Chapter 1: Evicted
The bass from the stereo thumped through the floor, a second heartbeat vibrating in Jay’s ribs. His apartment smelled of cheap beer, artificial citrus vaporizer clouds, and the faint, greasy tang of delivered pizza. People were everywhere—perched on the arms of his second-hand couch, leaning against the kitchen counters, their laughter slicing through the haze of conversation.
Marcus, phone held aloft, was narrating his own party to some unseen social media audience. “Ya boy Mark delivering vibes, you already know! Who’s gonna get lit with us?” He lowered the phone, grinning at Jay. “Romi’s asking who’s here. You wanna tell her, or should I?”
Jay took a pull from his beer. “Tell her whatever.”
“That’s the spirit.” Marcus’s smile was all teeth. He typed quickly, his thumbs a blur. “I said it’s just the crew. Which is true. Mostly.” He nodded toward a cluster of girls by the balcony door, friends of a friend. One of them caught his eye and waved. Marcus waved back, elaborate. “See? Crew.”
Jay didn’t bother answering. He felt antsy, the kind of restlessness no amount of noise or people could fill. He was staring into the middle distance, at a smudge on the wall he’d been meaning to clean, when the knock came. It wasn’t the confident pound of another guest. It was three short, hesitant raps, almost lost under the music.
“I got it!” Marcus yelled, already striding toward the door, assuming it was another pack of acquaintances with more booze.
Jay watched him pull the door open. The chatter from the hallway didn’t surge in. Instead, there was a sudden pocket of quiet.
Emily stood in the threshold, backlit by the fluorescent hall light. She looked like a misplaced fragment of a different day. Her long black hair was pulled into a messy, frizzing ponytail, strands stuck to her neck. She wore gray leggings and a cropped athletic jacket over a sports bra, her skin glistening with a recent sweat. The most noticeable thing, however, was the large, wheeled suitcase beside her, and the overstuffed duffel bag slumped at her feet.
“Emily?” Marcus’s boisterous tone softened into genuine confusion. “Hey! You come from the gym? Come in, we’re just getting started.”
She offered a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. They scanned the room behind him, past the curious faces, and landed on Jay. Her expression tightened, a flash of sheer, undisguised relief.
“Hey, Marcus,” she said, her voice thinner than usual. She didn’t move from the hallway. Her grip on the suitcase handle was white-knuckled. “Is Jay…?”
Jay was already moving, weaving through a few people. “Emily? What’s up?”
He reached the door. Up close, he could see the smudged makeup under her eyes, the tired set of her mouth. She looked at him, and that positive, ever-present glow she usually carried was dimmed, guttering like a dying bulb.
“Hey, Jay.” She shifted her weight. “I, um. I know this is super last minute. And you’re having a thing.” She gestured vaguely at the party behind him. “But I kind of… I need a place to stay. Just for a little while. Maybe a few days?”
The sentence hung in the air between them. Marcus’s eyebrows shot up. Someone inside turned the music down a notch, sensing a scene.
Jay blinked. “What happened?”
“My roommate’s boyfriend.” She said it fast, like ripping off a bandage. “He’s just… there all the time now. And it got weird. Really weird. I had to leave.” She wasn’t giving details, but the faint tremor in her voice and the absolute exhaustion in her posture were details enough. “I called my mom, but she’s on the other coast. I tried a couple friends, no answer. You were my next stop. I’m sorry. I can go if—”
“No.” The word was out before he could think. “No, it’s fine. Come in.”
Her shoulders sank, a physical release of a weight. “Are you sure? I don’t want to crash your party.”
Marcus, recovering his momentum, clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Crash it? You are the party, Kitsuhara! Get in here. We’ll stash that in Jay’s room.” He grabbed her duffel bag, hoisting it. “Damn, what you got in here? Bricks?”
“Textbooks,” she mumbled, finally rolling the suitcase over the threshold. “And my coffee maker.”
