The Arrangement Algorithm

Chapter Five: Noodles, Netflix, and No Warning

Chapter Five: Noodles, Netflix, and No Warning

It started with exhaustion and ended in noodles.

We had both spent the entire day waging war against flatpacks and unpacked boxes. My hands were sore, Kalix’s shirt was inside-out for some reason, and the living room looked like a cardboard battlefield. Neither of us had the energy to cook—or even argue about who should.

“Pizza?” I asked, flopped on the couch like roadkill.

He scrolled on his phone with one eyebrow raised. “Or sushi.”

“You're not serious.”

“I’m always serious about raw fish.”

“I will punch you.”

He sighed like I was personally ruining his evening. “Fine. Something greasy and in a box. I’ll order Chinese.”

Ten minutes later, we were both sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating noodles from the container and watching something dumb on TV. We didn’t talk much. Just quiet chewing and the occasional insult about each other’s chopstick technique.

By midnight, Kalix had disappeared into his room, probably to collapse in that expensive bed he claimed was “orthopedic.”
Me? I stayed.

Some terrible rom-com was playing—bad acting, worse plot—but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to think about the new apartment or tomorrow or… him.

At some point, I curled up sideways on the couch with a blanket. The screen lit up my face. Time ticked on. 1:00 a.m.
1:42.

And then—

A door creaked.

Footsteps.

I didn’t look up. Just mumbled, “Go back to sleep, Kalix. I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, I suddenly wasn’t touching the couch anymore. Because I was in the air.

“What the—HEY!”

Kalix had picked me up like I weighed nothing. Blanket and all.

“Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said flatly, walking with zero urgency.

“I swear, if you drop me—!”

“I won’t. Sadly.”

He kicked my bedroom door open with his foot and marched in like he owned the place.

“Why do you care?” I snapped, squirming as he lowered me onto the bed. “It’s not like you give a—”

He cut me off, pulling the blanket up over me with all the gentleness of a disinterested nurse.

“We have classes starting at 9 a.m.,” he said, tone dry. “And if I remember correctly, the last time I had to wake you for school, you bit me.”

I blinked. “That was years ago.”

“And the trauma remains.”

I sat up, stubborn. “You could’ve just told me to go to bed.”

“Yeah, but this way’s quieter. And mildly satisfying.”
He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway.

“Oh, and thanks for singlehandedly inflating our electricity bill.”

“I—what?”

He gestured to the TV, still playing some dramatic scene involving kissing in the rain. “Rom-coms at 2 a.m.? Really? You’re embarrassing yourself and the power company.”

I threw a pillow at the door. It hit the frame as he vanished.

His voice floated back down the hallway.
“Sleep tight, noodle gremlin.”