Chapter Text
The hallway of the campus apartment building was quiet, dimly lit by soft overhead lights that cast gentle shadows along the walls. Luz Noceda shifted nervously in front of her new apartment door, glancing at her watch.
Late again—typical.
The drive had taken longer than expected, and now the clock was nearing midnight. She adjusted the bright red beanie snugly over her messy hair, took a deep breath, and fumbled with the key the resident advisor (RA) had handed her earlier—not without a pointed look that made Luz acutely aware of what time it was.
The lock clicked loudly, and Luz winced. She cautiously pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit apartment. The faint scent of lavender drifted through the air, mixing with the sterile newness of a place that had yet to be lived in.
" Guess I’m the first to get here, " she mused quietly, feeling a small, unexpected sense of satisfaction. At least she’d arrived before her roommate.
She quickly moved her boxes inside, haphazardly lining them up along the wall before shutting the door behind her. Eyes scanning the space, she took in her surroundings.
The apartment was small but cozy, arranged neatly into a functional square layout. A short corridor led straight into the combined living room and kitchen. The kitchen itself was simple—neatly arranged cabinets, a modest oven and stovetop, and a small kitchen island with five stools lined around it. To the left of the entrance, a comfortable couch faced a modest-sized television, sitting atop a simple bench. The large windows along the far wall let in a soft glow from the city outside, casting long, quiet shadows across the apartment. Campus apartments were a step up from what she expected—no bunk beds or cinderblock walls. It actually felt... normal.
Luz exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders. It was nice—nicer than she expected. But as she stood there, alone in the unfamiliar quiet, a familiar pang of anxiety crept into her chest.
First days. New places. New people.
She could almost hear the whispers, the barely hidden glances.
Weird girl.
She’s too much.
Why does she act like that?
Why can’t you be normal?
She shook her head quickly, shoving the thoughts away. Not this time. This was a fresh start.
Refocusing, she grabbed a box labeled TOILETRIES and started toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She tried to step carefully, mindful of the late hour—except she wasn’t really watching where she was going.
Which was why she walked directly into the kitchen island.
A loud screech echoed through the space as one of the stools scraped violently across the floor. Pain shot up her shin, and she bit back a curse, reflexively lifting her leg to rub at the sore spot.
The sudden movement shook the box in her arms, and something small tumbled out. Without thinking, Luz shifted her foot, catching it effortlessly and letting it settle lightly on the top of her shoe. In one fluid motion, she flicked it back up, landing it neatly in the box without even looking.
"Huh," she whispered, chuckling softly. That was close.
Only once it was safely back in the box did she glance down, catching sight of the familiar red-and-white tube. Her deodorant.
She smirked, voice barely above a murmur. " Would've been a real problem if my deodo-ran away from me. " A soft laugh escaped her lips. With a shake of her head, she slid the deodorant back into place, adjusted her grip on the box, and moved on.
Finding her room was easy enough, meaning she only had to check the email with the apartment layout three times.
"Left room," she murmured to herself, glancing down at her phone. She blinked, then frowned. "Wait. The left room? My left or the apartment’s left?"
She looked up, deciding on her current left. If it wasn’t hers, well—she was the only one here anyway. Then, mid-step, she frowned. Wait. Why would it be her left? That changed depending on which way she was facing. She’d have to constantly change rooms? Luz was all for being free-spirited, but there had to be limits. After a brief moment of existential frustration, she shook her head and went with the first left. If it was wrong, she’d deal with that problem in the morning.
Pushing it open, she stepped inside. The bedroom was modest but welcoming, filled with a comforting stillness. Against the far wall was a soft looking single bed, waiting for its first occupant. A sturdy desk sat directly beneath the window, positioned to catch the best sunlight, and a small bookshelf stood beside it—empty, but ready to be filled. Opposite the bed, a simple wardrobe offered just enough space for her things.
Luz exhaled, a slow, quiet breath. The room felt warm. Safe. A quiet promise of something new. She dropped her box onto the desk, already knowing she had more waiting for her in the living room. “I should probably start unpacking…”
A beat passed. “Eh. Morning Luz can deal with that.” Instead, she rummaged through the box, pulling out her toothbrush and toothpaste. If she didn’t deal with the rest in the morning, past-Luz could yell at future-Luz all she wanted.
The bathroom was small but clean, with white tiled floors and a simple sink nestled beneath a mirrored cabinet. A glass-enclosed shower stood in the corner, and a towel rack was mounted neatly beside it. A modest storage unit lined the wall, offering just enough space for two people’s toiletries.
