Chapter Text
It started with a message on Thiscord.
Parker:
“yo. i saw u got that coding job u wnted. i know its been forever but i wnted to say congrats!!!!”
You stared at your phone for a moment, the message not exactly registering.
Parker?
Like Parker from college?
Your thumbs flew over the keyboard without a second thought.
You:
“Dude it’s been forever! Thank you! How’ve you been?”
You squinted, the profile picture ever so small on your screen.
You:
“Is that pic what i think it is?”
Parker:
“👍🏻”
Clicking on the picture, you were met with an all too familiar sight. It was a photo you had taken of him years back, Parker had been drunkenly playing twister and tore the mat underneath him. You had managed to snap a picture whilst he fell. This picture had made its way across not only your friend group, but to damn near everyone on campus. It had been screenshotted to hell, you could almost count the pixels. Parker must’ve been one of the last people to actually receive it.
You smiled, incredulous.
The weeks leading up to this point had been nauseatingly stressful with losing your job at Valvidian, the ensuing job search and financial anxiety of it all.
But you did in fact land a job with a Valvidian competitor, after exhaustive amounts of interviews, earning yourself your dream coding job. The sign on bonus was insane. The salary was insane. The only downside was location. They needed you within traveling distance to headquarters for the occasional in person meeting, and your current lease absolutely wasn’t.
You relayed to Parker, mostly venting.
Parker:
“u wnna live next to me again?”
You:
“?”
Parker:
“no really. the studio just opened up across the hallway from me n my roomie. same building. same floor. same hallway. full blown sitcom set up.”
Your phone pinged again.
Parker:
“plz say yes”
Three weeks later, you stood in the freshly painted laundry room/dining room/bedroom of your new apartment. Not even fifteen minutes ago had you signed the final paperwork, got your keys and grabbed the first few boxes from the truck.
You were scared.
Five hours away from where you once called home, god knows how far from any family and you hadn’t had many friends to speak of after college. You were alone here.
There was a dull ache in your throat.
But at the same time, didn’t it feel all too coincidental? How’s that saying go again?
‘Good things fall apart so better things can fall together’
Light flooded in through the floor to ceiling windows, boxes of your most treasured possessions sat around you and on the counter your ice coffee sweated. You wiped your tears for now, you had shit to do and shit to be thankful for.
One of those things being a sign on bonus put to good use.
You had never been in the financial position to hire a moving company, but here you were. Seeing as this was a solo move with no help to speak of, it was necessary. Hell, you had barely made it through the bustle of traffic that you never had to deal with in your old city.
With the limited amount of boxes that your car could hold unpacked, you waited for the movers to arrive.
And when they did, the whole complex knew it. In your mind, you imagined two or three old dudes with a beat up dolly.
And this was… not what you expected. Five guys piled out of the moving truck like a clown car. They were coordinated, piling boxes down the line from the truck like they were running a military drill. They didn’t notice you, at first.
“Paperwork says kitchen boxes first!”
“Heard!” They shouted in unison.
The man with the clipboard hollered at the men, dark skin and free-form dreadlocks. You imagined if you were a couple floors above, they’d look like ants. If you ignored the bright colored jumpsuits.
As you got closer, you recognized the company logo; Move Everything! Beneath it, the man's name.
“Hi! Hank, is it?” You extended a hand, which was met with a firm dude-bro handshake.
“Yes ma’m! And you are - uhhh….” His dark eyes squinted at the paperwork. Even from here, you could see the water spill across your written name.
“Oh, I’m-“
“There’s seriously no elevator?” A skinny, slightly anxious man rushed past the both of you carrying a box taller than his head. You opened your mouth to speak but then-
“Cardio, brah. Builds character” Blonde curls bounced and a purple jumpsuit whizzed by.
“Cardio doesn’t pay my chiropractor, dude.” The man in the red jumpsuit yelled behind him.
Instead of responding, you hurriedly followed the man carrying your boxes labeled ‘FRAGILE’ at the very top.
Your apartment soon became a whirlwind of different guys, but the more you watched, you were certain there was only one working brain cell in the crew.
It was weird. The boys worked tirelessly and without complaint, and you sat on your patio and watched. Despite the crew having this frat-boy-meets-boyband vibe, they were strangely respectful. Charming, even.
“Hydration station established.” The blonde man wiped his brow, setting your Brighta filter in the fridge. “We run a full service operation.”
“Thank you-“ you squinted, “Hank? Huh.” What a coincidence. You couldn’t help but be charmed by the man’s smile, the gap in his teeth making him all the more disarming.
