Lanie Tech

You're curled up on the corner of the couch, fingers wrapped around a mug of chamomile tea, listening as Rory and Quinn take turns venting to Reid about the new neighbours. The place feels so much like it did in those cozy shows— the three of you squished together in the mismatched furniture you all pooled money for, the warm tones of fairy lights draping the walls, and the faint scent of Rory's floral candles mingling with Quinn's citrusy hand sanitizer.

“Those idiots blocked our moving truck, Reid!” Rory huffs, crossing her arms and leaning forward as if the proximity makes her point stronger. She’s clearly the most riled up, her voice rising in indignant pitches. “Who even parks like that?”

“Definitely jerks,” Quinn jumps in, raising an eyebrow as she looks over at Rory, as if egging her on. “I mean, how self-centred do you have to be to not realize there’s a giant moving truck behind you?”

You weren’t outside to see the whole ordeal; you'd been buried inside your new bedroom, unpacking boxes and finding space for all your things in the tiny closet. Still, even though you’d missed the confrontation, you’re quietly enjoying the picture they’re painting — a dramatic scene of feisty glares, whispered insults, and exaggerated gestures toward the oblivious guys next door.

Reid, meanwhile, leans back on the armrest, trying and failing to suppress a smile. He's always been a little too amused by Rory and Quinn’s fiery personalities, and now isn’t any different. His gaze shifts to you as you sit, nibbling on the inside of your cheek, debating whether to say something. You want to stand by your friends’ annoyance, but you can't help but think there might be another side to it.

“I mean… maybe they didn’t notice?” you offer softly, looking down at your tea. “It could’ve just been a mistake.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow at you, playful but unconvinced. “You’re way too nice, you know that?”

Rory sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Exactly! That’s why you weren’t out there with us. You’d have been like, ‘Oh no, I’m sure they’ll move it soon,’ and we’d be stuck waiting even longer.”

You blush, glancing over to Reid, who’s now grinning in earnest, clearly entertained by the way you’re trying to defuse things. “What? It’s… possible,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks warm under their teasing. “Maybe they’re just, you know… not used to sharing a driveway?”

Reid chuckles, his gaze softening. “You’re seriously too cute for this world, you know that?” He shakes his head, still smiling as if he can’t believe anyone would defend complete strangers who’d clearly disrupted the day.

The others laugh, too, albeit a little grudgingly, as if your gentleness and hope for the best might actually rub off on them despite themselves. Rory reaches over, patting your knee. “Fine, we’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, this time. But only because you’re too sweet to argue with.”

Rory stretches her arms overhead and glances at Quinn, who’s tapping her phone, probably searching for a new café to hit up. “Alright, who’s up for coffee?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Reid’s buying!”

Quinn elbows him with a smirk. “You heard her, Mr. Moneybags. You’re treating.”

Reid rolls his eyes, but a smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his wallet out, flipping it open. “Lucky me,” he says dryly, though his tone has a playful warmth.

Rory turns to you, a hopeful grin on her face. “Come on, YN, get out of this cave with us.”

You hesitate, wrapping your hands tighter around your now-cold mug. “Oh, I… I actually need to study,” you say, doing your best to sound genuinely disappointed. But it’s only half-true. You do have some reading to catch up on, but really, you just need a little time to recharge after all the unpacking and the roommates' high-energy complaints.

Rory gives you a knowing look, but she just shrugs. “Suit yourself,” she says, though there’s a hint of motherly concern in her eyes, one you’re all too familiar with.

Quinn’s already zipping up her jacket, rolling her eyes fondly. “Classic. Our little introvert needs her quiet time.” She taps the top of your head gently, an affectionate gesture that makes you smile despite yourself.

It’s a bit of a running joke in your apartment. Rory, ever organized and a little bossy, has long been deemed “the mom,” while Quinn, who often takes a rougher, more sarcastic approach, is dubbed “the dad.” Which, of course, makes you “the kid,” a label you don’t mind — at least not when it’s given with such obvious affection.

As the three of them head to the door, Rory calls out over her shoulder, “Alright, kiddo. Don’t cause any trouble while we’re gone.”

Quinn leans against the doorframe, giving you a mock-stern look. “No boys allowed. And definitely no hanging out with those awful neighbours.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “Promise, Dad,” you say, playing along.

Reid laughs as he gives you a small wave, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “See you later, YN.”

“Bye Reid.”

With that, they’re gone, and the apartment is quiet once again. You breathe a sigh of relief, settling into the silence. It's peaceful, comforting even, just you and the gentle hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the distant sounds of laughter and footsteps down the hall.

Finally, you can relax, letting the little escape of solitude settle over you like a blanket....

You sink back into the couch, legs stretched out over the cushions as you settle deeper under your blanket. The soft glow of the TV fills the room, the familiar characters and storyline offering a cozy sort of distraction. It’s one of those comfort shows you’ve seen a hundred times, the kind that lets you just relax without thinking too much. You pull your blanket up to your chin, feeling the quiet warmth of the empty apartment.

Just as you’re starting to drift into the story, your phone buzzes with a text from Rory.

Rory: “Hey, kiddo, can you take the trash out? Pretty please? :)”

You sigh, casting a glance toward the trash bag sitting beside the front door, already tied up and ready to go. Typical Rory — somehow managing to organize the place even when she’s not here. You sit up, reluctantly pulling yourself from the couch and shivering a little as the cool air hits you. Slipping into an oversized jumper, you tug the sleeves down over your hands, enjoying the extra warmth. Next come your trusty old Uggs, their plush lining cozy against your feet. You grab the trash bag and twist it in your hand, holding it at arm’s length as you make your way to the front door.

