"I CAN'T TELL if moving in with three guys is gonna be more like a fun sitcom situation, or if I'm actually going to get murdered," I say into the phone pressed against my ear, using the other hand with my half-full coffee cup to push open the front doors of Mark's complex. "The rent isn't half bad though, for the city at least."
There's a dull ache in my legs from bouncing around town all day, various addresses still jumbled up in my mind, but it's mediated by a kindling sense of accomplishment. It's more than just overpriced caffeine that brings a little more spirit in my step, and I even flash Mark's pretentious in-finance neighbour a brief smile when I pass him to the elevator. Which he doesn't return, but whatever.
I'm going to be not homeless. He can suck my semi-financially stable dick.
"Did they seem nice?" Nat asks on the other end of the line.
Stepping through the elevator doors, I hum. "Well, yeah, but so did Ted Bundy, and he murdered over 30 women."
"I don't think you have to worry about being serial murdered, Vika. I would worry about more how often they clean their bathrooms."
I roll my eyes and press Mark's floor number, 32, reminded that it might be one of the last times. "Listen, college girls are one of prime target groups for serial murder, so maybe we should be talking about what's actually important here. Like my life."
Nat snorts. "You're 24 and you dropped out."
I sniff, offended. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I get carded all the time. The Chinese side is gonna keep this face smooth until I hit 70, and then I will go full walnut. Until then, fuck you." As I'm stepping out into the hallway, my fingertips instinctively reach to the corner of my eye where I'm sure my lack of a healthy sleep schedule is doing no favours, but I pray genetics will pull me through.
I'm not sure if rooming with three men would help or hurt my potential crow's feet situation, but I figure my beer pong game will be upped at least three levels, and that's always a handy skill to keep tucked away. If I'm not brutally maimed and shoved in a trunk, that is.
Nat laughs as I pat my pockets down in search of keys. "If they call you back, you should probably go for it. Better them than the girl who has five cats."
"I don't know what you mean, I'm pretty sure Cleo is actually starting to lik- holy shit."
I pause mid-swing of the door, still clutching the handle as Noel and I lock eyes. He's wearing a look that's bushy-tailed and staring down a speeding car, cat bundled up in his arms. I'm frozen and a strange noise I can't remember ever making sounds in the back of my throat.
"Oh my god, did the cat attack you? Vika, I told you not to antagonise it! Are you okay?" Nat's panicky and concerned voice is sharp in the receiver, but it's easily drowned out by my heart beating a tattoo in my chest.
"It's not the cat," I reassure her, watching as Noel drops Cleo to the floor, feet still planted where I'd found him. "Physically, I am fine. I'll give you a mental update later, but I would prepare with at least two bottles of pinot. Talk to you later."
When I click the phone off, cutting Nat mid-threat to tell her what's going on, Noel's carding a hand through his hair.
"I-"
"I-"
We both start at once and then stop together the same. There's a moment of hesitation where we're waiting for the other to continue, and I nod for him to go on first.
Noel clears his throat, and I ignore the way his Adam's apple dips in his throat. Judging by the way he stuffs his hands in his pockets, I doubt he knows what to do with them. I'm still gripping a little too hard to my coffee too, spurred by the weird intensity burning behind his thick frames, and I swallow.
"Mark said you'd be out, that's why I- sorry, I didn't think you'd be here," he explains, shifting in his spot. "You're supposed to be house hunting."
I pointedly ignore the way he looks in the soft blue button-down, which is fantastic, obviously, and instead focus on Cleo darting into one of the other rooms. "Yeah, I've found some pretty promising places," I say, scratching the back of my head as I meet his eyes once again. "At this point it's either prime-time television, getting cannibalised, or bust."
Noel nods, his mouth twitching as if he's unsure of what to do with this information, which- understandable. "Right, well, I'll be taking my leave. Sorry again." The guard that's protecting his unreadable expression reverberates in his clipped tone.