“Should get you a glass, sugar,” your eyes flickered over to the ginger man leaning against your counter. “Cause you are lookin’ hot.” He winked, the ginger curls, freckled face and devilish smile might’ve gotten you on a better day.
But today, you choked on your coffee.
The ginger in the blue attempts at flirting were cut short as a tan man elbowed him. You decided that he was truly the most befitting of the boyband title.
“Bro, cut the cringe or we’re skipping your end of the tip.” God, he was awfully cute. They all were. Five sweaty, attractive, respectful himbos in neon jumpsuits stood in your living room.
What were you crying about earlier?
In two hours flat your bed frame was built, your couch was in the right spot and every corner of your studio was packed with boxes. And the first time in a couple weeks, you felt right with the world.
“Alright Hanks! That’s a wrap!” Hank no.1 waved his pen in a circle in the air. You hadn’t figured out that they were all named Hank until about twenty minutes ago, which had given you a full belly laugh.
Parker was right about the whole ‘perfect sitcom setup’ thing.
“And only one casualty,” Hank no.1 furrowed his eyebrows as he wrote, “rogue roomba. Be sure to file an incident report.” He mumbled more to himself than anyone else. The smaller, black haired Hank rubbed his shin at the memory.
You tipped generously, of course. How could you not?
They trickled out the door one by one with variations of “take care!” and “enjoy the new place, brah!” At least you knew how to contact them again, Hank no.3 made sure of it as he passed you a note with a wink. There was no doubt in your mind that the phone number written was anything but business related.
“Hey, sorry. Forgot this in the truck.” The door hadn’t shut yet, and you were faced with Hank no.5’s boyish smile. He placed the small teddy bear onto your bed, softly, delicately in the midst of your pillows. “There. Now it looks like someone lives here.” Hands proudly placed his hips, his warm eyes landed on yours.
“Thanks Hank.” Your heart squeezed.
“Anytime.” He peeked his head from behind the door frame again. “Oh! And uhhh-…. don’t forget to drink water. You worked hard today.”
Then he was gone. You padded over, pressing your finger into the lock with a soft click. Silence filled the studio.
Only now it wasn’t suffocating. It was full of possibilities.
The plastic handles bore into your fingers as you walked. Even with the sun dipping below the skyline, it was still dreadfully hot. It was the kind of heat that made every breeze feel like a blessing.
Cup-Noodles, Mac-n-Cheese and sandwich staples would have to satiate you for the next couple days. Or at least until you could find the time to actually grocery shop. Imagine your relief when Parker said there was a convenience store so close you could see the lights from your patio.
You padded down the unfamiliar hallway, your lungs wrecked from the flights of stairs. The only thing that kept you placing one foot infront of the other was the mental picture of your pillowy bed and the knowledge that you left your AC on. A dopey smile crossed your tired face.
Weeks of stress led up to this very moment, stumbling to your new doorstep with bags full of struggle meal staples and a couple extra bills in your wallet.
Except one thing.
The key didn’t fit. You jammed it every which way and turned it over numerous times, and yet, your apartment door remained locked. Had your landlord mixed up the keys?
Oh for fucks sake.
Letting the bags drop unceremoniously to the ground, you shook the knob hoping to at least open it tonight. It was far too late to call anyone now. You supposed you could sleep in your car…
Then, the door swung inward.
It worked!
Wait…
No.
“Are you trying to break in?”
You lifted your head, quite a bit, to find a man inside your apartment.
And… Jesus, you might actually be okay with that.
A towel rubbed deftly at his short dripping hair stuck to his forehead, thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion yet intrigue, eyes softening as they bounced over your features. You watched as a droplet slid down his jaw and fell to the floor.
You would lick this man dry.
Clearly, you had interrupted a shower, judging by the backwards shirt.
“Into my own apartment?” You asked, exasperated yet playful. Any other Thursday, you’d have called the cops on this intruder by now.
Soft, pink lips curled upwards. His dark eyes glanced behind you in a pointed sort of way.
No way.
“You might have better luck with that door.” He said.
First impressions are important. Sweet, charming and salaciously attractive is how you’d describe your first impression of your new neighbor. You’d hate to hear what he thought. It most definitely included the words ‘sweaty’ and ‘dumb-ass’.
“I’m so so sorry, I-I just moved in today. It’s been a lot and I’m convinced I’m halfway to a heatstroke.” You admitted, hoping he’d let you off the hook if he thought you were truly just a bumbling buffoon.
Instead, he bent down and scooped up more than half of the groceries that had crumpled to the floor.
“Oh! You don’t have to- I mean, thank you but I could’ve gotten it.” You rushed to your door, fumbling with the key ring once again.
