Friendly

Lara knew before opening the door exactly who was waiting for her on the other side. She did not, however, expect the sequence of events he brought with him.

“No way,” Lara adamantly refused.

“We’re supposed to be friends,” Xavier said with a cheeky grin. He had most definitely forgone his mask just to get to her with his stupid, charming smile, and it was working, god damn him.

“This would put a strain on our friendship. We’re not prepared for this.”

“What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger.”

“Bold of you to assume that I won’t kill you,” she said dryly.

“I didn’t want to play this card, but as a keeper of Pablo’s secret, you are obligated to help me,” he said with a serious tone and a solemn nod. Pablo seemed to be nodding with him from the confines of his baggy sweater.

“Pablo’s illegal inhabitance has nothing to do with me.” Even as she said the words she knew she’d lost this battle. Xavier’s lopsided smile never once faltered. She growled in frustration and stepped aside to let him in. “Fine! But you’re going to regret asking me.”

“Oh, I have no doubts about that,” he said cheerfully. “Shall I put my stuff in your room?”

“I have rules,” she said, following him around as he dropped his few belongings around her apartment. A few books on her bookshelf—she had to move them because he had disrupted her flow—some things in her fridge, Pablo’s food and water bowls by the fridge, and his bed beside the air duct next to the TV. “Do not go into my room,” she started.

“I’ve already been there,” he pointed out.

“Do not use the washroom before I’ve gotten ready for work,” she continued, unbothered by his talkback.

“I’ll just pee in the kitchen sink then,” he suggested.

“You can’t judge my choice in television, and you cannot dispute it,” she warned.

“I don’t watch television,” he reminded her.

“And finally,” she said, ignoring all his petulant rebuttals, “if you are going to be staying here, you are going to have to follow all sleepover traditions.”

“You mean aside from peeing in the sink and sneaking into your bedroom?”

She glared at him. “All sleepover traditions. No arguments.”

She extended her hand and waited for him to accept. He looked appropriately wary, but when Pablo poked his head out of his sweater and licked under his chin, Xavier sighed and shook her hand.

“How bad could it be?” he asked offhandedly. The absolute fear on his face when she grinned at him was enough to power her through her final shift of the week.

When Lara had first moved in, she had nothing but praises to sing about the building and her apartment. Her rent was affordable, the building was in good shape and in a nice enough neighbourhood, she had parking for her beater of a car, and her apartment was pretty nice. Now, she could see the downfalls.

The main downfall being that the A through F side of the hall had had a massive plumbing malfunction, and all the apartments were badly flooded. And now she had a roommate. Two, if she counted Pablo (and she did).

It was strange coming home to someone. Xavier didn’t really “work” in the traditional sense of the word. There was no 9-5 for critics. There was just him, his laptop that was older than Jesus, and his gallon of three-in-one shampoo-conditioner-body wash taking up a whole corner of her shower.

She was horrified when she saw that thing.

“How can it be shampoo and conditioner?” she asked doubtfully. Xavier just shrugged and continued tapping away on his keyboard.

“And how can it also be a body wash?” Another shrug.

“It’s a miracle you don’t have scales. Actually, lift your shirt up real quick. You probably do have scales.”

“If you want me to undress, you’ll have to buy me dinner first,” he dismissed, not even bothering to look up from his screen.

“I won’t judge you. Much.” Still no response. She sighed and slumped back onto the couch. “You know, if you did have scales—”

Xavier sighed and looked at her at last, his displeasure with her teasing evident on his face.

“You know very well what I look like under my shirt.” Satisfied at having made her blush, he hit her with his arrogant smirk and returned to his work.

She pouted to herself in silence. She did know what he looked like under his shirt, and she was finding it very rude of him to remind her of that. It had been awhile since she’d been privy to it, but the memory was still fresh. The feeling of his miraculously smooth skin (despite his disturbing hygiene products) lingered in her mind. Then there was that whole moaning incident.

Why didn’t she seem to have the same effect on him? She wondered if walking around in his favourite spandex shorts might inspire him.

She quickly nipped that thought in the bud. She wasn’t meant to be outing feelings of lust. They were friends. Despite all the toeing the line they’d—she’d—done, that was still what they were. But on the other hand, what sort of friend would she be if she didn’t ensure his health and safety to the best of her ability?

Yes, this was purely about his dermatological health. Nothing more, nothing less.

He sighed wearily and finally closed his laptop and gave her his full attention.

“You’re not going to stop staring at me unless I pay attention to you, is that it?”

“I’m just being a good friend,” she said with an upturned nose and a sniff of derision. Mostly, she just wanted to go back to staring at him. “More than I can say for you,” she tacked on with a pout.