The hallway is quiet, and you’re grateful for it as you shuffle to the elevator at the end of the corridor. The trash bag swings lightly as you walk, its weight surprisingly heavy with the remnants of unpacking — empty boxes, crumpled paper, a few random food containers you’d forgotten about until today.

You press the button, waiting as the ancient elevator creaks its way up. The doors finally slide open with a reluctant groan, and you step inside, hitting the ground floor button. The elevator jolts to life, shuddering slightly as it descends, the fluorescent light overhead flickering ominously. You’ve never trusted this elevator; it feels like it’s one bad day away from breaking down entirely, and each ride is a gamble.

As you ride down, you lean against the wall, watching the floors tick by slowly, each number lighting up with a faint glow. The trash bag feels heavier with each floor, and you’re suddenly eager to be done with this task.

Finally, the doors open with a rusty whine, and you step out, making your way toward the large apartment bin outside. The night air is cool, a slight breeze tugging at your sleeves as you approach the bin.

As you toss the trash bag into the bin, you take a moment to breathe in the cool night air, letting the silence settle around you. Just as you’re about to turn and head back inside, a voice sounds behind you.

“Hey,” the voice says, low and casual.

You jump, spinning around, heart pounding as you clutch the front of your jumper. Standing just a few feet away is a tall guy with a relaxed smile, his hands shoved into the pockets of a well-worn hoodie. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes have a sharp but easy-going glint to them.

“Whoa, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. His smile softens, a little apologetic but amused. “Didn’t think anyone else would be out here this late.”

You offer a small, awkward laugh, still catching your breath. “No, it’s… it’s fine. Just, um, wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He nods, giving you a quick once-over. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. New here?”

You nod, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I, uh, just moved in.”

He nods, taking that in with a thoughtful look. “Nice. I’m Slate, by the way,” he says, holding out a hand. His voice has an easy warmth to it, and you find yourself relaxing a bit.

You give a small smile as you take his hand, his grip warm and surprisingly gentle. “YN.”

“YN,” he repeats, as if testing the name. “Cool. So, you’re the new neighbour, then?”

It takes you a second, but realization dawns slowly. He’s one of them — the infamous boys your roommates have been complaining about nonstop since you moved in. The ones who blocked the moving truck and left your friends fuming. You blink, a little taken aback, and can’t help a flicker of curiosity as you study him a bit more closely. His expression is friendly, almost inviting, and he seems far too laid-back to match the image your roommates painted.

“You… you live on my floor?” you ask, a little wary.

Slate’s face lights up in recognition, and he lets out a low laugh. “Ahh, so you’re the one with the roommates who were throwing death glares at us the other day?”

You bite back a smile, nodding. “Yeah… they weren’t too happy about the whole moving truck thing.”

He rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish grin crossing his face. “Yeah, I figured Knoxie might’ve been in the way, but… well, sorry about that. He's sorta moody.”

You shrug, feeling a little of your earlier apprehension melt away. “It’s okay. They, um… they just tend to get a little intense about stuff.”

Slate laughs, nodding. “Good to know.” He pauses, glancing back toward the building. “Well, welcome to the building, YN. Guess we’re neighbours.” He flashes you a grin, and you can’t help but smile back, feeling a strange mix of nerves and intrigue.

As Slate starts to walk away, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. “Hey, are you heading back in?”

You nod, feeling the slight chill of the night air sinking in and grateful for the thought. “Yeah. Just… finished up with the trash,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward the bin.

“Well, come on, then.” He falls into step beside you, hands in his hoodie pockets, a relaxed smile on his face as you walk toward the building’s entrance.

The two of you step into the quiet lobby, and you press the button for the elevator, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence beside you. The silence between you is oddly comfortable, and you catch yourself stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, trying to piece together the neighbour your friends have built up into a villain. He looks nothing like the “jerk” they made him out to be. In fact, there’s a boyish charm to his expression, something almost disarming. He look...cute.

As you both wait, an older woman approaches from down the hall, pulling a small cart loaded with grocery bags behind her. Slate notices her at the same moment you do, and, without warning, he reaches out, his hand warm and firm as he grabs your arm and tugs you gently but insistently toward the stairwell door.

“Uh—what are you doing?” you ask, trying to keep up as he guides you to the stairs, his grip firm yet careful.

He just chuckles, pulling open the door to the stairwell. “Trust me, I don’t think we’d survive that elevator ride.”

You glance over your shoulder toward the elevator, watching the woman slowly approach, and it clicks. It’s an old elevator, slow and cramped; it’s likely you’d end up stuck in a painfully long, silent ride with a stranger if you’d waited.

You narrow your eyes at him, intrigued and slightly amused. “So that’s it? You just don’t like crowded elevators?”

He shakes his head, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes as he gestures for you to go first down the stairs. “Honestly? It’s just an excuse,” he says, his voice soft but playful as he follows behind you. “Figured if I took the stairs, I’d get a bit more time talking to a pretty face.”

You feel your cheeks warm, caught off guard by his words. A smile tugs at your lips, and you glance back at him as you descend the first few steps. “Is that so?”

He shrugs, the same easy-going smile on his face. “What can I say? I’m not about to pass up an excuse to walk a neighbour home.”