Jay took the suitcase from her. Their hands brushed. Her skin was warm. “The couch pulls out,” he said, leading her through the gauntlet of curious glances. “It’s not great, but it’s a bed.”
“Anything is perfect,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it.
They’d just reached the cluttered space near his bedroom door when the balcony door slid open and Romi walked in, a crisp autumn breeze following her. She’d been smoking. She saw Jay, started to smile, then her eyes tracked to Emily, to the suitcase in his hand, to Marcus carrying the duffel.
Her smile froze, then dissolved into something perfectly neutral and utterly cold. “Emily,” she said, her voice flat. “What a surprise.”
“Hey, Romi,” Emily said, offering a small, genuine wave. “How are you?”
“Great. Didn’t know you were coming.” Romi’s gaze was a laser pointer fixed on Jay. “Jay didn’t mention it.”
“It was a… sudden plan,” Jay said, feeling the weird tension triangulate between them. “Emily’s having some roommate drama. She’s gonna crash on the pull-out for a bit.”
“Oh.” Romi let the word sit. “How charitable of you.” She took a slow sip from her drink, her eyes not leaving his face. “Must be serious drama to show up with all your luggage at a party.”
Emily, either oblivious to the subtext or choosing to ignore it, nodded. “It got unlivable. Jay’s saving my life right now.”
“Yeah,” Romi said, her tone implying he was doing something else entirely. “He’s a regular hero.”
Marcus, blessedly, broke the moment. “Jay, where you want this? Your room’s a disaster zone, man.”
“Just inside the door is fine,” Jay said, pushing his bedroom door open with his foot. He guided Emily’s suitcase in, glancing at the tumble of clothes and textbooks on his floor. “Sorry about the mess.”
“This is nothing,” Emily said, peering past him. She hugged her arms around herself. “Thank you, Jay. Seriously. I’ll be invisible, I promise.”
He was about to tell her not to worry about it when Romi spoke again, her voice sweetly acidic.
“So, Emily,” Romi said, stepping closer. “If you need girl talk or anything, I’m here. Roommate boyfriend drama… that’s always messy. What’d he do, hit on you?”
Emily’s cheeks flushed a faint pink. “It was more… a crowding thing. A boundary thing.”
“Guys are the worst with boundaries,” Romi agreed, her smile not reaching her eyes. She linked her arm through Jay’s, a possessive claim staked. “Right, Jay?”
The music swelled again, someone laughing loudly. Marcus was already dragging Emily toward the kitchen, asking if she wanted a drink. Emily glanced back at Jay, a look of apologetic confusion on her face before she was absorbed into the crowd.
Romi kept her arm tightly in his. “A few days?” she murmured into his ear, the sweet scent of her vape mingling with the beer on her breath.
“That’s what she said.”
“You believe that story? The ‘crowding thing’?” Romi pulled back to search his face. “She show up at your door looking like that… it’s a vibe, Jay.”
“She looked like she just left the gym, Romi.”
“She looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing.” Romi released his arm, the warmth replaced by a sudden chill. “Whatever. It’s your apartment. Just don’t expect me to play sleepover buddy with her.”
She turned and melted back into the party, leaving Jay standing alone by his bedroom door. From the kitchen, he heard Emily’s laugh—a real one, bright and surprised at something Marcus had said. It cut through the bass line, clear and alive.
Jay looked at the suitcase beside his bed, an island of someone else’s chaos in his own. He felt Romi’s jealous glare from across the room. He felt the familiar restlessness, but it had a new shape now, a new focus.
The party roared on around him, but all he could think was that the night had suddenly become infinitely more complicated, and in a strange way, infinitely less boring. He took a long, deep breath, and went to get Emily a drink.
He found her by the fridge, fending off Marcus’s attempts to pour her a shot of something neon green. “I’m a vodka soda girl, Mark, you know that,” she was saying, her laugh still there but edged with a light strain.
