coworkers carrying coffees like life support systems. 

Kenzie the receptionist downstairs spots both of you immediately. “Oh,” she says slowly, visibly amused already. “You two survived the first night.” 

You and Keys answer at the exact same time.

“Barely.”

“We’re filing complaints.”

“You know,” she says, still smiling, “married couples usually fight less.”

Both of you turn immediately. “We are NOT married.”

Keys stupidly adds, “Thank fucking god.” 

Kenzie is trying so hard not to laugh now that she physically turns away pretending to organize papers. 

The elevator door ding echos throughout the first floor, moments before the double doors slide opposing ways, opening. 

You point at Keys while stepping inside. “You’re the worst person I’ve met in this city.”

Keys steps in after you calmly. “Statistically impossible.”

“Emotionally accurate.”

“See?” he says as the doors slide shut. “That one was actually funny.”

You cross your arms immediately. “Don’t compliment me. It feels manipulative.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“You literally did.”

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By the time you both reach your section of the office, a few people are already there typing away quietly while monitors glow across the room. Parker’s standing near one of the desks talking to another developer when he notices both of you walking in together.

His eyes flick between you once, then he sneaks in a quick smile. You never want to see him do that ever again. 

“Well,” Parker says as he walks over, coffee in hand. “You two made it to day two.”

“Barely,” you answer immediately.

“At this point,” Keys adds, dropping into his chair, “I think surviving the apartment should qualify as overtime.”

Parker laughs. “You’ll adjust,” he says easily before setting a folder down onto your desk. “Both of you are helping with interface cleanup today. Same project.”

You and Keys look at each other immediately.

“There’s overlap between backend and visual flow,” he explains. “You’re both good at different things. Figure it out.”

Then he walks away before either of you can argue.

You slowly look toward Keys, he slowly looks towards you. “This feels targeted,” you mutter.

“Extremely,” he agrees.

You sit down heavily in your chair before opening the folder, filled with what you’d expect. Mockups, user flow issues, interface bugs. Honestly? Not horrible. 

“Oh absolutely not,” you say immediately.

Keys looks over from beside you. “What?”

You turn the paper toward him. “Who approved this color palette?”

He squints slightly. “It looks fine.”

You stare at him in horror. “Fine?” you repeat.

Keys leans back slightly in his chair. “You care too much about aesthetics.”

“And you don’t care enough.”

“That’s because users prioritize usability.”

“And users also don’t want to look at ugly shit.”

One of the nearby coworkers glances over briefly before immediately pretending not to listen.

“So this is how today’s gonna go?” he asks.

You smile sweetly. “Probably.”

Keys stares at the screen for another second before dragging his chair slightly closer to yours. He taps the side of your monitor. “Okay, look. The layout itself isn’t bad,” he says reluctantly. “The spacing’s just off.” 

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Did you just agree with me?”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

For the next twenty minutes, the arguing somehow turns productive. Which feels wayyy more concerning than the arguing itself. You adjust layouts while Keys fixes backend issues beside you, both of you interrupting each other constantly. At one point your hand reaches toward the mouse at the exact same time his does, causing you both to freeze, then immediately pull back like touching each other would result in instant death. 

“You go,” Keys says finally.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Why are you being nice?”

“I’m not. You just look attached to the mouse.”

“I hate you.” 

“You’ve mentioned.”

A few desks away, one of the developers snorts quietly trying not to laugh. You don’t even notice Parker walking back over until his coffee cup lands softly against your desk. You and Keys look up at the same time, Parker smiles then glances between your screens once. 

“…Jesus,” he mutters.

You blink. “Is something wrong?”

“This is the fastest anyone’s fixed this project all week.”

You glance toward Keys instinctively.

“She’s being aggressively controlling about the visuals,” Keys says flatly.

“And he has the design instincts of a tax accountant,” you reply immediately.

Parker looks between both of you again then smiles in realization. “There it is,” he says.

“There what is?” you ask.

“You two stop trying to outdo each other for five seconds and suddenly everything works.”

You and Keys answer instantly. “We are not working well together.”

Parker looks deeply unconvinced. “Mhm,” he says, clearly not listening. “Anyway, keep going.”

You stare at your monitor while Keys stares at his. “…I don’t like when he says things like that,” you mutter eventually. 

“Agreed.”

“It feels manipulative.”

“Extremely.”

You nod once then point toward the screen again. “That icon still looks ugly.”

Keys exhales through his nose tiredly. “You’re annoying as fuck.”

Keys opens his mouth to argue again before stopping abruptly when Parker reappears beside your desks. “You two always this loud?” he asks casually.

“Yes,” both of you answer immediately.

Parker snorts quietly before setting another file onto Keys’ desk. “New task.”

Keys picks it up first, scanning over the pages, his eyebrows life slightly. 

“What’s up?” you ask immediately. 

Parker looks at you. “Need someone to reorganize the asset management system before the end of the day.”

Keys nods once already reaching for his keyboard. “Okay, I’m your guy-”

Parker’s eyes land directly on you, cutting Keys off from speaking. “And I want you handling the interface cleanup solo now.” 

You blink. “Me?”

“You’re faster.”

Keys goes still beside you for half a second too long before leaning back in his chair again. 

“You finish early,” he continues casually, “you can head home. I know you’re both still settling into the apartment situation.”

You straighten slightly in your chair. “Seriously?”

“You already got more done in an hour than the last team managed all afternoon yesterday.”

You try very hard not to look too pleased with yourself. “Thank you,” you say, already reaching for the folder 

Beside you, Keys clicks something onto his screen harder than necessary. Parker finally walks off again after that, disappearing toward another section of the office. Awkward silence is left between you and Keys for a second before you break it. 

“Well,” you say carefully, turning slightly toward him, “that was humiliating for you.”

Keys doesn’t even look away from his monitor. “You’re talking a lot.” 

“I like talking.”

“You should stop.”

“Why should I listen to you?” you say with attitude. 

“You know,” he says calmly, “I think living together is already damaging my psychological health.”

You grin slightly before turning your attention back toward your monitor. “Good. Build character.” 

For the next few hours, the office fades into the background while you work. You lock into the project completely, fixing layouts, reorganizing menus, cleaning transitions. Every time Parker walks past your desk, he pauses a little longer. At one point, another designer actually stops behind your chair, including Emilie — the manager of the design department. 

Around three in the afternoon, you were able to finish. You stare at your screen for a second almost suspiciously, waiting for another issue to appear, another bug, another broken transition hiding somewhere in the interface. You lean back slowly in your chair, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet groan while the office buzzes around you. A second later, Parker stops beside your desk again, eyes scanning your monitor. 

“…holy shit,” he mutters.

You grin immediately. “Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

“Very good holy shit.”

Parker points toward your screen. “This is exactly what I wanted. Cleaner layout, faster flow, less clutter.” He looks genuinely impressed now. “You did all this yourself?”

You nod once, trying not to look too smug about it.

Across from you, Keys spins slightly in his chair toward Parker. “I helped earlier.”

“You complained earlier,” you correct immediately.

“I contributed emotionally.”

“You actively lowered morale.”

Parker laughs again before shaking his head slightly. “Alright, alright. Either way, good work.” Then he looks directly at you. “You can head out early if you want.”

You blink once. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Go enjoy having a life before this place destroys you.” 

You glance toward Keys automatically which was a mistake, he’s already looking at you. He’s not looking at you with anger, more annoyance. 

You immediately smile brighter out of pure spite. “Aww,” you say sweetly while shutting your laptop. “Thank you, Parker.” 

Keys narrows his eyes slightly. “You’re laying it on thick now.” 

“I earned it.”

“You’re insufferable when praised.”

“You noticed?”

“Unfortunately.”

You stand up slowly, grabbing your bag off the side of your chair while nearby coworkers glance over. “Damn. Day two and she already beat that McKeys guy.” 

Keys points at the guy immediately without even looking away from his screen. “You shut the fuck up.”

You physically bite back a laugh. “Oh my god,” you say while sliding your bag onto your shoulder. “You’re actually upset and making more enemies to work.” 

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re typing aggressively.”

“I always type aggressively.”

Keys glares at his keyboard like it betrayed him personally. Parker shakes his head slightly before walking away again. You linger near your desk for another second longer than necessary. Part of you wants to keep bothering him, which is probably a bad sign. Put what’s so bad about playing with fire. 

“So,” you say casually, leaning slightly against the divider between your cubicles, “what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

Keys keeps typing. “Working.” 

“Ew.”

“Some of us weren’t granted special princess privileges.”

You gasp dramatically. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he says immediately.

You narrow your eyes.

“…you are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You’re pouting.”

“I do not pout.”

“You absolutely pout.”

Keys finally looks over at you then, visibly irritated now. “Can you leave? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” 

You grin slowly, “Oh my god,” you say softly. “You’re mad mad.”

“I’m deleting your project.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I absolutely would.”

“You need me.”

“That’s disgusting. Don’t say things like that.”

You laugh again before finally starting toward the elevators. “Bye, Keys!”

The elevator ride down feels weirdly quiet without Keys next to you talking shit every thirty seconds. You lean against the back wall of the elevator while checking your phone, scrolling aimlessly through notifications while the numbers tick lower floor by floor. Your reflection stares back at you in the metal doors, hair still somehow holding up, lip gloss mostly intact, necklaces catching the soft fluorescent light overhead. The second the elevator dings doors open, the city noise hits you immediately. You step outside adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder before pulling your phone out again.

You stop outside a small corner store a few blocks from the studio, staring through the windows for a second before sighing dramatically and heading inside. Twenty minutes later, you’re walking back out with groceries, the basic needs. The plastic bags dig painfully into your fingers while you walk back toward the apartment building. By the time you finally unlock the apartment door, your arms ache. You kick the door shut behind you dramatically, relief you’re back at home.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter while dropping the grocery bags onto the counter.

You immediately turn the TV on for background noise while unpacking groceries slowly into the mostly empty cabinets. It still feels weird seeing actual food in the kitchen now instead of just one bottle of water and mutual resentment. You’re halfway through organizing snacks when your phone buzzes against the counter.

A text from Parker. 

Great work today. Seriously!!!

You smile slightly despite yourself.

Then another message immediately follows:

Try not to kill each other before Friday.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ 

At some point over the last few hours, the room stopped looking like a storage unit and started looking like your actual bedroom. 

The dresser is filled with your clothes, clothes are hanging in the closet - color coded of course -, makeup is organized across the desk, your jewelry tray sits beside the bed, necklaces untangled for once in their lives, chargers are plugged in, the comforter you brought from home is spread across the mattress instead of the stiff white one the apartment came with. 

You pause in the middle of the room, hands on your hips as you look around.

Honestly? For someone who spent the entire day working and then hauled groceries and half her belongings across the city afterward, you’ve gotten a ridiculous amount done.

You pull open the second drawer of your night stand next to your bed slowly, digging underneath a bunch of little trinkets you threw in there in a rush before your fingers find what you’re looking for. “Thank god.” 

A small grin pulls at your mouth. Some people kept emergency cash in a drawer around their house, you kept emergency weed. 

You pull the stash out and set it on the bed before grabbing your rolling tray from another box, it takes a few minutes to gather everything together. Lighter, grinder, papers. The familiar routine of your nightly smoke sessions settles some of the leftover nerves still bouncing around your chest. You unscrew the lid from the jar and immediately relax a little at the familiar smell. “God, finally.”

You grind everything up absentmindedly, tapping the grinder against the tray before dumping it out carefully. You roll the small piece of cardstock automatically, pinching it between your fingers before setting it at one end of the paper. You sprinkle everything carefully down the center. You stare at it too hard, remove some because you feel like it’s too much, add some back, remove some, add some back. You hold the paper between your thumbs, distributing everything evenly before beginning the familiar back-and-forth motion. You tuck the paper carefully before you roll upward, you give the edge of it a lick then you seal it. 

“And that’s how you roll a joint.” you hold it up, praising it. 

You twist the end of the container closed before setting it carefully on the tray. You stand and stretch slightly before grabbing your lighter off the nightstand and slipping your phone into your pocket. You slide open the hallway window before carefully climbing onto the fire escape that’s attached to your apartment. The metal groans softly beneath your weight, cool air immediately brushes against your skin. You settle onto the platform, pulling one knee toward your chest while the city stretches out below you.

You place the joint between your lips, shielding the flame with one hand while the lighter sparks. The end of the joint glows orange, you take a slow hit before exhaling toward the night sky.  

Then the apartment door slams, causing your body to jump. 

Your eyes close immediately. “…go away.” you whisper. 

Heavy, careless footsteps move through the apartment. You grin to yourself, looks like someone’s having a bad day. 

A few seconds later the window beside you slides open, you glance over at it. Keys appears looking genuinely irritated with the entire world. He had changed his clothes, his hair messy, flowing in the wind. 

The second he notices you sitting there, his expression somehow gets worse. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

You slowly look down at the joint in your hand, your eyes go back to him, then back to the joint, then back to him. “…smoking?” 