"Wait," I stop him, against all my shrieking instincts, throwing up a hand as he moves to brush by me. His brows climb up in confusion, and I ignore the small part of me that's in resounding agreement. "Listen, I'm not sure if you forgot but there's a wedding coming up fast and Nat will actually murder me if I make it weird with-" I hesitate, gesturing vaguely between us as all possible words seem to completely dissipate, "this."
He nods, apparently understanding what this means despite the ghost of a frown on his face. "Talking might be good." His words and his face don't seem to be on the same page.
As I take the lead towards the living room, he trails obediently after me without a word, and it's quiet as I set my coffee and oversized purse on the small table. The nerves in the atmosphere are amplified by distant memories of both of us between these four walls, on that navy blue sectional. It's almost strange how our entire relationship has unfurled between these decorative throw pillows. I pointedly shove the thought Challenger Deep when we sit a respectable distance, facing each other.
When I open my mouth, Noel beats me to it. "I'm sorry," he says, and I'm surprised by the uncharacteristically tender notes in his voice. "About the fish. I understand now that I was being... condescending."
I wrinkle my nose, shoulders climbing up in agreement. "Well, I can't say you're wrong," I murmur, but when I see the genuine flicker in his dark eyes, I falter. "I might have also been a little over dramatic too."
It's then that his phone vibrates, and I can't tell if it's saving me from the conversation or not yet, but I let out a small breath as he reaches to grab it. However, it's short-lived as Noel barely glances at the screen and shuts it down, slipping it back into his pocket. I open my mouth to ask if that's a good idea, but then close it again.
He still says nothing, though, gaze lingering on my face in a way that magnifies the quiet, and I can't stop my mouth from moving to fill the space. "It's been, um, well, a lot," I continue. "Everything kinda felt like it was all happening at once, and I got overwhelmed. I know, me? Victoria Phan? Doesn't have everything together? We were all so fooled."
"What overwhelmed you?" he asks, a frown still tugging down the corner of his mouth.
I pause, the weight of all the things I can't quite put into words pressing on my chest. "Just a lot of things," I supplement instead. "It's not a problem, seriously, don't worry about it."
"I can help, if you'd let me."
Quiet floods between us as I drink in his creased brow, the distance between us having dwindled sometimes during conversation. His frown seems to be triggered more of concern than his usual inherent disapproval of all things, and I can only manage a few seconds of eye contact before my pulse trips over itself to get away.
"No, no, seriously Noel," I say, shaking my head, aggressively looking everywhere but his face. "You don't have to, especially only because I'm Mark's friend- seriously. I got this. Remember the probably not homeless thing from before? That's a thing that's, uh, not a thing anymore. So we're peachy keen."
My mouth feels dry, and when I reach for the coffee, I'm disappointed that the rest is lukewarm and not at all comforting to my situation. Spending five dollars on a coffee now seems extravagant when I have to start saving in case of an early funeral, that is from serial murder or potentially my inability to wade through the anxiety of this situation.
Whichever one got me first.
"I want to help," he insists, and there's something arresting about his gaze that causes me to still. "For me."
I clear my throat, eyes widening. "Seriously, stop trying to force your ten thousand dollars on me, I'm not going to accept it," I joke, forcing an unsure smile on my face. "I've already Julia Roberts'd myself."
The edge of his mouth quirks up in a way that allows me to breathe again, and it's the first break to the tense air we're both drowning in.
"I mean it," he says, the intensity a little less overpowering. "You just have to ask."
I don't have the resolve to piece together what that means in the grand scheme of things, where we fell on the spectrum of relationships or if we even appeared on one at all, what was reflected in those dark browns eyes- the question, ironically enough, dies on my tongue. I think back to Nat's wedding, the promises I'd made, the disappointment I knew that would follow once the chapter closed, and we all resumed our regularly scheduled lives.
Apart.
And asking meant actualising the hope I'd been so stubbornly swallowing down, and my quota of adulthood had already been filled for the month.