“Boo. Live a little,” Marcus grinned, but he relinquished the bottle when Jay nudged him aside.
“Here,” Jay said, handing her a white can of seltzer he’d dug from the back of the fridge. “Less commitment.”
“My favorite kind.” She popped the tab and took a long drink, her throat working. She leaned back against the counter, surveying the crowd. Her eyes were a little wide, taking it all in. “Nice party.”
“It’s a mess.”
“It’s alive.” She corrected him softly. For a second, she just watched the bodies moving in the dim light, a faint, almost sad smile on her lips. “Better than my empty car.”
The words sat between them. Jay mirrored her posture, shoulder against the fridge. “So. ‘Really weird.’ Wanna give that some adjectives?”
She peeled the label on the can with her thumbnail. “He moved his stuff in. Like, not just a toothbrush. His gaming rig. His weights. It was her idea, I think, but he just… assumed. Started making comments. About the thermostat. About how much toilet paper I used. About me ‘parading around’ in my workout clothes in my own living room.” She said it like a quote, her voice dipping into a mocking, deeper tone.
“Parading.”
“His word.” She took another drink. “Then last night, I came out of the shower. Towel. He was on the couch. Just… staring. Not even pretending not to. No joke, no ‘whoops’. Just a look.” She shivered, though the kitchen was warm. “I locked my door. Packed this morning while they were at brunch. Texted her I was out. She cried. Said she’d make him apologize. I said don’t bother.”
Jay felt a slow curl of anger in his gut. “You should’ve called.”
“I did. Today.” She finally looked at him. “You answered.”
The simplicity of it disarmed him. The party noise faded for a beat, leaving just the two of them in the bright kitchen light. He saw the fatigue under her bravado, the vulnerability she was trying so hard to coat in her usual sunniness.
Marcus swooped back in, inevitable as gravity. “You two building a fort in here? Come on, Em, one dance. Show me what that gym routine is about.” He grabbed her hand, his movement liquid with booze.
“Marcus, I’m good—” she started, but he was already pulling.
“Hands off, Lee.” Jay’s voice was sharper than he intended. His fingers closed around Marcus’s wrist, not hard, but firm.
Marcus froze, looked from Jay’s grip to his face. A slow, knowing smirk spread. “Whoa. Protective. Got it, roomie. My bad.” He raised his hands in surrender, backing away with an exaggerated wink. “The couch is all yours, man.”
Emily’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink. “He’s just drunk,” she murmured.
“He’s always something,” Jay muttered, releasing a breath. The moment was thoroughly punctured.
Romi chose that exact second to reappear, a fresh glass of wine in hand. Her gaze lingered on the small space between Jay and Emily. “Planning the sleeping arrangements already?” she asked, her voice sugary.
“Romi,” Jay sighed.
“What? It’s a practical question. Where’s all her stuff gonna go? Your room’s a closet.” Romi sipped her wine, her eyes challenging Emily. “Don’t you have, like, other friends? Girl friends?”
Emily met her gaze. The naivete seemed to solidify into something quieter, more resilient. “I do. They weren’t home. Jay was. I’m grateful.”
“Super grateful, I bet.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Jay said, stepping slightly forward, a physical buffer.
Romi’s composure cracked, just a hairline fracture. “Why? Because it’s awkward? Because it’s true? She rolls in here looking for a hero and you’re just lining up to play the part. It’s a little transparent, Emily.” The name was a dart.
The music shifted to a slower, heavier track. A few people whooped.
Emily put her half-finished seltzer down on the counter with a deliberate click. The pleasant mask was gone, replaced by a raw, wounded honesty that was far more powerful. “You know what, Romi? It’s been a really shitty twenty-four hours. I’m tired. I’m embarrassed. I just needed a safe place to land for a second while I figure my life out. That’s it. If that’s some weird threat to you, that’s your problem to deal with. Not mine, and not Jay’s.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and walked the few steps to the pull-out couch, currently buried under two jackets and someone’s purse. She started calmly moving the items to a chair.
