Roomies

I don’t know when I started thinking it—when did my life become this—but I know I’ve been thinking it for a while now. Like the walls closing in. Like I’m at the end of the shot clock and I gotta take it. Now.

Then I realize I’m not even holding the ball.

⸻

The couch sagged under him, worn enough that it remembered his shape. Remote warm in his palm. Thumb tapping the plastic without thought.

He glanced toward the kitchen.

N’yona—his friend since seventh grade—was moving around in there, humming something soft. The smell of caramelized onions and seasoned beef floated through the air, thick and sweet. Sizzle of the pan. Commentator’s voice crackling from the TV. The clack-clack-clack of the ceiling fan spinning overhead.

Heat clung to his skin instead of drifting past.

She looked happy when she cooked. Always did.

She caught him watching and flashed a smile.

“It’s almost ready. Be patient.”

“I ain’t tripping.”

“I still can’t believe you went all day without a meal. Don’t I pack you a lunch?”

“You do, I just got caught up in work. And by the time I sat down to eat someone had snaked it. You know how that go.” He shifted his weight, springs groaning beneath him. “And missing one meal won’t kill me. I could stand to lose a pound or two.”

“Stop. You live in the gym.”

He laughed, low and tired. “Maybe I used to. But I’m putting in sixteen-hour shifts at the warehouse just tryna get by.”

“You could always look for something else.”

“Like what?”

She turned off the stove and plated the food. Homemade patty melt. Hand-cut fries.

Steam curled up from the plate as she carried it over. The smell hit him harder when she got close—butter, beef, char.

She set it down in front of him and dropped onto his lap, easy, familiar. Her weight settled and his legs adjusted without thought, one knee shifting out to make space. Warmth seeped through denim. Her fingers slid into his hair. Nails grazing his scalp, slow circles near his temple.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she said softly. “You have your channel with Hassan. That could take off any day now. And your music is so good. It’s only a matter of time before you get discovered.”

“We’ve been saying that for years now, Yona.” He picked up the burger and took a bite. Grease soaked into the paper, heat spreading through his fingertips. “I think it might be time to stop dreaming.”

He chewed. Swallowed.

“This is fucking amazing.”

“Thanks. It’s the seasoning. The onions really bring out the flavor.” A beat. “Don’t change the subject. You’re talking like you’re giving up. Since when are you a quitter?”

“Since today, I guess. I’m just—”

A woman’s voice cut through the air.

Moaning.

His jaw tightened mid-bite. He kept chewing but slower now, forcing himself to swallow.

“Did you hear that?”

“No.” Her lips twitched, fighting a smile.

He sighed. “Man, I’m tripping. Thought I heard moaning for a second. But I know they wouldn’t be in there getting active after I expressly told them to chill out when I’m home.”

“Y-yeah.”

He took another bite. Her thumb traced a slow circle near his temple. Steady. Grounding.

He felt the tension leave him. Shoulders dropped. Muscles loosened.

Then came the rhythmic thump-thump-thump against the wall.

All the tension came back.

Veins stood out in his neck. The plate shifted in his grip. Fries rattled against ceramic.

“Marky, breathe.”

Then the moaning got louder. Unashamed. Drowning out the TV, the fan, everything.

“You know what, fuck it.”

He moved her off his lap and stormed into his room. The door slammed behind him.

I have to get the fuck outta here.

How did this become my life?

He crashed onto his mattress. The sheets smelled fresh— Tide laundry detergent and fabric softener. Cool against his overheated skin. His chest rose uneven, then gradually slowed.

He inhaled slow. Deep. Held it. Counted down from ten. Exhaled.

Thanks, Yona.

He rolled onto his back and grabbed his headphones off the nightstand. The moaning was still audible even through the walls.

He yanked them on and cranked the volume to max.

Slow R&B instrumental flooded his ears. Bass vibrating through his jaw, into his chest, blurring everything else.

No more moaning.

His heart rate eased. Eyes closed. Pressure building pleasantly in his ears as the music drowned out thought.

He was almost somewhere else—anywhere but this apartment, this mistake—when he felt a hand on his chest.

Shaking him.

He opened his eyes and pulled off the headphones.

Yona was standing over him.

“Could you walk me to the store?”

“Yeah. But what do you need that can’t wait till tomorrow?”

“Ice cream. We’re out.”

“That can for sure wait till tomorrow.”