His jaw tightens, he clenches his nose from the strong smell, “I can see that, why?”

You blink, “What do you mean why?”

“Why would are you doing that?”

You stare at him for a second, “Oh my god.”

“What?” he shrugs. 

“You’ve never smoked before.” you point at him, in disbelief. 

His eyebrows immediately pull together, “Yes I have.”

Lying straight out of his ass. 

“…no you haven’t.”

“I literally just said I have.”

You point the joint at him dramatically, “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Keys folds his arms, “Why would I lie about that?”

You shrug then take a hit of the joint, blowing it away from him, “Because you’re weirdly competitive.” 

“I’m not competitive.”

You immediately laugh, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“What?”

“You don’t even hear yourself.”

Keys rolls his eyes, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Okay.” You sit up straighter against the brick wall. “What strain was it, that you smoked?”

His face immediately goes blank.

You smile, “Oh no.”

“It was…” He gestures vaguely. “Weed.” 

You burst out laughing, “Weed?”

“Why do you even like that stuff?”

“And why are you even talking to me right now?” 

He rolls his eyes, “I came out here because I needed air.”

You glance around the view of the city dramatically, “Well. Congratulations.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

Keys leans against the window frame. “I didn’t know you were out here.” 

Keys watches you as you take another hit. Your eyes catch his, causing him to immediately look away. Something about it makes him uncomfortable. The sight is so ridiculous that you start laughing. 

“What?” he asks full of attitude. 

“Nothing.”

“You laughed.”

You hold the joint out toward him, offering. “Here.”

Keys physically recoils, “What the fuck?”

You laugh harder. “Relax, it’s clean.”

“No.”

“Relax.”

“No.”

“It’s one hit.”

“No.”

You wave it slightly, “Come on, you’ve had a terrible day.”

His eyes narrow, “My day was fine.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re sitting on a fire escape getting high by yourself.”

“Actually,” you say, glancing toward the kitchen, “I was about to make dinner.” 

Keys looks unimpressed, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“The food’s gonna taste incredible.”

Keys stares at the joint for so long that you start wondering if he’s actually considering it. 

You take another hit as he watches you. 

Finally, he lets out a long breath through his nose, “Fine.”

You nearly choke at his words, “Fine?”

“One hit.”

The fact that Keys McKey, the same fucking man who spent the last ten minutes acting like smoking weed was the end of the world was even considering this feels impossible.

A grin immediately pulls at your mouth, “No way.”

“One hit,” he repeats.

“Keys.”

“One.”

You sit up straighter against the brick wall,“You are absolutely not about to smoke with me.”

“I’m not smoking with you.” His hand extends expectantly - reaching for the joint, “I’m proving a point.”

You laugh, “That’s somehow worse.” You pass the joint to him. 

You hold the joint out before he can change his mind. He takes it from your hand, unsure of how to even hold the damn thing. 

“This is stupid.”

“You volunteered.”

“I did not.”

“Uh you kinda did.”

Keys rolls his eyes as he brings the joint to his lips. His lips hug the end of the joint, his eye squinting as he slowly inhales the joint between his fingers. Maybe the tiniest hit you’ve ever seen.  Keys pulls the joint away from his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Almost like he’s already preparing an I told you so.

Then he coughs sharp enough to make his eyebrows pull together immediately. 

You start laughing, "Oh my god."

Keys waves you off, clearly trying to recover before you can make fun of him. Unfortunately, the movement only makes things worse. Another cough escapes him, then another, basically a cough attack. The coughing comes hard enough that he has to bend forward slightly, one hand coming up to cover his mouth while the other reaches blindly for the fire escape railing beside him. His shoulders shake with every cough, glasses slipping farther down his nose as he struggles to catch a proper breath between them.

Meanwhile, you're laughing so hard tears are already collecting in your eyes, "Keys."

Another cough cuts him off before he can even attempt to say something.

"Keys!"

He points at you accusingly, or at least tries to. The gesture barely lasts a second before another coughing fit takes over completely. His face is already turning red. His glasses have nearly fallen off. His eyes are watering so badly he can barely keep them open. Every time it looks like he's finally getting control of his breathing, another coughing fit hits him out of nowhere and sends him right back to square one.

The knot of concern in your stomach appears before you even realize it.

"Okay."

Another cough comes out of Keys mouth. 

"Keys?"

He immediately waves you off like he's fine, to just ignore it. Keys tries taking a breath, which turns into another violent coughing fit. 

"Oh." You lower the joint, "Oh shit."

"I can't fucking breathe." Keys says, struggling. 

The second the words leave his mouth, you get up. Your body scrambles through the open window so fast you nearly trip over the big frame. The apartment and everything blurs around you as you rush toward the kitchen, immediately regretting every joke you’ve made in the last five minutes. 

“Keys, don’t die!” You say, knowing he won’t. 

“I’m not—” A coughing fit cuts him off from outside, “Trying to.”

“That’s exactly what somebody dying would say.”

You a cup that was sitting next to the sink under the faucet so quickly water splashes over your hand and onto the counter. By the time you get back to the fire escape, Keys is still leaning against the brick wall looking like he’s trying to catch his breath.

You immediately shove the water into his hands, "Drink."

As Keys drinks the water, you just sit there while he catches his breath, the worst of the coughing finally starting to fade. Slowly, his breathing evens out and the tension leaves his shoulders one inhale at a time. 

After another moment, you glance over, “Better?”

Keys keeps staring straight ahead for a second before dragging a hand down his face, “…maybe…thanks.”

The words catch you off guard enough that you blink, “Aw, you just thanked me?”

Keys groans immediately, “I take it back.” 

“There he is.”

He rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the brick wall again. The city lights catch briefly on his glasses before he pushes them up his nose. For a minute, neither of you says anything until the corner of his mouth twitches. 

“You looked really worried.”

You immediately scoff, “I was not worried.”

“You ran.”

“I did not run.”

“You sprinted.”

You narrow your eyes. “Because if you died on our first day as roommates, I’d have a lot paperwork to fill out.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I’m practical.”

“No, you’re mean.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely.”

You stand up before he can keep rambling his mouth, brushing off the back of your shorts. You grab the nearly finished joint from where you’d set it beside you and head toward the window. 

The apartment feels a lot warmer after the cool night air outside. Your music is still playing softly from your room, and the overhead light above the stove casts a yellow glow across the kitchen. You head straight for the fridge and pull it open - taking out the heavy cream, chicken, parmesan and garlic. 

You tie your hair up without really thinking about it, grabbing a claw clip off the counter and twisting everything out of your face. The oversized Spider-Man shirt slips slightly off one shoulder while you fill a pot with water and set it on the stove. Cooking has always been one of those things that settles your brain, something about having a clear list of steps.

You toss in the pasta and stir it absentmindedly before turning your attention to the chicken. Salt, pepper, garlic pepper, paprika. Gordon Ramsey hates to see you coming! 

“Something smells—” 

His eyes move from the chicken to the pasta, then to the pan of sauce simmering on the stove.

“…okay,” he says after a second.

You immediately point the wooden spoon at him. “No.”

His eyebrows lift, “I didn’t even say anything,” he says, sounding genuinely offended. 

“You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was literally going to compliment the food,” he says.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “I don’t believe you.” 

You go back to stirring the sauce, pretending not to pay attention to what he’s doing. Behind you, you hear Keys moving around the living room. The sound of a box opening. A curse muttered under his breath when a cable gets tangled. The scrape of the TV stand shifting slightly across the floor.

You glance over your shoulder once.

His backpack is dumped beside the couch, and he’s crouched in front of the television with approximately six different cords spread around him. For someone who works with technology for a living, he somehow looks deeply annoyed by all of it. 

You smirk to yourself and turn back to the stove.

A few minutes later, the television flickers to life and the familiar PlayStation startup sound fills the apartment.

You drain the pasta into the sink while the sounds of a game menu begin drifting from the living room. Curiosity gets the best of you, causing you to glance over. “…Seriously?” 

You expected him to play something related  to whatever weird developer hobby he has.

“…are you playing Call of Duty?” 

Keys doesn’t look away from the screen “Maybe.”

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the stove before the conversation can continue. The pasta gets tossed into the sauce, then the chicken follows a minute later, mixed through until everything’s coated. Steam curls up from the pan, carrying the smell of garlic and parmesan through the apartment.

You grab a plate from one of the cabinets and start serving yourself. The weed is beginning to settle in properly now. Not enough that you’re completely gone, but enough that everything feels a little softer around the edges. 

Behind you, Keys mutters something aggressively at the television.

“HOW?” 

You don’t even turn around, “Skill issue.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Keys lets out an offended noise somewhere behind you. By the time you’ve got everything balanced in your hands, you’ve already decided you’re not eating out here, you can only handle Keys in little doses - if you can even handle him at all. 

You pick up your plate and start heading toward your room.

“Where are you going?” Keys asks without looking away from the television.

“My room.”

“Why?”

You stop in the doorway and look at him like he’s stupid, “Because I like peace.” 

The gunfire coming from his television immediately undermines whatever argument he was about to make. You disappear into your room before he can say anything else, shutting the door with your food behind you. You climb onto the bed, settling against the headboard with your plate balanced carefully on your lap. 

Outside your room, you can still hear the television and Keys swearing. 

God, shut up. 

Reaching over, you grab your laptop from the nightstand and flip it open. The screen glows against the dim lighting of your room while you balance the plate carefully on your lap. A few clicks later, the familiar opening of New Girl fills the room. 

You’d seen every episode at least three times already, but that’s kind of the point. You can zone out, eat your food, and let Jess Day solve whatever ridiculous problem she’s gotten herself into. And pray that instead of Keys living with you it was Schmidt. 

The first joke barely lands before you’re already smiling, the weeds definitely hitting now.

Another muffled, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” from the living room.

“Deserved.” you mouth, taking another bite.  

You sink farther into your pillows, pull your blanket over your legs, and press play on the next episode while Keys continues losing his mind somewhere in the living room.

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You barely make it through half an episode of New Girl before there’s a knock on your door.

You don’t even look up from your laptop, “Go away.” 

knock knock

You close your eyes, “Keys, I’m busy.”

knock knock 

You pause your show and stare at the door, “What?”

“…can I ask you something?”

“No.” 

“Please.” 

You set your plate down on the nightstand, “What do you want?”

The doorknob turns before you can stop him, the door slowly cracking open. His head peaks inside, scanning his eyes around the room then turning to you. 

The second you actually look at him, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

He’s high high.

His hair somehow looks messier than it did earlier, like he’s run his hands through it fifteen times in the last ten minutes trying to figure out why his brain feels weird. His glasses sit slightly crooked on his nose. His cheeks are a little pink from the coughing fit and his eyes, his eyes are completely glassy and bloodshot red. Each time he blinks it gets slower and slower. 

“You look ridiculous,” you say, putting your hand over your mouth to refrain you from laughing. 

“I look normal.”

“You absolutely do not.”

“I do.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “So what did you actually come in here to ask me?” 

Key blinks a few times, trying to catch up with this thoughts. 

“Oh,” his eyebrows pull together, “Right.”

You immediately point at him. “See? You forgot again.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“You absolutely forgot.”

“I remembered just now.”

“That’s not helping your case.” 

Instead of arguing with you, he shifts his weight against the doorframe and looks at you with too much seriousness that would’ve been intimidating if his eyes weren’t completely gone.  

“…is it supposed to feel like this?”

The question makes you laugh immediately, especially in the tone that he said it in. 

His face falls, “That’s not helpful.”

“What does that even mean?” you ask through a grin.

Keys gestures vaguely, like you’re supposed to know what he’s talking about. Which technically you do, you just want to hear him say it. 

“Like…” He pauses. “Everything feels weird.”

“Wow.”

“Stop.”

“No, keep going.”

He runs a hand through his already destroyed hair, “The hallway felt longer.” 

“The hallway?”

“It did.”

“The living room is right there.”

“It felt longer.” 

You bury your face in a pillow, “Oh my god.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you took one hit.”

“It was a very powerful hit.”

“It was not.”

Keys points at you dramatically, “See? That’s easy for you to say because you’re used to being like this.” 

You stare at him, “Being like what?”

He gestures again, “This.”

“This isn’t helping.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re all…” He squints. “…calm.”

“It’ll go by, you’re supposed to not freak yourself out. Just enjoy the high.” You shrug. 

Keys gives an uncertain nod, as if he wasn’t satisfied with the answer that you gave him. He looks around your room some more, analyzing it. You look down, fiddling with your thumbs. 

“So.. can you get out now?” 

“I’m just asking questions.”

Keys narrows his eyes, you narrow yours right back at him. Like he’s not getting the hint. Eventually he backs out into the hallway.

“This is hostile.”

“Goodnight, Keys.”

He quietly shuts the door on his way out. 