The little circle of spectators quickly found other things to look at. Romi stood frozen, the vibrant red of anger blotching her neck. She looked at Jay, expecting alliance, defense, something.
He just looked back, his expression unreadable. The twisting feeling in his gut wasn’t about Romi anymore.
“You’re gonna let her talk to me like that?” Romi whispered fiercely.
“She wasn’t wrong,” Jay said quietly. He didn’t say anything else.
With a sharp, wounded sound, Romi set her wine glass on the kitchen table, harder than necessary. She grabbed her purse from the pile by the door and left, the slam of the apartment door a definitive period mark in the noise.
The party stumbled on, absorbing the drama like a sponge. Someone turned the music up again.
Someone turned the music up again. The bassline was a physical thing, a weight in the air. Emily kept her back to the room, neatly folding a denim jacket that wasn’t hers and placing it on the arm of a chair. Her movements were precise, focused. A methodical containment of the humiliation still burning in her ears.
Jay watched her for a second. The defiant line of her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands she was trying to hide. Marcus was already dialing someone, probably trying to coax Romi back, his voice a loud, performative slurry. The party had absorbed the shock and was metabolizing it into fuel, the gossip buzzing from one cluster to another.
He moved to her side, his voice low enough that only she could hear it over the synth beat. “Hey.”
She didn’t look at him, just gave a tiny, jerky nod. “I’m okay. Really.”
“I know.” He waited until she finally glanced up. Her eyes were a little too bright. He tipped his head toward the hallway, away from the central noise. A silent question.
She hesitated, then followed.
His room was a cave of clutter, a stark contrast to the curated chaos of the party. The dusty glow of a desk lamp fought against the darkness, throwing long shadows from piles of clothes and stacks of engineering textbooks. He pushed the door almost shut, muting the thump of the music to a dull, rhythmic pulse. It felt suddenly, intensely private.
Emily stood just inside the doorway, wrapping her arms around herself again. “You don’t have to hide me away. I can handle Marcus.”
“It’s not about handling him,” Jay said. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the suitcase intruding on his floor. The reality of her being here, in his space, for days, settled on him. It wasn’t unwelcome. It was just… huge. “Look, the pull-out is a death trap. The bar digs into your kidneys. And this party isn’t ending before 3 AM.”
“I don’t mind,” she started.
“I do.” The words came out firmer than he intended. He let out a breath. “Sleep in here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch once everyone clears out.”
Her eyes widened. “Jay, no. I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”
“You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering.” He leaned against his dresser, crossing his arms. “It’s one night. You’re fried. You need an actual door that locks and a mattress that doesn’t feel like a sack of bricks.”
She was quiet, her gaze traveling from the disheveled bed to his face. The vulnerability from the kitchen was back, but softer now, bordering on a grateful exhaustion. “Where will you sleep?”
“I told you. Couch. Better than you being out there with Marcus trying to drunkenly tuck you in.”
A faint, real smile touched her lips. “He would, too.”
“He absolutely would.”
She looked at the bed again, then back at him. The fight seemed to drain out of her completely, leaving just a young woman who was very, very tired. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll just be a minute. I need to change.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He pushed off the dresser, moving toward the door. “Take your time. Join us if you want.”
He had his hand on the doorknob when her voice stopped him, softer now. “Jay?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth… I’m glad it was you who answered.”
He didn’t turn around. The memory flashed, bright and childish: him at thirteen, hands sweating, asking if she wanted to go see a movie. Her polite, bemused no thanks before she ran off to join her friends. A tiny fossil of embarrassment, long buried.
“Me too,” he said, and meant it. He slipped out, pulling the door closed behind him until he heard the soft, definitive click of the latch.
