Emersyn
I'm hunched over my laptop, scrolling through job listings and feeling a mix of frustration and hope. There's got to be something out there for me, something that feels right. I consider going out and applying for jobs in person, but the thought is intimidating. Am I ready to face rejection? To put myself out there?
Before I can dwell on it too much, a burst of laughter from the living room snaps me out of my thoughts. Curiosity piqued, I push my chair back and head towards the sound, wondering what the guys are up to.
As I enter the living room, I'm greeted by the sight of Fowler, Locke, and Cruz gathered around the big screen TV, controllers in hand, engrossed in some fast-paced video game.
"Hey Emmie!" Fowler calls out without taking his eyes off the screen. "Wanna join in? We're playing 'Battle Rush,' and I bet you'd be a natural!"
I laugh and shake my head, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "I've never really played video games, at least not as an adult. My brother and I used to play some when we were kids, but that's it."
"Come on, it's easy to pick up!" Cruz encourages, pausing the game. "We'll show you the ropes."
I can't help but be drawn to their enthusiasm, but I still decline. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got some other stuff to do."
Locke turns to me, a teasing smile on his face. "You can't take a break from whatever you're doing? Sit down, watch us, have some fun."
I glance back at my room, thinking about the applications and my responsibilities, but their energy and excitement are infectious. "Alright, I'll sit and watch. But don't expect me to be much help."
"Deal!" Fowler agrees, making space for me on the couch.
I settle down, my eyes darting between the screen and the guys. They resume the game, their banter flowing naturally.
"How can you keep playing that character, Locke? He's so slow!" Cruz teases.
"He's strategic, unlike your rush-in-and-die approach!" Locke retorts, his eyes twinkling.
"I'll have you know, rushing in is a valid strategy!" Cruz shoots back.
Their playful arguing has me laughing, and I find myself more engrossed in the game than I thought I'd be. It's a nice distraction from my own worries.
But something's nagging at me, and I realize what it is. "Where's Marx?" I ask, looking around.
Fowler's expression shifts, and he shrugs. "Not sure. Probably in his room. That's where he is a lot of the time."
I frown, wondering why he isn't spending time with the rest of the guys. But the conversation quickly moves on, and I'm pulled back into the world of virtual battles and good-natured teasing.
I find myself glancing up at the loft every so often, though, wondering what Marx does up there all day.
Fowler is victorious in the current match, and he celebrates with a triumphant yell. "Victory is mine!"
Cruz snorts. "Yeah, well, you haven't won against me yet. Next round, buddy."
"Bring it on!" Fowler replies, his competitive spirit flaring.
I watch as they start another round, the characters dancing across the screen. They're good at this, moving with a confidence I can't quite comprehend.
Locke glances over at me, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "So, Em, are you sure you don't want to try?"
I feel myself blushing, caught in my fascination. "I'm good, really. I wouldn't even know where to begin."
"Starting is the first step," Locke teases, his eyes still on the screen.
Cruz chimes in, "And losing is the second step. But hey, we all have to start somewhere."
Their laughter fills the room, and I find myself smiling along with them. There's something comforting about this, about being part of their world, even if only for a moment.
Time seems to fly, and before I know it, the sun has dipped low in the sky. The guys finally put their controllers down.
With the video games put away, the living room takes on a new energy as Cruz heads to the kitchen to start dinner. Fowler and Locke are kneeling by the cubbies in the coffee table, discussing various games.
"You guys going to play a board game next?" I ask, intrigued.
"You bet!" Fowler exclaims, looking up with a grin. "Every Saturday night, we're all off work, so we come together for a game or two while eating dinner. It's a tradition."
I feel a sudden warmth at the thought of being included in their tradition. "That sounds great. I'm definitely on board with that."
"Excellent!" Locke says, his eyes dancing. "Now, Fowler and I are having a bit of a disagreement. Maybe you can be the tiebreaker?"
They present two games, each passionately defending their choice. The playful arguing between them has me chuckling, and I finally pick one, eager to join in the fun.
"Great choice!" Locke declares, while Fowler pretends to pout.
As Cruz finishes up dinner, I can smell the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen. It's comforting and makes the space feel even more like home.
Then, almost like he knew it was time, Marx appears on the railing of the loft, his eyes locking onto mine. I feel my cheeks heating up, and I quickly look away, pretending to be engrossed in the game's setup.
Marx descends the stairs, helping Cruz carry the food and plates to the living room. There's something different about him now, something softer in his gaze.