“Come on, Marky, please. If you don’t come I’ll have to go alone, and you know this neighborhood is sketchy even when the sun is up.”

“You could ask Hassan.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being funny and come with me. I’ll buy you something too.”

He stood up, groaning. Joints popped softly. “You ain’t gotta bribe me. You know I ain’t letting you go out alone this time of night.”

She smiled and took his hands. “Thanks, bestie.”

Her grip was warm, insistent—like she was afraid he might slip away if she let go.

She pulled him through the living room fast. The moaning had stopped, but knowing them, this was only intermission. She grabbed her keys off the counter and had him out the door in the same motion.

She gave a shy smile as she locked the door.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

She took his hand again.

It fit his well. Small. Delicate. It hadn’t always been that way, but the hand was still hers. Her thumb brushed against his knuckle without thinking. A quiet, repetitive motion.

He didn’t resist her touch. She’d always been like this.

It’s not like it bothers me.

Her steps were short and light. Ten-minute walk to the corner store. At this pace, they’d be lucky to make it in twenty.

Night air was cool against his forearms. Distant sirens. Hum of traffic.

But what was the rush? Did he really wanna get back home just to be subjected to the sound of his sister fucking his other friend and “business” partner?

He sighed.

“What’s going on, friend?”

“Nothing.”

“Marky.”

“Just more life shit. I feel stuck, Yona. I wanna get outta this living situation. I can’t keep dealing with this shit. But I don’t got the bread to move out. Can’t save shit. Music and YouTube cost money, but they don’t make any. Then I got bills. I’m sending half of what I make home to my mom.”

“You know your mom told you to stop doing that.”

“I know, but I don’t care. She can’t work ever since she hurt her hip. Rehab and medical bills are expensive. I’m all she’s got.”

“She’s got me too. You know I love your mom.”

“Yeah, but your situation is no better than mine. You can’t help.”

She squeezed his hand. Hard enough that he felt her knuckles press against his.

“I need to figure this shit out, Yona. I need money fast. If shit doesn’t change, I might have to get out here in these streets.”

Her grip tightened again. He could hear her breathing shift—a quick inhale she tried to steady.

“Don’t say stuff like that. Even as a joke.”

“Who’s joking? I’ve spotted four dudes in the last five minutes who I know are dealing, and they aren’t even being clever about it. I think I can do it. Plus pops low-key gave me the game. I grew up with dudes like these. They can’t be too much smarter than I am.”

“Markease…”

“I’m just saying it’s feeling like the only play.”

“You either end up in jail or dead that way. Like your—”

“Like my pops? I know, Yona. I know. And I don’t want to be like that bastard, but at this point…”

She stopped walking.

The sudden stillness made the night feel louder.

“Well… what if,” she hesitated, breath hitching just enough to feel, “what if there was another option?”

He stopped too. “I’m open to suggestions.”

She exhaled heavy. “Okay. What if you help me with my work?”

“At the call center? It doesn’t pay any better than the warehouse.”

“Actually… I don’t do that anymore. I’m a content creator.”

“Oh word? You started a channel? And it’s taking off? Why didn’t you say nothing? You tryna collab with me and Hassan? That’s wassup. If you’re doing numbers, it could change everything. I’m happy your shit is working out well enough that you can even extend a hand to me. That’s wassup.”

She watched the relief wash over him. Shoulders loosening. Steps lighter.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to work with my brother. Just you.”

“Why? Hassan do something? Want me to check him?”

“It’s not that. It would just be really weird because of the content I do.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Just us then. I’ll make a video with you. It’ll be lit. I always thought we’d be good on camera together. Truth be told, I’d rather have you as a partner than Hassan, but I can’t turn back time.”

He was all smiles now.

“Okay. I’ll send you the addy for where we’ll be filming.”

“You don’t use the apartment.”

“No. I prefer to use other places.”

“Oh, you go out and shoot? Like in public?”

She gave an awkward smile.

“Okay, bet. Just shoot me the location. I’ll be there. Oh my god. I can’t believe this. Thank you, Yona. I mean it.”

“You know I got you.” She took his hand again and started walking. It felt a little damper now, her palm slick against his skin, but he was too excited to notice.

They walked the rest of the way to the store, chatting about ideas for the video. Mostly him. She just smiled, laughed, and commented when it was appropriate.

Her grip stayed tight the whole time.