“Dont mention it.” He said coolly, sporting a soft smile all the while. The kind you’d give to a crying child while convincing them there going be all right.
Gentle. Reassuring. Unbearably kind.
It made your heart thump under your skin.
The door opened, once again, without having pressed the key inside.
“Well look who we have here!”
Okay so now you actually had an intruder in your home.
“Parker?! Why- how did you get into my apartment?” You asked incredulously, mouth agape.
Parker threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of your balcony, like it was obvious. “Our balconies are basically connected.”
“Parker, that’s like three feet of dead air. You could’ve fallen.” The man behind you spoke up, clearly used to this routine.
“Also, you broke into my apartment dude.” You stated, sighing. Parker’s intense smile never faltered. Behind his wild eyes you could see the warmth he held for you.
“Semantics.” Parker waved his hand dismissively and before you knew it, his lanky arms were wrapped around you. Despite yourself, you melted into it.
Parker had grown into himself. Second puberty, if you will. When you find yourself a little place in the world and you finally shred the baby fat of your teenage years. More tattoos now, and he had dyed his hair an assortment of colors. You definitely preferred this over the buzz cut he used to rock. Still tall as ever, but somehow he seemed more grounded.
It was nearing 10:30pm, but the three of you were none the wiser without a clock on the wall. You had decided that you had far too many mugs for one person. But the more you tried to downsize, the more you fell in love with the collection.
“Ohhh my god! I forgot about this one!” Parker exclaimed. The lanky man sat criss cross in the middle of your towering boxes. He more resembled a child in a makeshift cardboard fort than a friend noisily going through your shit.
Setting the red M&M shaped mug into the cabinet with a soft clink you saw the small Polaroid he was waving around.
“Why do you keep all your pictures in a popcorn tin?” Parker asked, sifting through them like a deck of cards.
“I don’t, those are the ones I don’t want to look at.” You admitted with a laugh.
“You have to see this one.”
“Do I?”
He didn’t answer. Trudging over, you were met with a freshman Parker drunkenly holding onto a freshman you for support.
“Ohh god, yeah I remember this one.” You laughed. It was the first Halloween party you had ever gone to, and the first actual college party you’d been to. Big toothy smiles and costumes made from duct tape. You couldn’t make out what either of you were supposed to be anymore.
Chance had taken the far side of the couch, not that he had much of a choice given your belongings piled up on the other side. He hadn’t moved from his spot, insisting he ‘stay out of the way’ as you unpacked and Parker did… whatever he was doing. He spent his time eyeing the two of you with curiosity, sporting the look of a man doing mental math.
The endless to-do list didn’t stop you from sneaking glances at him. Arm draped over the back of your couch like he owned it. The man made your studio feel even smaller just by existing in it. Chance leaned over Parker’s shoulders, squinting at the sun damaged Polaroid.
“What’s all the red stuff?” Chance asked, amused. Parker reared his towards you, dead pan expression.
“I’m sorry! How many times have I said sorry?” You whined, raising both hands in defense.
“She got us both kicked out of that party when she fell into the punch bowl.” Parker grimaced as he remembered.
“To be fair, what kind of college party has an open bowl of punch like it’s a Tupperware commercial? Anybody could’ve fallen into it. Or spiked it with laxatives.” You crossed your arms. “Probably better dumped out than everybody shitting themselves. I’m a hero.” Parker’s stone face began to budge and Chance laughed something warm, deep. You turned back towards the photos, trying to forget how the sound made your hair stand up.
He picked up a Polaroid face down at the bottom of the tin, flipping it over in his hands.
“Huh.” Chance breathed out. LHow long have you guys known each other?" He asked, quietly.
You knew that photo. You and Parker both had signed the back. Seeing it again, though, brought back bittersweet memories.
“Since high school?” Parker scratched at his chin, leaning over to see the photo.
Parker also knew that photo.
Another drunken night, another stupid photo, another wide toothy smile stared back at you. Parker’s tattooed arm blurred as it outstretched towards you, sprawled out over his bed laughing hysterically.
No, you guys didn’t fuck that night.
Or any night, to be clear.
But you were drunk enough that kissing your friend seemed like a good idea. Drunk enough that fooling around wouldn’t blur the lines of your relationship.
And it hadn’t blurred them.
Too much.
You padded your way back to the kitchen, unsure which mugs you even liked anymore.
Before things could get more awkward, you feigned a yawn and they took the hint. Your friendship survived after that night, why did it seem like such a sore spot now? You didn’t know.
Even worse, as your eyes fluttered close and the view of the city dimmed, you couldn’t help the whirlwind of other thoughts. Your house still smelled like them. You hadn’t noticed it before, but it was the only thing you could think about now.