You settle back against your headboard with a satisfied sigh and glance at your laptop again. New Girl is still playing quietly in the corner of the screen, but your attention span is completely gone at this point. Pasta is almost finished and the weed is still doing, but you don’t have the attention span to keep watching something. 

Five minutes later you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed playing Dress to Impress like your life depends on it. And that’s what you keep doing for the next 25 minutes. 

Eventually your empty plate is sitting beside you and your character has been robbed of first place three separate times by people who clearly don’t understand fashion or who are just voting five stars to only their friends. 

You finally drag yourself off the bed with a dramatic groan. You carry your plate toward the kitchen, already preparing yourself for whatever weird thing Keys is doing now. The second you walk around the corner, you stop. 

“…what the fuck?” 

Keys looks up from the stovetop, with pasta sauce all over his mouth and quite literally all over the counter. The giant bowl you cooked dinner in is sitting in front of him. 

“Is that my cooking spoon?” 

Keys slowly looks down at the giant wooden spoon in his hand, then back at you. “…maybe.”

You make a horrified noise, “Keys.”

“What?”

“Why are you eating directly out of the bowl?”

He looks genuinely confused, “Because there was pasta in it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It kinda does.”

You set your plate down in the sink and walk closer. The closer you get, the worse it becomes. The man is absolutely demolishing your garlic chicken pasta, but you’re honestly surprised he’s even eating something you cooked. 

You point at it, “How much of that did you eat?”

Keys follows your finger, looking into the bowl, “…I don’t know.” 

“Oh my god.”

He glances up at you, then back at the pasta, then back to you. His eyes slightly narrow, “You made this?”

You stare, “Yes.”

“I thought you ordered it.”

“You watched me cook.” 

“Shhhh…” He says, putting a finger to his mouth sloppily, then continues to eat the pasta. 

You point to his shirt immediately, “Wait.”

Keys looks down at himself. “What?”

“Your shirt.”

He blinks, “My shirt?”

“You have sauce all over it, idiot.”

Keys looks down, wow he is a fucking mess. Right there across the front of his gray t-shirt is a streak of garlic cream sauce he apparently managed to get on himself without noticing.

“Oh.”

You wait for him to grab a napkin, or look around for a towel. Instead, Keys just grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head, like it was the easiest solution. 

Your brain immediately short-circuits. Enough that your eyes immediately drop to the toned stomach that definitely wasn’t there five seconds ago. Enough that the sleeves hiding his arms all day suddenly make a lot more sense. Enough that you instantly understand why Eve called him cute within the first hour of meeting him.

Oh that’s annoying.

Keys tosses the shirt onto the counter and reaches for another bite of pasta, completely unaware and still talking. 

“…I still think somebody stole some of this.”

You stare, not as his face - unfortunately. 

You immediately look away, “Put your shirt back on.”

Keys pauses, he looks down at himself then looks back at you. “…why?”

Nothing but straight attitude comes out of this guys mouth. 

You hate him.

You grab a dish towel off the counter and throw it directly at his chest.

“Put. A shirt. On.”

Keys catches it automatically, staring at the towel. 

“…you know this isn’t a shirt, right?”

“Oh my God.”

“It’s a towel.”

“I am aware.”

He looks between the towel and you, his eyes narrow in suspicion. “You looked away.”

You freeze, “No I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You totally did.”

You point at him, “You’re high off your ass.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Keys.”

“You looked away.”

He sounds way too pleased with himself.

Somehow the weed has made him more annoying.

Keys leans against the counter, completely shirtless and entirely too comfortable about it.

Then the corner of his mouth twitches, “Oh.”

Your stomach drops, “What?”

A grin starts pulling at his mouth, “You don’t like what you see?”

You both start staring at each other, but Keys looks entirely too proud of himself which makes you laugh. 

“You took one hit of weed and suddenly think you’re God’s gift to women.”

His grin gets bigger, “You didn’t answer the question.”

You look around, scanning the kitchen to find something. Your eyes land on the potholder next to you. Something light, but something to shut him up. You immediately grab the potholder throw it at his head.

Keys catches it with one hand, “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“You got defensive.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I think the weed is making you hallucinate.”

“I think you’re avoiding the question.”

You stare at him - his stupid grin - then you stare at the pasta bowl. 

“You ate my dinner.”

His smile disappears instantly, “…that’s a good point.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, I forgot about that.”

“I know.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

You fold your arms, “Put your shirt back on, McKey.”

Keys looks down at himself, then back at you. 

“…can I finish the pasta first?”

You make a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scream. Keys finally grabs the rest of the bowl and starts heading back toward the living room. 

Halfway back to the couch he stops walking, his body slowly turns around facing you. He points at you then back to the bowl, “You make good pasta, California.” 

For a second, you think that might actually be the closest thing to a compliment you’ve gotten out of him all day.

“…don’t let it go to your head.” he adds. 

You point toward the hallway, “Goodnight, Keys.”

“Goodnight, California.”

“Stop calling me that.”

You finish cleaning up the kitchen before shutting off the lights one by one. By the time you make it back to your room, your laptop is still open on your bed, Roblox waiting patiently where you left it. You crawl underneath the blankets and pull the comforter up to your chin. Outside your room, you can still hear the television faintly through the wall. 

Tomorrow you’ll probably argue with him before nine in the morning. Tomorrow he’ll almost definitely find a new way to annoy you. Tomorrow you’ll have to spend a full day with him at work. 

And tomorrow, you’ll do it all over again. 

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reblogs and notes are appreciated as always, thank you.

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You got there twenty minutes early, which apparently was a mistake since no other intern was. The lobby of Soonami Studios is busy in a way that doesn’t include you. People move through it like they already belong here, badges tapping against glass doors, conversations picking up mid-sentence, steps that don’t slow down or second-guess. You stand just inside the entrance for a second too long, adjusting your bag on your shoulder like you’re waiting for someone to tell you what to do next. You could’ve shown up exactly on time. You could’ve waited outside, walked in with everyone else, blended into something that already existed instead of standing here like you’re trying to figure out where you fit in it.

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, pushing yourself forward before you can overthink it again. It’s your first day, you’re supposed to be here. That has to count for something.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, you try to ignore it but you can’t. You already know what it is. Same apartment listing site, same problem. Same prices that don’t work no matter how many times you look at them. You scroll once, twice, like there’s going to be something new, something reasonable, something that doesn’t give you a headache.

The cubicle they give you is smaller than you expected. Not bad, just like it was set up for someone passing through, not someone staying. A desk, a chair that rolls too easily, a divider that barely reaches above eye level when you sit. There’s a desktop waiting to be logged into and a pen left behind in the corner. You set your bag down slowly, taking a second to look at it.

You sink into the chair, adjusting it slightly as it rolls back an inch more than you meant it to. Around you, people are already working—typing, talking, moving like they’ve done this a hundred times before. You try not to stare, try not to look like you’re taking everything in too fast. You’ll get used to it, eventually. Out of nowhere, you heard a masculine voice say your name. You look up quickly, your manager Parker stands just outside your cubicle, one hand resting lightly against the divider. He looks exactly how he did during your interview. Calm, put together, like nothing here ever really goes wrong.

“Hi—yeah,” you say, straightening a little. “Hi.”

“Welcome,” he says easily. “Settling in okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer, a little too fast. “I mean—Yes. I’m good.”

He nods like he expected that. “Come on,” he says after a second, gesturing down the aisle. “I’ll walk you through things.”

You grab your badge off the desk and stand, falling into step beside him. The office feels different when you’re actually moving through it, less like something you’re watching and more like something you’re part of, even if you’re still figuring out where you fit in.

“UI/UX is over here,” he says, motioning toward a section filled with dual monitors and half-finished layouts pulled up on screens. “You’ll be working with them primarily. Interface design, user flow, making sure things feel intuitive for the player.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“You’ll be collaborating with the dev team a lot,” he adds. “What you design, they build. So there’s a lot of back and forth.”

He slows slightly as you pass another area. “Deadlines can get tight, but don’t get stuck on something longer than you need to. Ask questions.”

“Got it.”

“You’ve got a good portfolio,” he continues, glancing back at you briefly. “We’re expecting you to contribute, not just observe.”

“Okay,” you say, quieter. “I will.”

“I did see your email,” he adds, almost casually.

Your stomach tightens. “Yeah,” you say, trying to keep it light. “I just—sorry, I didn’t mean to make it a whole thing. I just needed to figure something out with housing.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You’re not the only one.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“I’ve got someone else in a similar situation,” he continues. “Out-of-town, nothing lined up yet.”

A small bit of tension eases in your chest. “Okay,” you say. “That’s… good.”

“We don’t usually handle housing for interns,” he adds, “but I took another look at your resume.” That catches you off guard. “And theirs,” he says.

You glance at him.

“You’re both strong,” he continues. “Stronger than most we get at this level. So I figured it was worth trying to make something work.”

You don’t say anything, just nod, letting him keep going.

“We had a unit open up nearby,” he says. “Two-bedroom. Walking distance from here. It’s not official—more of a temporary solution. A favor, really. You’d each have your own room, just sharing the space.”

“If you’re both comfortable with it,” he finishes.

You hesitate for a second, already knowing there’s a catch. “Who’s the other intern?” you ask.

You try not to think too hard about what kind of person they are. Whether they’re awkward or quiet or messy or the type to leave dishes in the sink for days. Whether they snore. Whether they’ll talk too much. Whether this is going to turn into one of those horror stories people tell later to make themselves laugh. You barely even know where you’re sleeping next week and somehow now you’re about to discuss living with a complete stranger.

Your manager doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. He keeps talking as he walks, pointing out sections of the office you pass like this is still part of the tour. “Most intern teams stay pretty collaborative,” he says casually. “Especially in your department. We try to avoid keeping people boxed into one thing too early.”

You nod, though you’re only half listening now. Your brain’s somewhere else entirely. The office door comes into view at the end of the hallway. Your manager reaches for the handle without hesitation.

“Like I said,” he says, glancing back at you briefly, “this is completely up to you both. If either of you are uncomfortable, we can try to figure something else out.”

That somehow makes you more nervous.

Your manager, Parker, opened the door and there was a guy sitting down in the office already. For a second, all you really register is that he looks just as out of place as you feel. His hair falls messily over his forehead like he’s pushed his hands through it too many times to care anymore, and there’s a pair of thin-framed glasses resting low enough on his nose that he keeps looking over them instead of through them. Sleeves pushed up slightly at the wrists, one leg bouncing faintly under the chair, fingers tapping once against the side of his coffee cup before going still again. Defined jaw, soft mouth, eyes that look like they’re constantly focused on something five steps ahead of everyone else in the room. He doesn’t smile when you walk in, but there’s still something almost amused sitting underneath his expression, like he’s already making observations he’s not saying out loud.

The worst part is that he looks like he belongs here.

He glances up the second the door opens, eyes flicking toward you first, then your manager.

“Perfect,” your manager says easily, stepping past both of you and toward his desk. “Now everyone’s here.”

The guy sets his coffee down slowly, straightening just slightly in his chair. Up close, he looks a little tired. Not exhausted exactly, just the kind of tired that comes from staring at screens too long.

Your manager gestures between the two of you, he said your name then, “This is Walter Keys McKey.”

The guy lifts a hand slightly in acknowledgment before leaning back again.“Please don’t call me Walter,” he says immediately.

You blink once, catching you off guard. Parker snorts quietly like he’s heard that sentence a hundred times before.“He goes by Keys,” Parker explains.

“Yeah,” Keys mutters.

Parker gestures toward you then. “And this,” he says, looking back at Keys, “is the other intern I was telling you about.”

Keys’ eyes flick toward you again.

“She’ll be working on interface and visual systems mostly,” Parker continues casually. “Strong portfolio. Fast learner. Probably one of the better applications we got this cycle.”

Keys raises his eyebrows slightly at that before looking back at you again.

“She’s also apparently homeless,” Parker adds bluntly.

“Parker,” you say instantly.

“What?” he asks innocently. “You literally said that in your email.”

Keys snorts quietly into his coffee cup before trying to hide it behind another sip. Your eyes narrow immediately.

“Oh, good,” you mutter. “Love that this is my introduction.”

“To be fair,” Keys says finally, setting his coffee back down, “mine wasn’t much better.”

Parker points toward him immediately. “Yeah. He wrote me a three paragraph email about how he couldn’t afford rent without selling a kidney.”

Keys shrugs slightly. “The market’s bad right now.”

You let out a laugh before you can stop yourself.

Keys glances toward you almost immediately afterward.

Parker moves around behind his desk then, completely unaware of the weird shift in energy happening across the room. “Anyway,” he says while shuffling through papers, “you two actually have a lot in common professionally.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Keys says casually.

You look at him immediately, he doesn’t even look apologetic.

Parker ignores that completely. “Both of you scored ridiculously high during application review. Similar strengths too. Problem solving, adaptability, creativity—”

“Competitive,” Keys adds dryly.

Parker points at him once. “Very competitive.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Is that supposed to be a warning?”