The party noise hit him like a wall. He walked back into the living room, where Marcus immediately descended, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Damn, dude. You okay? Romi’s pissed. She’s texting me a novel.”
“She’ll get over it,” Jay said, detaching himself. He grabbed a fresh beer, not because he wanted it, but because it gave him something to do with his hands.
“So Em’s really staying?” Marcus’s eyes gleamed with proprietary interest. “In your room?”
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. If we need to get the third room setup for her then that’s an option.” The third bedroom currently served as their storage and study space.
The third bedroom currently served as their storage and study space. Marcus called it “the evidence locker,” a ten-by-ten square of organized chaos housing a scuffed drafting table, two overflowing bookcases, a treadmill devolving into a clothing rack, and several unlabeled cardboard boxes that had survived two moves without ever being opened.
Jay stared at the closed door of his own room, the line of light underneath now dark. She’d turned the lamp off. He imagined her curled in his sheets, in the dark, listening to the muffled thunder of the party she’d decided to escape. The image was strangely intimate, a silent secret humming in the center of the noise.
Marcus materialized beside him, holding out his phone. The screen glowed with a cascade of angry text bubbles. “Man, she is working herself up. You gotta say something.”
Jay didn’t take the phone. “What am I supposed to say? She picked a fight and lost.”
“She thinks you’re picking something else. Namely, Emily.” Marcus scrolled, reading aloud in a theatrical whisper. “‘He’s just falling for the damsel-in-distress act. It’s pathetic.’ Ouch. ‘She always was his middle-school crush.’ Wait, what? That true?”
A hot needle of irritation pricked Jay’s neck. “Shut up, Mark.”
“Whoa, touchy! So it is true.” Marcus pocketed his phone, a conspiratorial grin spreading. “This just got way more interesting. Legacy drama. I love it.”
“There’s no drama. A friend needs help. That’s it.” The statement sounded hollow, even to him.
“A friend with a bangin’ ass who’s now sleeping in your bed,” Marcus sing-songed, dodging the half-hearted shove Jay aimed at his shoulder. “I’m just saying! Optics, bro. Romi’s not entirely nuts here.”
“I don’t care about optics.” Jay’s voice was low, final. He cared about the fragile quiet behind his door. He cared about the absolutely shitty look on Emily’s face when she’d talked about her roommate’s boyfriend just staring. “She’s staying as long as she needs. End of story. You gotta problem with that, you can take it up with the lease.”
Marcus held up his hands in surrender again, his smile never fading. “No problems here. More cute girls in the apartment is always a win in my book. Just managing your expectations, roomie. And your texts.” He pulled his phone back out, thumbs flying. “I’m telling her you’re too drunk to type. It’s a mercy.”
Jay left him to it. The party was winding down in that sluggish, predawn way. The music had dialed back to a background pulse. A few people were passed out on the large area rug. The smell of stale beer and pizza crust was overpowering. He started mechanically collecting red plastic cups, the mundane task a relief.
An hour later, the last straggler was gone, ushered out by a relentlessly cheerful Marcus. The sudden quiet was a physical pressure in Jay’s ears. He stood in the center of the wrecked living room, listening to the ghost of the bass.
He tiptoed to his door, ear close to the wood. Silence. He grabbed a spare blanket and a pillow from the hall closet and faced the pull-out couch. He pulled the release latch. It groaned in protest, unfolding with a metallic shriek that seemed to echo through the entire apartment.
He froze, wincing.
A moment later, his door opened a crack. Emily peered out, her face soft with sleep, her hair freed from its ponytail and falling around her shoulders in a dark wave. She’d changed into an old, faded band t-shirt that swamped her frame. “You okay?” she mumbled, her voice thick.
“Yeah. Sorry. The couch… it fights back.”
She pushed the door open wider, stepping out. Her bare feet were pale against the dark wood floor. “That sounds awful. Jay, seriously, take the bed. I can sleep anywhere.”
“You’re the guest.”