Fowler and Locke eagerly grab utensils, and I help them set up the game, feeling Marx's presence beside me. When we finally settle down on the floor around the wooden pallet-turned coffee table, Marx sits beside me.
Our knees touch, and a jolt of heat rushes through me. I swear my skin feels like it's searing where it meets his, but I force myself to act like I don't notice. I wonder if he feels it.
I'm probably just imaging things. I really need to get it together. Maybe I need to get laid. Maybe that will stop me from lusting after Marx.
The laughter and teasing resume as we dig into dinner, playing the game, and for a moment, everything feels normal. But every now and then, I catch Marx's gaze lingering on me, and I feel something stirring within me.
As the night wears on, I find myself feeling as though I'm truly part of the group. Marx's quiet presence beside me is a constant reminder of the mystery he represents, and I can't shake the feeling that there's more to him than meets the eye. I've gotten to know so much about the other guys since I've been here, but I barely know anything about Marx.
The game ends in a victory for Cruz, and we all cheer. Locke and Cruz say they're going to bed, disappearing into the same room. I wonder what their deal is. Are they a couple? Do they just hook up? Maybe they're just really good friends. My mind flashes back to them dancing. It definitely looked like something more than friendship was going on.
"They're dating."
I turn at the words. It's Fowler. "Huh?"
"Cruz and Locke," he says, nodding his head towards the bedroom door they both disappeared behind. "They're dating. That's what you were wondering about, right?"
I feel my cheeks heating up again, caught in my curiosity. "Yeah," I admit, nodding. "I was thinking that."
Fowler leans back, his hands clasped behind his head. "Locke and Cruz have been together for eight years now. They're in a non-exclusive open relationship. Both guys just have so much love to give that they don't care to share. Plus, sometimes they like sharing their love with someone together if you know what I mean."
My face is probably bright red with all the blushing I'm doing. "Really? That's... different."
"Different?" Fowler's eyes are teasing, and he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Different how?"
"I mean, I've only been in one serious relationship, and it was monogamous," I explain, suddenly feeling inexperienced and naive. "I've never really thought about anything else."
Fowler's eyes narrow, and he gives me a knowing look. "And how did that turn out for you?"
"Bad, obviously," I reply, shrugging and looking down.
He reaches out and pats my hand reassuringly. "Hey, it's okay. Relationships are tricky things. They come in all shapes and sizes. What works for some people doesn't work for others. The important thing is finding what makes you happy."
I look up at him, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his words. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right," he says with a wink, standing up and stretching. "Now, how about we go wash the dishes and call it a night?"
I smile, grateful for the change of subject. "Sounds good to me."
As we make our way to the kitchen, my mind lingers on Fowler's words. Relationships are indeed tricky, and I'm still trying to figure out what makes me happy.
I look around for Marx, but he seems to have disappeared as well. Strange, I didn't even see or hear him leave.
After washing the dishes with Fowler, I feel the fatigue of the day creeping up on me. I yawn, stretching out my arms, and excuse myself for the night.
"Night, Emmie! Sleep well," Fowler calls after me, and I give him a weary smile in return.
I head to my room, my mind still buzzing from the events of the evening, but my body is calling for rest. A shower sounds like just the thing to wash away the stress and lingering thoughts of the day.
I step into the bathroom, turning the knob and letting the water run until it's a perfect, soothing temperature. I undress and step into the shower, feeling the immediate comfort as the warm water cascades over my skin. It's a calming sensation, a kind of gentle embrace that allows me to truly relax.
The steam fills the room, fogging up the mirror, and I breathe in the humid air, tinged with the scent of my lavender soap. I take my time, letting the water massage my shoulders, and lathering up with soap. The day's worries seem to dissolve, flowing down the drain with the water.
My thoughts drift back to the guys and their unique dynamics, and especially to Marx, who continues to puzzle and intrigue me. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, knowing that dwelling on it won't do me any good right now.
After rinsing my hair and turning off the shower, I step out and wrap myself in a soft towel, feeling a refreshed sense of clarity. I dry off and pull on my comfortable nightclothes, a loose T-shirt, and a pair of panties.
I brush my teeth and take one last look in the mirror, my reflection slightly obscured by the remaining steam. My eyes look tired, but there's a spark there that wasn't present earlier in the day.
I turn off the bathroom light and make my way to my bed, feeling the cool sheets as I slip beneath them. The room is dark and quiet, save for the distant sounds of the house settling.