“A little,” Parker admits.

Keys leans back farther in his chair. “I just don’t love working with people who slow projects down.”

Your eyebrows lift immediately, “That sounds like something someone says right before becoming unbearable in a group setting.”

Keys looks toward you calmly. “I usually end up being right.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“The kind of guy who thinks being condescending counts as a personality trait.”

Parker physically closes his eyes for a second like a man already developing a migraine.

Keys tilts his head slightly toward you. “You formed that opinion in under thirty seconds?”

“You made it easy.”

“That’s impressive,” he says flatly. “Usually people wait at least a week before deciding they hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you reply instantly.

Keys raises his eyebrows slightly.

You pause.

“…yet.”

That finally gets a real reaction out of him. Some amusement at least.

Parker clears his throat loudly before the conversation can spiral farther. “Okay,” he says carefully, “before the two of you start fist fighting in my office—”

“She started it,” Keys says immediately.

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god.”

Parker points between both of you. “This is exactly why I hesitated before bringing up the shared apartment.”

“The shared apartment?” Keys repeats slowly.

Parker nods once before leaning back in his chair. “Like I said earlier, the company owns a furnished two bedroom apartment nearby. Since both of you emailed about housing issues…” He gestures vaguely between you. “I thought this might help.”

Keys leans forward first. “No offense,” he says while looking directly at you now, “but this feels like a terrible idea.”

You blink at him. “Oh, none taken. I was literally thinking the same thing.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

You glance sideways before you can stop yourself. Keys is already looking at the manager, jaw resting lightly against his knuckles, expression unreadable.

“We had a two-bedroom unit open nearby,” your manager continues. “Walking distance from the office. Furnished. Temporary.”

“You’d each have your own room,” he says. “Shared common space. That’s it.” Then your manager adds, “There’s one other thing.”

You don’t know why that immediately feels ominous.

“You’re both on the same placement track.”

Your brows knit slightly. “Meaning..?”

“It means,” he says calmly, “that while your departments differ slightly, you’ll both be working under the same branch of development.”

Beside you, Keys sits up a little straighter. Parker keeps going, he points at you. “Your focus is UI and player experience. Keys, yours is systems implementation and backend integration. Your work will overlap constantly.”

“At the end of the internship,” he says, “there will be one full-time position available.”

You actually thought you heard him wrong for a second. “One?” you repeat.

“One,” he confirms.

You glance over slowly, Keys is already looking at you. Like the second your manager said one position, something clicked into place for him.

Competition.

“We’re not expecting hostility,” Parker says lightly, almost amused. “You’ll still be collaborating on projects. But yes, technically speaking, you’re competing for the same role.”

You barely know this person, and now you’re apparently supposed to live with him and compete against him at the same time.

“So,” Keys says finally, leaning back slightly again, “best-case scenario, we either become coworkers…” His eyes flick toward you briefly. “…or one of us gets unemployed.”

Parker laughs. “You’ll both survive,” he says easily.

You glance at Keys again, just for a second this time, trying to get a read on him. He doesn’t exactly look thrilled about any of this, but he also doesn’t look like he’s backing out. Which probably means you aren’t either.

You look back toward Parker. “How far is the apartment?”

“Five-minute walk.”

You exhale slowly through your nose, staring down at your hands for a second before nodding once. “Okay.”

Beside you, Keys is quiet for another second longer. “…yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

Your manager nods, satisfied. “Good. I’ll have the keys waiting for you with Kenzie the receptionist downstairs after work.”

Neither of you say anything for a second after that. The conversation feels oddly finished, like the room itself already moved on before you did. Parker reaches for something on his desk. A folder, another email, some other problem waiting for him and it becomes very clear that to him, this arrangement is simple. Meanwhile, you’re sitting there trying to process the fact that less than twenty minutes into your first day, you somehow agreed to live with a stranger competing against you for the same position.

Parker glances between you both one last time. “You’ll get your project assignments by the end of the day. For now, just settle in. Meet your teams. Try not to stress yourselves out too much.”

You nod anyway, adjusting your grip on your folder before standing. Besides you, Keys does the same, slower somehow, like he’s still mentally catching up to the conversation. For a second, the two of you just awkwardly stand there. Then Parker’s already looking back down at his computer.

You glance toward the door first and Keys notices immediately, standing back just enough to let you walk out ahead of him. “Thanks,” you mutter automatically as you pass him.

“Yeah.”

The door shuts softly behind you, cutting off Parker’s office from the rest of the building again. For a second, neither of you moves. People pass through the hallway around you, keyboards clicking faintly from nearby cubicles, conversations carrying from somewhere down the hall, but the silence between you feels separate from all of it.

You shift your folder against your chest. “So…”

Keys looks over at you.

“This is weird, right?” you ask.

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, almost like he wasn’t expecting you to say that first. “A little.”

“A little?”

“You could’ve said no.”

“So could you.”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “But unlike you, I enjoy not couch surfing.”

You stare at him for half a second. “…you’re annoying already.”

“Good to know.”

You start walking before the conversation can stall out again, hearing his footsteps fall into pace beside yours a second later. The elevator at the end of the hall dings open just as you reach it, and the two of you step inside together. The silence comes back immediately. You press the button for your floor, then lean back lightly against the wall, staring ahead while the doors slide shut. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Keys adjusting the sleeves of his black button-up before shoving his hands into his pockets.

The elevator hums quietly as it moves.

“So,” you say eventually, mostly because the silence is starting to feel intentional now. “Backend systems?”

He glances over. “UI?”

You nod once.

“Hm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You said it like it meant something.”

“It didn’t.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “God, help me.”

“You seem like you redesign things that already work.”

Your eyebrows lift immediately. “You haven’t even seen my work.”

“I saw your portfolio.”

That catches you off guard. “You looked at my portfolio?”

“You were sitting right next to me in Parker’s office while he talked about it for five minutes,” he says flatly. “Kind of hard to avoid.”

You fold your arms loosely. “And?”

“And it’s very…” He pauses just long enough to make it irritating. “…pretty.”

You let out a short laugh. “Wow. You really are a developer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you think functionality matters more than design.”

“It does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It literally does.”

You shake your head immediately. “See? Annoying.”

“And you sound expensive.”

“What does that even mean?”

The elevator dings before he can answer. The doors slide open. Keys steps out first this time, glancing back briefly when he realizes you’re still staring at him. “…you coming?” he asks.

You blink once, then step out after him. The hallway outside the elevator is quieter than the rest of the office, lined with dark carpet and glass windows that look out over the city below. Keys slows just enough for you to walk beside him again, though it doesn’t feel intentional.

“So?” you say after a second. “You’re just not gonna explain that?”

He presses the button to another hallway door with his badge. “Explain what?”

“You saying I sound expensive.”

“I said you sound expensive, not that you are.”

“That somehow made it worse.”

Keys pushes the door open, holding it there just long enough for you to walk through first. “You talk like the type of person who’d spend six hours picking a font.”

You let out a short laugh. “Okay, first of all, fonts matter.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“They literally affect readability.”

“They literally don’t.”

You stop walking long enough to stare at him. “You’re one of those people who thinks default settings are acceptable, aren’t you?”

“I think if something already works, you don’t need to redesign it every five minutes.”

“That’s because you people think functionality is enough.”

“You people?”

“Yes. Developers.”

Keys glances over at you, finally looking slightly entertained. “You’ve known me for, what, twenty minutes?”

“And I already have you figured out.”

“That’s impressive,” he says dryly. “Wrong. But impressive.”

The two of you round another corner, and you’re suddenly very aware of how strange this entire situation actually is. You met him less than half an hour ago. You still barely know anything about him besides the fact that he’s sarcastic, works in backend systems, and apparently enjoys arguing just to argue.

“So what’s your deal?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Keys glances over. “My deal?”

“Yeah. Like… where are you from?”

“Oh.” He adjusts the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder. “Seattle.”

You nod once. “Okay. That explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look like you haven’t seen sunlight in years.”

He deadpans immediately. “Good one.”

“Thank you.”

“And where are you from?”

You glance over at him briefly. “California.”

“Yeah. That tracks.”

You reach the row of cubicles again, slowing near yours while Keys continues walking another few steps toward his side of the office. He glances back when he realizes you stopped.

“Well,” you say, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder, “I should probably see if I can actually get some work done.”

Keys nods once. “Probably a good idea.”

“Yeah.” You gesture vaguely toward him. “Some of us didn’t move across the country just to stand around arguing with men who look like they correct grammar for fun.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “I don’t correct grammar.”

“Not out loud, maybe.” You point toward your cubicle. “Anyway, I have better things to do.”

“Like what?”

You glance at your still-unopened computer. “…wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Okay well, good luck with that,” he says.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Was that condescending?”

“A little.”

“Wow. We really are off to a great start.”

“Could be worse.”

You scoff softly. “Don’t jinx it.”

Then, before he can say something else irritating, you turn and head back toward your cubicle. Even from behind you, you can practically feel him watching you for a second longer than necessary. The office around you buzzes softly with overlapping conversations, keyboards clicking, phones ringing somewhere farther down the hall. A few people glance your way curiously before going back to their screens. You barely sit down before another voice cuts in from beside you.

“Okay,” a girl says quietly, leaning against the divider between cubicles, “what was that?”

You look up immediately.

The girl leaning against your cubicle wall smiles first. Soft features, long dirty blonde hair falling over one shoulder, oversized cardigan hanging off her arm. She looks approachable immediately. The kind of person who probably knows everybody’s business without being weird about it.

Beside her, the other girl has sharp small eyeliner, round blue light tinted glasses, rosey cheeks, and the kind of expression that says she’s already decided this situation is entertaining. Lanyard clipped to her jeans, rings covering half her fingers, one brow raised like she’s actively waiting for drama to unfold.

“Okay,” the second girl says immediately, “what the hell was that?”

You blink. “What was what?”

“The weird heated enemy thing you just had going on with Keys,” she says.

Becca groans instantly beside her. “Eve.”

“What?” Eve defends. “You saw it too.”

“I met him like twenty minutes ago,” you say.

“That’s somehow worse,” Eve says immediately.

Becca laughs softly before holding her hand out toward you. “I’m Becca, by the way.”

“And I’m Eve,” the other girl says.

“Unfortunately.” Becca rolls her eyes playfully.

Eve points at her. “See? This is what I deal with all day.”

“You literally create ninety percent of your own problems.”

“And the other ten percent are caused by engineering.”

Your eyes flick automatically toward the other side of the office again, landing on Keys. He’s leaned back in his chair now, one hand resting against his mouth while he squints at something on his monitor. Glasses slipping lower on his nose again while he types one-handed like he’s already irritated with whatever he’s working on. Then, like he can physically feel you looking at him, his eyes flick up. Straight toward you, causing you to look away.

“…and that one specifically,” Eve adds.

You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “Please tell me he’s not always like that.”

Eve snorts. “Girl, we met him today too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Becca says with a laugh. “You’re not alone. Parker introduced him to us this morning and within five minutes Eve already called him emotionally unavailable.”

“Because he is,” Eve defends instantly.

Across the room, Keys shifts in his chair slightly, still typing.

“He hasn’t even been here a full day,” you point out.

“And yet somehow he already acts like he’s correcting everyone’s code personally,” Eve says.

“That’s because he probably is,” Becca mutters.

You glance over again before you can stop yourself. You narrow your eyes at him automatically before turning back around.

Eve follows your line of sight for a second before shrugging slightly.

“I mean,” she says casually, “he’s annoying, but unfortunately he is cute.”

Becca snorts softly into her coffee. “Very unfortunately.”

You blink once. “…him?”

Eve looks at you like that’s the most obvious thing she’s ever heard. “Yes, him.”

You physically grimace. “No.”

“Girl, be serious.”

“He looks like he’d explain cryptocurrency at a party.”

“That doesn’t cancel out the face,” Eve argues.

Becca nods slightly. “The glasses situation is helping him a lot.”

You glance over again against your better judgment. Keys pushes his glasses farther up his nose absentmindedly while staring at his screen.

“No,” you repeat firmly.

Eve grins. “Oh, so you’ve thought about it enough to disagree passionately.”

“I hate both of you already.”

“That’s fine,” Becca says easily. “We’re still right.”

Before you can defend yourself again, one of the office phones rings sharply somewhere behind you.

Becca immediately groans. “Oh no.”

Eve points at her. “Don’t make that face. You answer it.”

“You answer it.”

Finally, Becca reaches across your desk and hits the speaker button dramatically.

“Design department,” she says.

“Hi,” a voice says immediately. “Quick question. Why are none of you answering? I called like fifteen times.”

Eve snorts instantly. “Morning, Emi.”

“Unfortunately,” the voice replies. “And unless somebody wants Parker seeing the homepage mockups before I fix them, I need you and Eve in conference room B like… immediately.”

Becca sighs. “Can I at least finish my coffee first?”

“No, suffer.”

Eve leans closer to the speaker. “You’re literally a manager.”