Luz placed her toothbrush by the sink and caught her reflection in the mirror. The dim lighting made her dark eyes seem heavier than she felt. Long day, she thought absently, then shook herself out of it. She wasn’t about to get emotional over her reflection.
She finished up quickly, padding back to her room, tossing her beanie onto the desk before flopping onto the bed. She barely bothered taking off her hoodie. The sheets were still packed away somewhere, but the mattress was surprisingly soft, and right now, that was more than enough.
A content sigh escaped her lips. “Here’s to new beginnings,” she whispered, already half-asleep. A beat. Then softer, “I really hope I get along with my roommate when they get here.”
Had Luz opened the door to the right, she would have been treated to the sight of what, at first glance, appeared to be a puff of lavender-colored fluff sprawled across the bed. A tangled mane of wavy, untamed hair fanned out over the pillows, shifting slightly as its owner let out a slow, controlled exhale.
Amity Blight lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t like anything had changed—at least, nothing had changed for the past five days. The apartment had been silent when she arrived. Empty.
The moving in process had been painfully efficient—her parents had arranged for her things to be delivered ahead of time, meaning she’d walked into a space that was already set up for her. No hauling boxes, no last-minute shopping for essentials. Just step inside, unpack, and exist.
She should have enjoyed it. Wasn’t this what she wanted? A space of her own. No expectations. No forced conversations. For the first time in forever, she had been completely alone.
She should have felt free. Instead, the quiet had settled in her chest like something heavy, pressing down. No one to impress, no one to disappoint, no one to yell at you when you failed to live up to their expectations. No one at all.
Maybe that was the problem.
It was strange. She had spent so long dreaming about getting out from under her mother’s watchful eye, carving out something for herself. And yet, five days into her independence, she still felt like she was waiting for something.
Maybe I just need time to adjust.
She exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair—her hair. The first act of defiance she had allowed herself when stepping into this new life. Gone was the mint green she’d grown to despise over the years, replaced with a soft lavender that she had immediately been drawn to.
She should have been able to sleep. And then—A loud click echoed through the apartment, followed by the slow creak of the front door opening.
Amity stiffened, her grip on the blanket tightening. Her pulse quickened—just for a moment—before logic caught up. Of course. Her roommate. She wasn’t being robbed.
The footsteps shuffled inside, hesitant but not stealthy. Definitely not a burglar. Still, she didn’t relax. Not even when the silence stretched on.
Then— SCREEECH.
The sharp sound sliced through the apartment, setting Amity’s teeth on edge. Her fingers dug into the blanket.
What the hell was that? A stool? It had to be a stool. Which meant her roommate was… what, rearranging furniture at midnight?
A second thud. Muffled words reached Amity through the silence of the apartment.
What.
Did her new roommate just—make a pun? At fucking midnight?
There was something vaguely familiar about the tone—something in the rhythm, maybe the cadence. She couldn’t quite place it. But it tugged at her, like a thread she didn’t want to pull. She buried it and rolled tighter into herself. This is going to be a nightmare. She inhaled deeply through her nose, forcing herself to remain still.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s…
The slightly too loud click of a door broke through her mantra. Amity clenched her jaw. She considered— briefly —marching out there and setting the record straight. Laying down boundaries. But what would be the point? It was late. She was exhausted. And honestly, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with some inconsiderate, unorganized stranger right now.
Besides, if her new roommate was this clueless about noise levels, she’d have plenty of time to set things straight in the morning. Amity exhaled sharply, rolled onto her side, and pulled the blanket over her head. She curled in on herself slightly, shifting irritably beneath the covers before flipping onto her other side with a huff. Her hair flopped into her face, and she shoved it away with an annoyed grunt.
Go to sleep, she ordered her own brain, as if that ever worked.
The apartment had gone quiet again—no more shuffling, no more clumsy movements. But even as the silence returned, her mind kept buzzing, unwilling to let go of the disruption. There was something about the way the sound had filled the space.
Not loud. Not obnoxious. Just… intrusive. Too bright—like someone switching on a light in a room she’d gotten used to being dark. Still, exhaustion eventually won. Just as her body began to relax—
Another laugh. Softer. Muffled. Amity’s eyes opened, scowling at the ceiling. She could still hear it, even after it faded. Warm. Stupid. Unwelcome.
“They better not be a morning person,” she muttered under her breath. Her breath slowed, the tension in her shoulders eased, and before she knew it she drifted off. And still, long after sleep finally took her the faint echo of that laugh lingered somewhere in the dark.