"All I am asking for you is to not act like a fucking weirdo around me, yeah? I mean, not anymore than you usually are. Just the regularly accepted amount of bizarreness."
Noel looks positively affronted. "I am not weird," he insists, lips parted in disbelief and drawing a laugh from mine.
"Of course, of course," I mockingly placate him, patting his shoulder, and then, dropping my voice a few octaves and straightening my spine, "I must take my leave now."
He's fighting back a smile. "That's a terrible impression of me."
I gasp. "Cleo thinks it's a great impression."
"Cleopatra," he corrects, almost automatically, and when I meet his gaze, something softens in my shoulders.
The quiet that overtakes us is a bit more comfortable, and I take the moment to let my eyes linger, fall from the highs of his cheekbones to the dip of his Cupid's bow and I can't tell if it's my mind playing tricks on me, but we're growing closer. My initial plan of un-complicating everything is falling behind thoughts of how warm his mouth is, and the heat of his palms spreading against the small of my back, and how easily I unravel under his touch.
Before I can convolute the situation, though, there's a resounding knock on the door that makes both of us jump. I blink, shaking my head in a way that I hope shakes away those traitorous thoughts, but Noel's already up on his feet.
"Who is it?" I ask after his figure, brows knitted.
"I have no id-" he begins, but then is promptly cut off as he swings the door open and is shoved unceremoniously out of the way.
"I've been calling your phone all morning," the dark-haired girl complains, shaking her hands in irritation. "How have you not picked up? You're practically married to that thing."
I wonder if there's something genetic about the Carltons that predisposes them to barging into other people's homes, considering the pattern.
She looks casual in that painfully gorgeous off-duty model way, with a bright white t-shirt and boyfriend jeans, dark hair cascading over her shoulders in effortless waves. Whatever genetics caused an indifference to others' privacy also seemed to carry cheekbones that could cut glass, apparently.
"Angelica, what are you doing here?" Noel's voice comes out more of a demand than a question.
She rolls her eyes. "Well, I couldn't get a hold of you and you're always hiding yourself in this apartment, so I thought I'd try my chances. Maybe if you answered your phone I wouldn't have to parade around town looking for- oh."
She stops, mid-thought, when her eyes fall on me, still frozen on the couch. Confusion marks her tanned face. I say nothing and throw a silent hand up in acknowledgement.
"Who's this?" she asks, tilting her head. "Are you here to clean?"
At least I didn't get mistaken for a sex worker twice.
"I'm-" I begin, but Noel's quicker and he's already swept across the room to come as a physical barrier between us, arms up and already ushering Angelica through the door.
She isn't easily ushered, though, and her eyebrows knit as she tries to gain a better look at me around his reach. "Why are you being so weird?" she asks, sending him a pointed glance. "I was only asking."
"She's nobody, Angelica. Now go, I'll call you a cab, and you can tell me whatever you need in the car."
Nobody. Nobody. The rest of his sentiment is drowned out by the word, echoing continuously in my mind, torturously growing louder in my ears. Nobody. Something inexplicable sinks deep inside of me, frozen wildfire spreading through my veins. I swallow, hard. Nobody.
It's a confirmation of what I already knew this entire time, but somehow it's more painful coming from his lips. All those whispers from Christina's party, left underneath those maple trees in the park, the outside world I'd always tried to deny.
"Noel!" Angelica chastises, slapping him lightly on the arm with the back of her hand. "She's a professional, don't be rude!"
He turns when he sees that her eyes have caught attention, but I'm already on my feet, my movements running on instinct alone. I brush by them quickly, ignoring the tightness in my throat and the heat behind my eyes, pausing only briefly in the door.
"This nobody will be taking her leave now, don't worry," I reassure him with a small, insincere smile, the words like frost on my tongue and barely reaching a note of the cold in my eyes. We catch a fleeting glance, but I don't linger, not anymore, and turn to leave.
"Vika- I didn't- wait!" His voice carries down the hall, but my pace refuses to slow, fingernails biting into the palms of my hands, and I'm gone.