“And yet somehow none of you respect me.”

“That sounds earned,” Eve says.

“Okay wow. Hostile work environment.” There’s a pause before Emilie continues casually, “Also whichever bitch just left comments calling my formatting ‘complicated’ is officially my enemy and I need them gone.”

Becca slowly turns her head toward the engineering side of the office. “…Keys,” she says carefully.

“The new guy?” Emilie says immediately. “Oh, absolutely not. He’s been here like twelve minutes.”

You glance across the room automatically. Keys is still sitting there typing like his life depends on it, completely unaware he’s currently being talked about over speakerphone.

Eve narrows her eyes. “I knew I didn’t trust him.”

“You called him cute like thirty seconds ago,” Becca reminds her.

“Cute people can still be deeply irritating.”

“Unfortunately true,” Emilie agrees through the speaker.

You laugh quietly before you can stop yourself.

“Wait,” Emilie says immediately. “Who was that?”

You freeze.

“The new intern,” Eve says.

“Oh my god,” Emilie replies instantly. “Hi. I’m so sorry you got placed with us. It’s genuinely chaos over here.”

“That’s becoming very clear.”

“Perfect. You’ll fit right in.” You can practically hear her grin through the phone. “Anyway, conference room. Now. Before I get fired for threatening engineers emotionally.”

Becca hangs up finally while shaking her head.

You stare at the phone for another second. “…I think I’m gonna like her.”

Eve grabs her coffee immediately. “Yeah. Everyone does.”

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By lunchtime, you’ve learned five things.

One: nobody at Soonami Studios explains anything fully the first time.

Two: every single system requires a different password and somehow all of them have different rules.

Three: Eve treats workplace drama like live entertainment.

Four: Becca has already saved your life twice and it’s only been a few hours.

And five: Keys is somehow everywhere.

Every time you look up, he’s somewhere nearby. Leaning against someone’s desk while talking about some code, walking through the office with coffee in his hand, typing so fast it sounds aggressive from three cubicles away. I mean fuck, it’s his first day too. He’s acting like he already owns the damn place.

The onboarding files Parker sent over are still open in front of you, except now they’re joined by three tabs you didn’t mean to click on and an error message you definitely don’t understand. You click through the window again, with the same error still popping up.

“…okay,” you mutter under your breath. “Cool.”

Your eyes flick briefly across the office before you can stop yourself. Keys is sitting at his desk a few rows down, glasses low on his nose while he stares at one of his monitors with an expression that somehow looks annoyed and focused at the same time. One hand’s moving absently against his keyboard while the other rests against his mouth.

You’d honestly probably rather die than ask for his help. So instead, you spend another five minutes trying to fix it yourself.

You let your head fall back against your chair for a second, staring at the ceiling before finally muttering, “Oh my god.”

“Problem?”

Your eyes snap open, Keys is standing beside your cubicle.

You straighten immediately. “No.”

He glances toward your screen, then back at you. “…right.”

“I have it handled.”

“You’ve clicked the same thing six times.”

Heat rises into your face instantly. “Why are you watching me?”

“You sigh really loud when you’re frustrated.”

You stare at him. “That’s weird information to have.”

Keys shrugs lightly. “You’re not subtle.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Did you come over here just to insult me?”

“No.” His attention shifts toward your monitor again. “Move.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“You broke the login loop somehow.”

“I did not break it.”

“You definitely broke it.”

“I literally clicked what it told me to click.”

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That was your first mistake.”

You scoff softly but shift your chair back anyway, mostly because now you want to prove he’s wrong. Keys leans down slightly beside you, one hand resting against the edge of your desk while he uses the mouse with the other. Up close, he smells faintly like coffee and something clean you can’t place immediately.

“You skipped a verification step,” he says after a second.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I literally followed the instructions.”

“Yeah, and Soonami’s instructions are terrible.”

You watch quietly while he fixes something buried under three different menus you never would’ve found yourself. You stare at the screen. “…oh.”

Keys leans back again. “There.”

You look up at him reluctantly. “Thanks.”

He nods once like it was obvious. “Try not to break anything else before three.”

You immediately point toward the exit of your cubicle. “Okay, you can leave now.”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “See?” he says. “You are mean.”

“And you’re annoying.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

You fold your arms. “And yet you keep proving it.”

Someone across the office calls his name, and the moment breaks immediately. Keys glances away first. “Later, California.”

You stare after him as he walks off.

Asshole.

Still, the rest of the day goes better than you expected. Somewhere between lunch and your third cup of office coffee, things start clicking into place. The systems stop feeling completely foreign, the programs become easier to navigate, and eventually you stop hesitating before opening things because you’re scared of breaking them. You figure out the internal messaging app, finally organize your inbox, and by mid-afternoon you’re moving through your assignments without rereading every instruction three times first.

Turns out you’re actually good at this, which shouldn’t be surprising. You know you earned your spot here. You know Parker didn’t offer you housing out of pity. But there’s still something reassuring about seeing it happen in real time, watching the nerves slowly get replaced with muscle memory. One of the designers compliments one of your mockups before disappearing into a meeting. Another coworker stops by your cubicle to tell you your player flow notes were “actually really smart,” which embarrasses you a little more than you’d like to admit. Even Parker pauses at your desk once on his way somewhere else, glancing over your screen before nodding once.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ .

The office around you grows quieter as people start packing up for the night. Conversations drift toward elevators and dinner plans while monitors shut off one by one across the floor. You stretch slightly in your chair before finally saving your work and closing your laptop with a soft click. You start gathering your things slowly, charger stuffed into your bag, notebook shoved underneath your laptop, phone finally pulled from where you tossed it beside your keyboard hours ago. Your shoulders ache a little from sitting all day, but it’s the satisfying kind. You slip your bag onto your shoulder and stand, glancing around the office one last time.

That’s when you notice Keys. He’s still at his desk a few rows away, one elbow resting against it while he types something with the other hand. Most of the lights around his section are already off, making the glow from his monitors sharper against his face. Glasses low on his nose again. Sleeves pushed up, completely focused. You look away before he can say anything else and head toward the elevators, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you walk. The office feels completely different now compared to this morning, less intimidating somehow. Most of the interns are already gone, and the people still left behind look settled into the kind of late-night focus that probably comes with working at a place like Soonami Studios.

The doors slide shut and you exhale quietly, letting your head lean back against the wall for half a second. Your first day is over. Somehow. You didn’t embarrass yourself - besides messing up and needing Keys’ help, didn’t get fired, didn’t cry in the bathroom, which honestly feels like a successful start. The apartment thing still feels insane, though. Living with someone you met less than twelve hours ago shouldn’t feel legal, especially not someone like Keys. He feels like trouble. The elevator dings softly as the lobby comes into view again. The second the doors open, the noise of the building shifts around you, phones ringing faintly from somewhere behind the desk, quiet conversations near the entrance, the low hum of traffic outside the glass doors.

The receptionist from earlier notices you almost immediately. “Hey,” she says with a small smile. “You’re here for the apartment keys, right?”

You nod. “Yeah. Parker said they’d be down here.”

She reaches underneath the desk for a small envelope. “Just keep going up this street, make a right on Cornelia and you’re there.” You take it from her carefully this time, immediately checking the front.

Address. Entry code. Parking information.

“Your roommate hasn’t come down yet,” she adds casually.

You try very hard not to react to the word roommate.

“Right,” you say instead.

The receptionist smiles knowingly anyway, which makes you instantly suspicious.

“It’s a nice place,” she says. “Parker did his big one.”

The lobby doors slide open behind you, letting in a rush of cool evening air and footsteps. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“Kenzie,” Keys says behind you casually, “did you tell her I’m the favorite intern yet?”

Kenzie laughs immediately. “You wish.”

Keys walks up beside you a second later, dark backpack slung over one shoulder, sleeves still pushed up from earlier. Up close, he looks more tired now than he did this morning, though somehow still irritatingly put together in that effortless way you’re starting to resent. You hold the envelope a little closer to your chest before he can try taking it.

His eyes flick down to it instantly. “…you already grabbed them?”

“Yes,” you say slowly, already defensive.

“That’s usually how picking something up works.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “You are physically incapable of having a normal conversation.”

“And you’re weirdly territorial over an envelope.”

“It has my future apartment in it.”

“Our future apartment.”

You immediately grimace. “Don’t say it like that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

“Oh,” Kenzie says, glancing between both of you. “You two are gonna be entertaining.”

You and Keys speak at the exact same time.

“No we’re not.”

You look away first, already regretting staying downstairs this long. “Anyway,” you mutter, adjusting the envelope under your arm, “I’m gonna go before this gets worse.”

Keys leans one elbow against the front desk casually. “Pretty sure it already did.”

You point at him immediately. “See? That. That’s exactly what I mean.”

Kenzie is fully invested now, watching the two of you like she just turned on a reality show.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “most roommates at least pretend to like each other on the first day.”

“We’re not roommates,” you say automatically.

“We’re two people temporarily sharing a space,” Keys corrects.

You stare at him. “That was somehow worse.”

“Thank you.”

You exhale sharply through your nose before turning back toward Kenzie. “See? I can’t live like this.”

“You literally agreed to it.”

“Under financial distress.”

That gets another laugh out of her. Keys pushes himself away from the desk then, adjusting the strap of his backpack onto his shoulder. “Relax, California. I’m not planning on bothering you.”

“That’s reassuring coming from someone who already bothers me professionally.”

“You’ve known me for one day.”

“And it’s been exhausting.”

The corner of his mouth twitches again, it’s stupid how often he almost smiles.

For a second, the lobby settles into a quieter rhythm around you, people filtering out of the elevators, the front doors opening every few seconds with gusts of evening air drifting inside. Outside, the city’s already slipping into that blue-gray hour between afternoon and night, lights reflecting against the glass windows.

You glance down at the envelope in your hands again. You clear your throat slightly. “So… what’s the plan?”

Keys looks over. “Plan?”

“For the apartment.”

“Oh.” He shrugs lightly. “I was just gonna head over later.”

You blink. “Later?”

“I need to stop somewhere first.”

Honestly, relief hits you a little faster than it should. “Oh!”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he noticed that reaction immediately. “Why? Were you scared to be alone with me?”

You scoff instantly. “Please. I was scared you’d talk the whole walk there.”

“That’s crazy coming from you.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve spent ninety percent of today insulting me.”

“And every single one was deserved.”

Keys shakes his head slightly, looking almost amused now. “You’re a lot meaner than you looked this morning.”

“You looked annoying this morning.”

“I wasn’t even talking.”

“Exactly.”

Kenzie actually snorts behind the desk this time. You point toward her without looking away from Keys. “See? She gets it.”

“She’s enjoying this way too much.”

“She’s not the only one,” Kenzie says immediately.

“No she’s not,” you mumble under your breath before realizing you said it out loud.

Keys’ eyebrows lift slightly, heat flashes into your face instantly. You recover way too fast to let him enjoy it. “I meant enjoying watching you embarrass yourself.”

“Mhm.”

“Oh my god.”

Keys reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone before glancing back at you one last time. “Anyway. Since apparently my existence causes you emotional distress, I’ll let you walk there alone.”

“Thank you.”

“But if you get lost, I’m not coming to rescue you.”

You clutch the envelope dramatically against your chest. “I think I’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “See ya, Keys.”

He starts backing toward the doors. “Bye, California.”

“Stop calling me that.”

The doors slide open behind him before you can say anything else. You stare at the closed lobby doors for another second before letting out a quiet breath through your nose. “He’s unbelievable.”

Kenzie smiles knowingly from behind the desk. “You say that now.”

You immediately point at her. “Don’t start.”

She laughs softly, lifting her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile despite yourself as you adjust the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder again. “Have a good night.”

The evening air hits cooler once you step outside, carrying the noise of the city with it. Traffic humming past the curb, distant music spilling from somewhere down the block, people talking over each other as they pass. For a second, you just stand there. Then you reach into your bag, untangling your wired headphones from the absolute knot they somehow became over the course of the day. After a minute of fighting with them, you finally shove them into your ears and hit play without really looking.

Your Indie Pop mix fills your ears immediately. The city feels different now than it did this morning. Earlier, everything felt huge and intimidating and temporary. Now, even with your feet aching slightly and your brain still overloaded from the day, it feels a little more real. You pass glowing storefronts and crowded sidewalks, people laughing outside restaurants, cars lined up at intersections while neon signs flicker against windows. Somewhere nearby, someone’s walking a dog that looks more dressed up than you are. Someone else is yelling into their phone dramatically enough that half the block can probably hear it.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the envelope tucked under your arm as you keep walking. Apartment. Roommate. Job. Everything changed in a single day, and it still doesn’t totally feel real yet. Still, before you can even think about settling into the apartment, you have one more thing to deal with. The motel. Cheap, slightly questionable, and somehow always smelling vaguely like old cigarettes no matter how many air fresheners the front office tried to use. You’d booked it in a panic after realizing how impossible housing was going to be near the office, telling yourself it would only be for a few nights until you figured something else out. Technically, you did. Even if “something else” ended up being Keys McKey.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ .

Four hours later, you’re exhausted. Not emotionally exhausted, though there’s definitely some of that too, but physically exhausted in the way that only comes from carrying your entire life up multiple flights of stairs because the motel elevator stopped working halfway through the second trip. Turns out you owned more stuff than you thought. Or maybe everything just feels heavier after a ten-hour day.

The apartment is quiet when you step inside.

Plain, mostly. Just, very corporate. Beige couch, a brick accent wall which added a pop to it, generic framed art that probably came with the unit. The kitchen’s small but clean, tucked right beside the living room with barely enough counter space for two people to function without bumping into each other.

You drop your bag near the couch with a tired exhale before taking the place in properly for the first time. The living room opens up enough that it doesn’t feel cramped, and both bedrooms sit on opposite sides of the apartment with the bathroom shoved awkwardly between them. Equal-sized rooms too, which somehow feels important. No obvious “better” room. No reason to fight about it. Your boxes sit stacked near the wall where you left them after your last trip from the motel. Clothes shoved into duffel bags, makeup case barely zipped shut, random chargers tangled together in ways that make no sense. Half your wardrobe is currently hanging out of a laundry basket because at some point you gave up trying to pack things properly. You stare at the mess for a second, then laugh quietly to yourself.

You walk slowly toward the rooms, nudging the door open wider with your foot. Same plain furniture setup as the rest of the place, a bed already made with stiff white sheets, basic dresser, small desk shoved near the window. No decorations. No personality. Nothing that says someone actually lives here. You set your tote bag down on the mattress and glance around again, trying to picture yourself here. Morning routines. Work nights. Hearing someone else moving around the kitchen while you get ready for work. Sharing a space with someone who already knows exactly how to annoy you after one day.

You flop backward onto the bed dramatically, staring at the ceiling for a second. The apartment’s still completely quiet.

Which means Keys isn’t here yet. Honestly? Relief.

You need at least ten more minutes before dealing with him again. Maybe twenty. Maybe the rest of your life. You close your eyes briefly, letting the silence settle around you while the city hums faintly outside the windows. You slowly sit back up with a quiet sigh, rubbing your hands over your face before glancing around the room again. One duffel bag half unzipped near the dresser. Tote bag on the floor. Shoes kicked somewhere near the doorway. The lamp that nearly killed you carrying it upstairs leaning awkwardly against the wall.

You reach for your phone beside you, opening your music again before letting music start playing softly through the tiny speaker this time. The sound fills the room just enough to make it feel less empty while you stand and start unpacking little things first.

Toiletries into the bathroom, setting up your desktop onto the desk, jewelry tray beside the bed, smallish things.

You grab one of your hoodies off the bed and pull it over your head before climbing back onto the mattress, legs crossing underneath you. Tomorrow’s another workday. Another full day of pretending Keys McKey doesn’t get under your skin, even though you just met the guy.

You stare across the room again. His room sits dark across the hallway, door cracked open just enough for you to see the plain furniture inside. No boxes. No clothes. No signs that someone else is about to live here too. For now, the apartment still feels like yours. You let your head fall lightly against the wall behind the bed, listening to the music drift softly through the room while the city glows outside your window. Somewhere downstairs, a car alarm briefly goes off before someone starts cussing. A siren echoes faintly in the distance after that.

Temporary apartment. Temporary roommate. Temporary chaos.

But the job? That part matters. And tomorrow, you’re going to make sure nobody forgets it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ .

an: i hope you loved the first chapter bc god i’m so obsessed with them already. adding my oomfs to this is so fucking fun too god i’m having way too much fun writing this already. if you have any reqs on what you wanna see happen, shoot them my way. i’ll try my best to incorporate anything. also send me your thoughts and reactions i loveeee reading them hehe.

comment to be on taglist!

reblogs and reposts are appreciated as always, thank you.

an: helloo, i’m so excited for you all to read this keys series i have planned. i’ve been so keyspilled recently so this has just been so easy to write. updates might be a little chaotic depending on my schedule, but i’m genuinely so excited for this story and all the little moments i have planned for them. arguments, tension, domestic stuff, yearning, emotional damage.

a very special thank you to juls, sierra, and ani for genuinely being the sweetest people ever throughout all of this. ani is literally the reason this story even exists because she brought me the original idea and somehow altered my brain chemistry with it. thank you for giving me suggestions, helping me figure things out, and always being people i can run to whenever inspiration hits. i genuinely don’t think this story would feel the same without all of your excitement and support behind it <3

masterlist

⏻ 0.1 welcome to soonami

🎧

no one noticed (extended spanish) - the marías

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - ariana grande

slow dancing in the dark - joji

ceilings - lizzy mcalpine

the night we met - lord huron

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

The past three days had been quiet.

You went to class. You turned in the assignment Nancy helped you with. You came home. You stayed there. You told yourself you were just busy, that it wasn’t that serious, that nothing had actually happened that needed fixing. The problem was that nothing happened. No calls. No messages passed through anyone. No running into him by accident. No chance to figure out how this was supposed to feel now.

You’d hovered by the phone more times than you wanted to admit. Picked it up once. Twice. Stared at it like it might do something on its own. Like it might ring first so you wouldn’t have to decide anything. It didn’t. So you put it back, every single time. Because you already said what you needed to. Because you were the one who said it should stop.

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder as you stood outside Robin’s door, your fingers tightening slightly around the strap. You could already hear voices inside, loud, overlapping, familiar. Normal.

It made your chest feel tighter than it should have. You knocked once, then pushed the door open before anyone could answer.

“Hello?” you called, stepping inside.

Robin’s place looked exactly like it always did, messy in a way that felt lived-in, a few things out of place, music playing low from somewhere in the back. Eddie was on the floor near the coffee table, halfway through a story, Jonathan leaned against the wall listening, Nancy sat cross-legged on the couch with a notebook in her lap.

“Hey!” Robin popped up from the kitchen, already moving toward you. “You’re alive.”

“Barely,” you said, dropping your bag near the door.

Eddie pointed at you without missing a beat. “We were taking bets.”

“On what?”

“How long it’d take you to show up,” he said. “I said you’d be fashionably late. Jonathan said you’d ghost entirely.”

Jonathan lifted a hand slightly. “I didn’t say ghost. I said maybe busy.”

“Which is code for ghost,” Eddie shot back.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Wow. Good to know where I stand.”

Nancy smiled slightly, glancing up from her notes. “You made it. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” you said.

Robin nudged your shoulder lightly as she passed. “We’re just starting. You didn’t miss anything important.”

“Good.”

You stepped further into the room, your gaze moving automatically, Eddie, Jonathan, Nancy, and then.. him.

Steve was near the doorway to the kitchen, half-turned toward the room like he’d been listening to something Eddie said. He looked up at the same time you did.

Your steps slowed without you meaning them to. His did too—barely noticeable, but you caught it.

He straightened slightly.

“…hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

That was it. No smile. No joke. No easy follow-up like there always used to be. Just that.

Nancy flipped the page in her notebook, tapping the pen lightly against it. “Okay, so—launch day,” she said. “We need to figure out how that’s actually going to work. Like, start to finish.”

“Successfully,” Jonathan added.

“Preferably,” she said.

Eddie stretched his legs out in front of him. “We go live, people listen, we become legends. I don’t see the issue.”

“There are several issues,” Nancy said.

“Details.”

Robin rolled her eyes, stepping in from the kitchen with a drink in her hand. “Okay, no. We’re not just doing the technical side of this and then acting like that’s it.”

Nancy looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Robin said, setting the glass down on the table, “we’ve been working on this for over a year, technically. We’re not just flipping a switch and going home after.”

Eddie sat up a little straighter. “I like where this is going.”

“Of course you do,” Nancy muttered.

Robin ignored her. “We should do something after. Not huge—just… something.”

“A celebration?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah,” Robin said. “Exactly. Just—everyone comes back here after the first day. We hang out, we don’t think about whether or not we completely screwed it up.”

“You mean a party,” Eddie said.

“It’s not a party,” Robin shot back immediately.

“That’s literally a party.”

“It’s controlled,” she insisted.

“That makes it worse,” Eddie said.

You huffed a small laugh under your breath, shaking your head slightly. “That definitely sounds like a party.”

Robin pointed at you. “It’s not.”

“It is,” you said.

Nancy looked between you all, already skeptical. “How many people are we talking about?”

“Not that many,” Robin said quickly.

“That means too many,” Nancy replied.

“It means manageable,” Robin said.

“Define manageable.”

“Not a hundred people.”

Eddie groaned. “Why do you hate fun?”

“I don’t hate fun, I hate chaos,” Nancy said.

“Same thing,” he muttered.

Jonathan pushed off the wall slightly. “It makes sense, though,” he said. “If the launch goes well, people are gonna want to do something after anyway.”

“Exactly,” Robin said. “So we just… give them somewhere to go.”

Nancy hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But we’re making a list.”

“Of course you are,” Eddie said.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees, the conversation settling into something easier now. “It’ll be good,” you said. “Something to actually look forward to after.”

Nancy nodded, already writing something down. “Okay. Small gathering. After launch. Here.”

“See?” Robin said, satisfied. “Not a party.”

Eddie leaned back again. “This is absolutely a party.”

Nancy didn’t even look up. “It’s a gathering.”

“It’s a party,” Eddie repeated.

“It’s controlled,” Robin said.

“That word is doing a lot of work,” Jonathan muttered.

You tapped the pen lightly against your knee, watching the back-and-forth for a second before speaking.

“…okay, but what if it was a party?”

The room stilled just a little.

Nancy tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?

“I mean—like an actual one,” you said, leaning forward a little. “We play good music, get drinks, I don’t know… just let people show up and have fun.”

Eddie sat up immediately. “Yes.”

Robin pointed at him. “You don’t get a vote yet.”

“I absolutely do.”

Nancy looked between you all, thinking it through instead of shutting it down. “That’s not a bad idea,” she said slowly. “I just don’t want it to get out of control.”

“It’s one night,” you said. “It’s launch day. We should actually enjoy it.”

Jonathan nodded slightly. “We’re gonna be stressed all day anyway.”

“Exactly,” you said. “So why not have something after that actually feels like—” you shrugged lightly, “—like it meant something.”

Robin crossed her arms loosely, watching you now.

You glanced at her.

Then added, softer but more certain, “…and Robin, you should be celebrated.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You should,” you said. “It’s your project.”

“It’s all of ours,” she said.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “But you’ve been the one holding it together.”

Eddie raised a hand. “Also true.”

Jonathan nodded. “Definitely true.”

Robin rolled her eyes a little, but there was something there—something softer. “I don’t need a whole thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a whole thing,” you said. “Just… something bigger.”

Nancy tapped her pen lightly against the notebook. “Okay, but if we do that, we should at least have some idea of who’s coming.”

You hesitated for a second. “…or we don’t.”

Nancy looked up again. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t make a list,” you said. “We just… let people come. Word spreads, whoever shows up—shows up.”

Eddie sat up straighter. “Oh, I love that.”

Nancy let out a small breath, not annoyed—just thinking. “That could get a little chaotic.”

“Controlled chaos,” Eddie said.

Jonathan shrugged. “It would definitely get more people there.”

“And more people means more exposure,” you added, leaning into it now. “Which is kind of the point.”

Robin’s gaze flicked to you again.

“…I mean,” Nancy said, glancing back at her notes, “we don’t have to fully open it up, but we could be a little less strict.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” you said.

Robin nodded slowly. “Yeah. We can figure out a middle ground.”

“Translation,” Eddie said, “party.”

“Not fully,” she shot back.

“Mostly.”

You smiled faintly, dropping your gaze back to the pen in your hands, spinning it once.

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. Your fingers stilled.“…it’ll be good,” he added.

Robin grabbed the notebook back from Nancy, flipping it around so she could write. “Okay, so—after launch, here. Not insane, but not boring.”

“That’s subjective,” Eddie said.

“Everything you suggest is insane,” Nancy replied.

“Exactly.”

Jonathan pushed off the wall, stepping closer to the table. “We’ll need music figured out.”

“I’ve got music,” Eddie said immediately.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Nancy said, but she was smiling a little.

You leaned forward again, reaching for the pen, adding a few names to the side of the page like it mattered. Like any of it needed to be written down.

Across from you, Steve moved closer to the table, resting his hands on the edge like he was joining in again.

“Setup too,” he said. “If people are actually coming, we’ll need space.”

You nodded without looking up. “We can move stuff out of the living room. Push everything back.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“You’ll have to move the table.”

Eddie leaned over your shoulder slightly, scanning the list. “This is already too controlled. Where’s the chaos?”

“You’re the chaos,” Jonathan said.

“Thank you.”

Robin pointed her pen at Eddie. “You’re also the liability.”

“I’m the vibe.”

“You’re the reason we’re going to get noise complaints.”

Nancy laughed under her breath.

You smiled faintly, shifting slightly on the couch, your shoulder brushing the armrest as you adjusted your position. And for a second your eyes lifted, didn’t mean to, but they did, and he was already looking at you. Your breath caught slightly, and then he looked away, and your chest tightened.

You dropped your gaze back to the notebook immediately, your fingers gripping the pen a little tighter than before.

“Okay,” Robin said, tapping the page. “Guest list. Even if it’s not strict, we need a base. People we actually want here.”

Jonathan nodded. “Start with us. Then friends. Then whoever they bring.”

“See?” Eddie said. “Open invite.”

Nancy shook her head, smiling. “That’s not what that means.”

“It’s close enough.”

You scribbled another name down.

Then another.

Not really thinking about it.

Just filling space.

“So—music, setup, people,” Robin listed. “What else?”

“Drinks,” Eddie said immediately.

“Obviously,” Jonathan added.

Nancy glanced up. “We should probably make sure we don’t run out.”

“That’s a terrible thought,” Eddie said.

“It’s a realistic one.”

Robin nodded. “Okay, yeah. We’ll figure that out.”

“Decorations,” Eddie added.

“No,” Nancy said.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Jonathan laughed quietly again.

You leaned back slightly, letting the pen fall onto the table, your fingers brushing the edge of the wood as you pulled your hand back into your lap.

Your knee shifted and bumped the table lightly. The pen rolled slowly across the surface and stopped right near his hand, everything in you went still for a second and he noticed. Of course he did. His fingers hovered over it for half a beat before he picked it up, and your breath tightened slightly when he did.

He didn’t say anything. Just held it, like he was waiting. You looked up slow this time, not quick enough to pretend you didn’t mean to, and your eyes met his. Closer than before. Because now he was right there. Not across the room. Not distant. Right there.

“Here,” he said.

Your hand moved automatically, reaching out to take it.

Your barley fingers brushed, but it was enough to make your heart beat faster. You both pulled back just a little too fast. Like it burned.

“…thanks,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

You looked back down immediately, your fingers tightening around the pen as you forced yourself to focus on anything else.

The conversation kept going around you. Robin was talking, mapping things out in her head faster than she could write them down. Nancy was keeping track of everything, making it make sense. Eddie kept interrupting with something that didn’t help but still made everyone laugh. Jonathan filled in the gaps, quieter but steady, keeping it from falling apart completely.

And you stayed in it.

Nodding at the right times. Adding something small when it felt necessary. Letting your voice blend into the rest of it just enough to seem normal.

Across the table, Steve moved closer at some point. Not enough to make it obvious. Not enough for anyone to say anything about it.

You noticed anyway.

You noticed everything.

The way he rested his hands against the edge of the table. The way he reached for something just to have something to do. The way he didn’t look at you until he did.

It happened in the middle of everything else. While Robin was talking, while Eddie was arguing, while Nancy was writing something down you weren’t really reading.

Your eyes lifted.

And his were already there.

The conversation shifted again after that. Into details. Into things that mattered more on paper than they did in the moment—music, drinks, who was bringing what, who was getting there early, how it was all supposed to come together without falling apart.

You followed along. You said you’d help. You agreed to things without really thinking about them.

The conversation drifted without really stopping, slipping from planning into something easier, something familiar. Eddie started talking about something from a few months ago—half a story, half a mess of details that didn’t fully line up.

“Wait, no—” Jonathan cut in, shaking his head. “That’s not how that happened.”

“It literally is,” Eddie said.

“It’s not.”

Nancy glanced up from the couch. “You’re both wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” Eddie said.

“You are constantly wrong.”

You huffed a quiet laugh under your breath, leaning back slightly, the tension easing just enough for it to feel real again. “No, wait—he’s talking about that night we—”

“—got locked out,” Steve said at the same time.

The words perfectly overlapped which made you both stop. For a second, it almost felt like nothing had changed. Like it was easy again. Like it always used to be.

Your laugh came out before you could stop it—soft, a little surprised. “Yeah,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “That.”

Eddie pointed between you both. “See? Finally. Someone understands the story.”

Jonathan scoffed. “That’s not helping your case.”

But you weren’t really listening anymore.

Because you were still looking at him.

That split second where everything lined up again without trying. Your smile lingered for a second longer than it should have. Then it slowly faded. Your eyes stayed on him, studying him without meaning to, like you were trying to figure something out you already knew the answer to. Something in his expression shifted. You looked away first this time, your gaze dropping back to the room, to the noise, to anything else. The conversation picked back up around you like it never stopped.

Robin clapped her hands once, sharp enough to cut through the noise. “Okay—pause. I need help.”

Eddie groaned. “That sounds like work.”

“It is work,” she said. “Which is why you’re not helping.”

“Wow.”

Robin ignored him, already scanning the room. Her eyes landed on you first. Then shifted to him. “Hey,” she said, too casual. “Can you two grab the box from my room? It’s by the desk. I need it for the setup stuff.”

Your stomach dropped. “Yeah,” you said anyway.

At the same time, “Yeah,” he said.

Robin smiled, too satisfied.

You stood up first, brushing your hands against your jeans like you needed something to do, something to ground yourself before moving. You stepped around the table without thinking about it too much. You heard him push his chair back behind you.

The living room noise stayed loud for a second. Eddie talking over someone, Nancy saying something you didn’t catch, Jonathan laughing under his breath, then it started to fade out.

You slowed slightly near the doorway without meaning to. He almost walked into you.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

“It’s okay.”

You stepped inside.

Robin’s room was small but it felt like home in a way. Cluttered, close, papers, clothes, a chair pulled halfway out like someone had just gotten up and never pushed it back in.

You moved toward the desk immediately. Not looking at him. “Where is it?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“She said by the desk,” he said, just behind you.

Closer than before. You reached for the box at the same time. Of course you did. Your hands stopped just short of it. Both of your hands were close to touching, you almost wanted to go for it. And something in you told yourself that he did too. But neither of you moved.

You pulled your hand back. “You can—” you started.

“It’s fine,” he said, at the same time.

You let out a small breath through your nose, shaking your head slightly, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t feel like everything. “Just take it,” you said.

He did. His fingers brushing the edge of where yours had almost been.

You stepped back to give him space, which there wasn’t much to give.

He turned slightly, adjusting his grip on the box, but didn’t move past you right away. Neither of you did. The quiet settled in, thicker now, pressing in just enough to notice. You could hear things you weren’t supposed to. His breathing, the small shift of his weight, the way the room suddenly felt too small.

You glanced up. You shouldn’t have. He was already looking at you closer now, not across the room, not easy to ignore. Right there. Your chest tightened, because this was the part you didn’t know how to do. When it wasn’t loud, when there wasn’t anything else to hide behind, when it was just him.

His gaze dropped for a second, then came back like he was about to say something. You felt it before it happened, and your fingers curled slightly at your sides, waiting.

He inhaled quietly. “…you—” he started.

Your breath caught.

“…I forgot,” he said instead.

You nodded once, like it made sense. “Yeah,” you said. Your voice felt smaller now.

You stepped past him first. You brushed his arm as you moved past him, light enough to be accidental, but not really. The contact lingered longer than it should have, just a second before it was gone. You didn’t look at him. You stepped out into the hallway, the sound of the living room rushing back in too fast, too loud, everything snapping back to normal whether you were ready for it or not. You kept moving, not stopping, not turning around. Behind you, you heard him follow a second later, leaving just enough space between you to pretend none of it had happened. But it had. It had, and somehow it felt worse now, because it almost wasn’t nothing, and that was the problem.

You stepped back into the living room like nothing had happened. You just moved straight back toward the couch, dropping into your spot beside Nancy like it was routine.

“Okay,” you said, a little breathless without meaning to be, tucking your legs in again. “What are we talking about?”

“Just debating whether or not your mysterious guy is gonna make an appearance,” he said, leaning back like this was the most important topic of the day.

You blinked at him. “My what?”

He waved a hand vaguely. “You know. Your secret situation. Your—” he paused, thinking, “—your boy toy.”

Jonathan snorted from the doorway.

“That’s not—” you started, already shaking your head, half laughing in disbelief. “What are you even talking about?”

Nancy glanced up, more amused than anything. “They’re being dramatic.”

“When am I not?” Eddie said.

You frowned slightly, looking between them. “No, seriously. What?”

Jonathan pushed off the wall, shrugging. “Billy.”

“…oh,” you said. Then you shook your head once. “No.” You shrugged right after, like you needed to soften it. “But it kind of sounds like you guys want him there.”

Eddie pointed at you immediately. “I want chaos.”

“That tracks,” Nancy said.

Jonathan just gave a small shrug. “He’d probably show up anyway.”

Robin didn’t say anything, but you felt her look.

Across the room, Steve went quiet.

You leaned back slightly into the couch, crossing your arms loosely like you didn’t care either way. “I mean… if he comes, he comes.” You didn’t want him there, of course you didn’t.

Steve stood there, one hand resting against the back of the chair like it had been before, like nothing about the conversation had shifted.

His grip tightened slightly, small enough to miss, not enough for anyone to say anything about it. His jaw set just a little as his gaze dropped for a second before lifting again, not to you, not directly, just somewhere across the room, anywhere else. Like he wasn’t going to make it obvious. But something in him had already shifted. You could feel it, even without looking, even without trying. The space between you felt different now, tighter, like something had been pulled just a little too far and hadn’t settled back into place.

He reached for something on the table—a tape, a cup, it didn’t matter—just something to keep his hands busy, something to focus on that wasn’t that. His movements were normal, careful, a little too controlled, like he was thinking about them instead of just doing them, like he was making sure nothing slipped. For a second, it almost looked like he was going to say something, his head tilting slightly, his focus shifting in your direction before stopping just short of actually meeting your eyes. Then he didn’t. He looked away instead and let it go, like it wasn’t his place, like it didn’t matter. But the quiet that followed said otherwise, because even without seeing it, you knew he heard you, and he wasn’t as okay with it as he was pretending to be.

The conversation drifted again after that, not gone, just softer. Eddie was still talking, something that barely made sense but had Nancy half-listening while flipping through her notes anyway. Jonathan leaned back like he didn’t need to be fully in it to keep up. You stayed where you were on the couch, nodding when you were supposed to, letting your voice slip in just enough to feel like you were part of it, even if your attention kept slipping somewhere else.

Across the room, Steve hadn’t looked at you once. Not since you came back. Not even by accident. He kept his focus on anything else—Jonathan, Eddie, the floor, it didn’t matter. Just not you. Like it was on purpose. Like he was making sure of it.

Your chest tightened a little every time you noticed.

Eddie cut himself off mid-sentence, sitting up straighter. “Okay, I need a break,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “Like—an actual break.”

Nancy didn’t look up. “From talking?”

“From everything,” he said, gesturing vaguely before lowering his voice just enough, “Smoke break.”

Jonathan nodded almost immediately. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

That part made sense. That was normal.

You barely thought about it until you heard-

“I’ll come.”

Steve said it too quickly, already pushing himself up like he’d decided before anyone could question it.

Eddie blinked at him. “You will?”

There was a small pause that didn’t quite land right.

Because Steve didn’t smoke.

In high school you’d seen him smoke cigarettes a few times but that was about it.

Jonathan’s expression shifted slightly, his head tilting just enough to show he noticed. “Since when?” he asked, not pushing, just… asking.

Steve shrugged, casual, like it didn’t mean anything. “I just need air.”

Eddie let out a short laugh. “Right. Sure you do.”

Eddie was already heading toward the door, Jonathan following a second later. Steve moved after them, not rushing, not hesitating either. Not once did he look at you as he passed. Just walked by like you weren’t something he needed to acknowledge.

The door opened, then closed behind them, and just like that, he was gone.

The room felt different almost immediately. Not quieter, exactly, but something had shifted. Eddie’s voice carried faintly from outside, Jonathan saying something you couldn’t make out, Nancy flipping another page like nothing had changed. You found yourself staring at the door for a second longer than you meant to. Because that wasn’t normal, it wasn’t him.

And the fact that it felt so deliberate, like he needed to leave that badly, made your stomach drop in a way you couldn’t ignore.

You looked down quickly, like that might make it smaller, like it might undo the way it settled in your chest.

Because now it wasn’t just what almost happened in that room, it was this too. Him leaving, choosing distance from you. For a second, you weren’t sure which part of it felt worse.

It was never able to settle once he had left the room. It tried to. Nancy kept talking, flipping pages, pulling the conversation back to something structured. Robin nodded along, adding things where she needed to, keeping everything moving. But it felt thinner now. Like something had been pulled out of it that no one was quite naming.

You stayed where you were on the couch, tucked into the corner beside Nancy, nodding when it made sense, answering when someone looked at you directly. But it all felt a little delayed, like you were catching up to everything half a second too late.

Robin noticed.

She shifted closer at some point, like it didn’t mean anything. “You good?” she asked quietly, not looking at you when she said it.

“Yeah,” you answered just as quietly. You didn’t hesitate, that was the problem.

The front door opened a few minutes later.

Then Steve walked in behind them.

You looked up without meaning to.

The smell hit before anything else did.

Faint, but there. Smoke, sweet, clinging to the air as they stepped inside. It followed them in, settling into the room.

He didn’t look at you. Not when he stepped inside, not when he shut the door behind him, not when Eddie dropped back onto the couch across from you like nothing had happened. Steve moved further into the room, slower, quieter, like he was trying not to draw attention to himself.

The smell clung to him, subtle but there, woven into his clothes, his hair, something that didn’t quite fit, something that didn’t match the way he was acting. He stayed standing for a second too long, like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then finally sat down, just not where he had been before. Further away, not near you.

You watched him for a second longer than you should have, then looked away.

The conversation picked back up around you, Eddie jumping right back into whatever he’d been saying, Jonathan correcting him, Nancy trying to keep things from completely unraveling. You nodded when you were supposed to, said something small when someone looked at you, but it all felt distant now, like you were just keeping up with it instead of being in it.

Because now it wasn’t just the room.

It was this.

The way he wouldn’t even look at you.

You stood up before you could think too much about it.

No one really noticed.

You crossed the room like you had a reason, like you were just moving, like you weren’t walking straight toward him.

He saw you coming. You knew he did.

But he didn’t look up.

Not until you were right there.

“Why are you doing that?” you asked.

He stilled, only slightly, like it took him a second to realize what you meant. Then he looked up at you, brows pulling together just a fraction. “Doing what?”

You held his gaze. “Don’t play stupid, you know what.”

His jaw tightened just a little. “I’m not doing anything,” he said.

You let out a small breath, your head tilting slightly. “You don’t even smoke.”

His gaze dropped, then came back up. “I just needed air.”

The same answer, but it didn’t hold this time. Not with the smell still there, clinging to him, something that didn’t belong.

You nodded once, slow, like you were accepting it. “Okay.” You didn’t push, just left it at that.

You stepped back before it could turn into anything more, before either of you said something you couldn’t take back. Then you turned, heading back toward the couch like nothing had happened.

“Wait,” Robin said suddenly, like something just clicked. “No, we’re not moving on without talking about that night.”

Your stomach dropped immediately. “Don’t.”

Eddie straightened. “Oh my god—yes.”

Jonathan laughed under his breath. “Yeah, no, she’s right.”

Nancy glanced between them, already smiling. “What night?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

“Her first time getting drunk,” Robin said, completely ignoring you.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “No, we’re not doing this.”

“Yes, we are,” Eddie said. “You were a mess.”

“I was not a mess.”

Robin pointed at you. “You tried to make a speech.”

Nancy lit up. “Wait—really?”

“It was not a speech.”

“It was absolutely a speech,” Jonathan said. “You stood on the chair.”

“I needed height,” you defended.

“You didn’t need height,” Eddie said. “There were five people in the room.”

“You said you had ‘something important to share,’” Robin added, already laughing.

Nancy covered her mouth. “What was it?”

You hesitated. “…I don’t remember.”

“That’s the best part,” Eddie said.

“You forgot halfway through,” Jonathan added.

“I did not—”

“You did,” Robin said. “You got like two sentences in and then just went, ‘wait… what was I saying?’”

Nancy laughed. “Oh my god.”

“It was a very emotional two sentences,” Eddie said.

You shook your head, trying not to smile. “Okay, first of all—”

“And then,” Robin continued, “you decided you needed food.”

“I did need food.”

“You were holding a sandwich like it was the most important thing in the world,” Jonathan said.

“It was important.”

“You dropped it,” Eddie said.

You groaned. “Oh my god.”

“And then you just stared at it,” Robin added, “like it personally offended you.”

Nancy was fully laughing now. “Stop.”

“I said I was sorry,” you muttered.

“You apologized to it,” Eddie corrected.

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“It was a moment of insanity,” Jonathan said.

Robin shook her head, still smiling. “And then you tried to walk it off.”

“I could walk.”

“You absolutely could not walk,” Eddie said.

“There was a step,” you insisted.

“There was no step,” Jonathan said.

“There was emotionally a step,” Robin added.

Nancy laughed again, shaking her head. “I can’t believe all of you just let this happen.”

“Oh, we didn’t,” Eddie said, pointing across the room. “He handled it.”

Your chest tightened slightly.

Nancy’s gaze shifted to Steve. “Wait—what do you mean?”

Jonathan smirked. “She wouldn’t let go of him.”

You went still. “That’s not—”

“You literally refused to leave his side,” Robin said.

“Every time one of us tried to help,” Eddie added, “you just—latched back on.”

Nancy laughed softly. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“It was not adorable,” you said quickly.

“It was a little adorable,” Robin said.

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “I just needed balance—”

“She said she was fine,” Jonathan cut in.

“And then immediately proved she wasn’t,” Eddie said.

A small pause slipped in.

“You couldn’t walk straight,” Steve said.

You looked at him and his eyes were on you.

“You kept saying you didn’t need help,” he added, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “But you wouldn’t let go either.”

Your smile softened without you meaning it to. “And you didn’t make me,” you said quietly.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. The room reacted by Eddie laughing, Nancy saying something, Robin making a comment that blurred at the edges.

You looked away first, leaning back into the couch, pulling yourself out of it before it could turn into something real. Across the room, he did the same.

Conversation moved on like it always did, like it hadn’t hit anything sharp, like no one had almost said something they couldn’t take back. They talked about the party again, music mostly. Eddie insisting on taking full control of it, Nancy trying to keep it from turning into complete chaos, Jonathan backing whatever felt the least complicated. Robin kept things moving, pulling ideas together, writing things down, making it feel real.

You stayed in it just enough.

Nodding when it made sense. Offering a suggestion here and there. Letting your voice blend in with theirs so no one would look too closely.

Steve didn’t talk to you again. He stayed across the room, part of the group but not near you, talking when he needed to, laughing once or twice, but never looking your way long enough for it to mean anything. It wasn’t obvious. No one else would’ve called it out.

Nancy noticed. Not enough to say anything out loud, but her eyes flicked to you more than once, like she was trying to read something you weren’t letting show. Robin was worse. She didn’t even try to hide it, catching your eye once, then again, like she already knew the answer to whatever question she hadn’t asked yet.

You knew they were going to ask later, you weren’t ready for it.

Eventually, the energy shifted the way it always does when a day like that starts to end. Conversations slowed. People stretched, checked the time, gathered their things without making a big deal out of it.

Nancy was the first to stand. “We should probably head out,” she said, closing her notebook like that settled it.

Jonathan nodded, already moving toward the door. Eddie followed not long after, still talking, still joking like he hadn’t run out of anything to say.

Goodbyes were easy.

“See you.”

“Later.”

“Don’t forget about the playlist.”

“I won’t—don’t trust him with it.”

“I heard that.”

Laughter.

Movement.

Jonathan opened the door, Eddie slipping out first, Nancy following, their voices fading as they stepped outside. Leaving you, Robin and Steve in the house.

Robin moved first, stepping past you toward the kitchen like she suddenly had something to do. “I’m gonna grab something,” she said, too casually.

Robin’s footsteps faded into the kitchen, cabinet doors opening and closing like she actually had something to do. She didn’t. You both knew she didn’t.

The room settled into a quiet that felt different from before. Not the easy kind. Not the kind filled with other voices to soften it. This one just sat there, stretching between you, making everything feel a little too still.

Steve stood where he was, one hand resting against the back of the chair like he hadn’t decided what to do next. His gaze wasn’t directly on you, but it wasn’t anywhere else either. Just somewhere in between.

You shifted your weight slightly, the small movement loud in the quiet. Your fingers brushed against your sleeve, then fell back to your side.

“You’re still doing it,” you said. Your voice was quieter now. Not careful. Just… tired.

He exhaled through his nose, a short breath like he’d been expecting it. Like he knew it wasn’t over. “I told you,” he said, finally looking at you. “I’m not.”

You held his gaze for a second longer, letting the silence sit there instead of filling it.

“You won’t even look at me.” Your voice cracked.

It made him look at you, really look this time. His jaw tightened slightly, like he didn’t have a quick way out of that one.

Because now you could see it, whatever he’d been trying to avoid all day, sitting right there in his expression, too clear to ignore now that he wasn’t looking away.

You waited for something, heart racing, chest tightening.

His mouth parted slightly, like he was going to say something, like he almost did, then it closed again. His gaze dropped instead, like that was easier.

The silence stretched, longer than it should’ve. You felt it settle in your chest, heavy and quiet all at once. “…okay,” you said finally.

Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. Not because you believed anything. Just because you weren’t going to stand there and wait for him to say something he clearly wasn’t going to. You nodded once, small, more to yourself than to him, then stepped back. The space between you returned too easily, like it had been waiting, and he still didn’t move, didn’t stop you, didn’t fix it.

You turned before you could change your mind, before you could ask again, before you could push it into something bigger, and headed straight for the kitchen.

Robin was already there, leaning against the counter with a glass in her hand she clearly hadn’t touched. She looked up when you walked in, but she didn’t say anything. Just watched you for a second, like she was waiting to see what you were going to do.

You didn’t look at her right away. You moved past her instead, opening a cabinet that didn’t need to be opened, closing it again a second later. Your hands needed something to do.

You leaned back against the counter finally, crossing your arms loosely, your gaze dropping to the floor. “He’s being weird,” you said.

Robin let out a quiet breath. “Yeah.”

You glanced at her. “Like—really weird.”

“I noticed.”

You shook your head slightly. “I don’t get it.”

Robin didn’t answer right away. She just looked at you for a second, then said, careful, “You two had a thing.”

“Had,” you said quickly.

Her face stilled, a sad expression almost.

Your chest tightened slightly. “…did he tell you?” you asked. Your voice dropped without you meaning it to.

Robin hesitated. “Not—like that,” she said, just as quiet. “He didn’t… go into detail or anything.” She exhaled softly, glancing toward the doorway for a second before looking back at you. “He just said you guys weren’t… doing that anymore.”

“That’s it?” you asked.

Robin nodded, slow. “Yeah.” A pause. “He didn’t say anything bad.” She added.

You looked down, your fingers brushing against your sleeve again. “I don’t think I did anything bad,” you said.

“You didn’t,” she said immediately.

You let out a small breath through your nose.

Robin shifted slightly, leaning her shoulder more into the counter. “He’s just… not great with stuff like that,” she added, quieter. “You know that.” Robin watched you for a second longer, then added, even softer now, “He took it harder than he’s acting.”

That made you look up.

“He didn’t say that,” she said quickly, like she was correcting herself before you could read too much into it. “I’m just—guessing.”

You didn’t call her out on it, but you didn’t look convinced either.

The quiet settled again, heavier now, sitting between you in a way that felt different than before.

“I just didn’t think it would be like this,” you said.

Robin nodded once. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

Neither of you said anything else after that. Because there wasn’t really anything left to say.

When you stepped back into the living room, he was exactly where you left him. For a second, you thought about saying something. But you didn’t, because you already knew how it would go.

So you grabbed your things instead, your movements quiet, careful, like you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself even though there was no one left to notice. For a second, you just stood there, your hand tightening slightly around the strap of your bag, your chest pulling in a way that didn’t feel like it had anywhere to go.

He didn’t look at you, not right away, and for a second you thought maybe he wouldn’t, that maybe this was it, that this was how it ended, quiet and uneventful, like nothing important had ever happened in the first place. Then his head lifted just slightly, just enough, and his eyes found yours. It wasn’t long, it wasn’t dramatic, it didn’t fix anything, but it wasn’t nothing either, because for that one second you saw it, everything he wasn’t saying, everything he didn’t let himself.

Your breath caught as you waited for him to say something, to move, to do anything at all, but he didn’t. His gaze dropped first this time, like he was the one pulling away, like he was the one choosing it, and just like that, it was gone.

You swallowed, forcing your hand to move, grabbing your things like it was just another night, like you weren’t standing in the middle of something that felt unfinished in a way you didn’t know how to fix. The door was right there, so easy, and you reached for it, pausing just for a second, not long enough to matter, not long enough for him to stop you. Behind you there was nothing, no voice, no movement, no “wait,” and your throat tightened as you opened the door anyway.

The cool air hit your face as you stepped outside, the quiet of the street settling around you in a way that felt too loud. You didn’t turn around, you couldn’t.

If you did you already knew he wouldn’t be there, and somehow that felt worse than not knowing at all.

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an: thoughts??…

i also wanna point out that the masterlist for ‘temporary fix’ hit 1k notes!!!:))) this makes me so happy, i would’ve never thought my fic would get that much attention but thank you soooooo much.

to celebrate i thought about writing a special smut chapter of the first time reader and steve had sex..

i started writing already but it’s in your hands if you’d like to read it ☺️☺️

taglist- comment 2 be added!