podyab

[podyab]

Posted this on my ig art account (po_dyab) recently, so thought I'd make her my first post here ‎♡‧₊˚

[podyab]

By now, you all must have seen the news that Gaza had officially run out of food, as one of the main aid suppliers in Gaza, World Food Program, had announced that their stock has been completely depleted, leaving just a few days for community kitchens to function.

This comes after more than 50 days (and counting) of Israel's complete closure of the borders, preventing food and medicine, among other life essentials, from entering Gaza. There are children crying out of hunger with trucks loaded with over 100,000 tons of food mere minutes away from them, which Israel continues to prevent from entering besieged Gaza.

This also comes after Israel had deliberately destroyed swaths of farmlands in Gaza, specifically targeting them with bombs and chemical weapons that destroy the chance of growing crops. Israel also made sure bakeries are destroyed as well as water sources.

Diabolical is an understatement when it comes to the Zionist entity.

There are still things you can do. On top of raising awareness and protesting when possible, independent organisations like APN are working directly with farmers in Gaza to rehabilitate the agricultural sector and restore local food systems to combat famine, counter the blockade and build food sovereignty. You can donate to their Revive Gaza's Farmlands initiative here.

Additionally, keep in mind that this means whatever food supplies remain available in Gaza now costs astronomical amounts of money, so keep sharing and donating to individual fundraising campaigns. Gazafunds is a good source if you're not sure where to start. Remember that your donations and shares are often the only source of hope for these families.

[podyab]

Came back to hange fics and this is what I'm graced with 🫣 thank youuu author ‎♡‧₊˚

Rival hange x fem reader au?

hey there! i don't know if you wanted another type of rivals, but the first thing that came to my mind was Academic Rivals. thanks for requesting! :3

Hange Zoë x Fem!reader as Academic Rivals

The rivalry between you and Hange Zoë was legendary on campus.

Both of you were on top of your class, constantly at each other's throats in debates, challenging each other in the lab, and racing to outdo one another on research papers. Professors loved the competitive energy; your classmates took bets on who would finally snap first.

But beyond the sharp words and cutting remarks, there was something else—something neither of you ever acknowledged. The glances held a fraction too long, the way Hange’s lips would quirk when they bested you, or the way your pulse would spike whenever they got too close.

At house parties, it was no different. You'd pretend not to notice Hange in their element, laughing too loud, leaning too close to others, sipping on cheap beer like they didn’t have a care in the world. Yet, your gaze always drifted back. And when you thought they weren’t looking, Hange did the same.

Tonight was no exception.

The party was buzzing, music thumping through the floorboards. You were perched on the couch, a drink in hand, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation with a flashy junior who was clearly interested in you. But then—Hange. Across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, their brown eyes flicking toward you for a second too long before darting away.

That was new.

You turned away fast, sipping on your and pretending you weren’t looking. But the thing about Hange? They noticed everything.

You didn’t even have to look to know they were watching you now.

And, God, it pissed you off.

So you did what you did best: ignored them.

But the night stretched on, and the tension tightened.

Hange was always there. In your periphery. Watching you when you thought they weren’t. Smirking when they knew you caught them.

You weren’t subtle, either. You watched the way they leaned in close to some girl, their lips brushing against the shell of her ear as they whispered something that made her giggle. You saw the way they downed their drink, brown eyes darting to you afterward, as if gauging your reaction.

Childish. Infuriating. Addicting.

Your head was buzzing—not just from the alcohol, but from the sheer frustration of it all. And when you finally locked eyes across the crowded room, something in the air shifted.

A silent challenge. An unspoken dare. Their brown eyes locked onto your sharp ones, their eyes were speaking volumes. As if saying—

Come and do something about it.

And you did.

You found yourself in the hallway, firmly pressed against the wall with their muscular arms caging you in, Hange stood tall in front of you, much too close.

You weren’t even sure how it happened—one minute, you were glaring at each other from across the room, the next, you were here, tension thrumming between you like a live wire.

Hange tilted their head, voice teasing. “You’ve been staring all night.”

You scoffed, sharp eyes glaring up at their brown ones, dark behind their thick-rimmed glasses. “You fucking wish.”

They hummed, their voice dipping. “Oh, come on baby. I know when a girl wants me.”

Your fingers curled into fists, hands trembling and brows furrowing. “Cocky bastard.”

Hange's lips quirked up into a lopsided smirk. “And yet, here you are.”

Their eyes flicked down as you stared up at them, gazing down at your form with a look of something in their eyes. Your top barely clung onto your torso, giving Hange a real good view from up there—thank god you left your sweater on the couch in the other room, they bit their lower lip with half-lidded eyes. Their fingers twitched, itching to touch and feel your bare skin.

God, they were so close. Their scent—something faintly like whiskey and the sharp, electric scent of a thunderstorm—filled your senses.

“You’re always like this,” you muttered under your breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Always pushing. Always���”

Hange suddenly cut you off, their lips crashing against yours.

For a second, your brain short-circuited.

Then you kissed them back, subconsciously.

It was desperate, all sharp teeth and tangled fingers as you grabbed at their wrinkled button-up, pulling them impossibly closer. Hange’s hands found your waist, gripping tight like they’d been waiting for this, just as much as you had.

A low groan rumbled from their throat as they pressed you back against the wall, their lips moving hungrily against yours. It was all heat, all the years of tension unraveling in one moment.

You barely registered the distant sounds of the party—music, laughter, people moving around. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was Hange, their hands roaming your body, their lips moving to your jaw, your neck, licking and teasing.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your head tilting back as they bit down just enough to make your skin tingle.

Hange grinned against your throat. “I knew you wanted me.”

Your nails dug into their shoulders, and you flipped the two of you, pressing them against the wall this time.

“Shut up,” you breathed.

And then you kissed them again.

The moment your lips crashed together, you knew there was no turning back.

Hange kissed like they argued—with passion, with no hesitation, with a fire that dared you to match them or fall apart trying. You had spent years at war with them, fighting over grades, professors’ praise, and academic superiority.

Now, you were fighting for something else entirely.

A small gasp slipped past your lips as your back hit the door with a small thud, they took the chance to slide their tongue in between your lips, their hands moving to grope your ass roughly.

Their fingers curled around your waist, pulling you flush against them, and the heat between you was unbearable. Their mouth was insistent, devouring, stealing every breath from your lungs as they backed you against the nearest door.

You barely registered the way they fumbled behind you, pushing it open.

Then the two of you tumbled inside, lips never parting, hands never still.

The door slammed shut.

A bedroom. Someone’s—who cared? The party was still buzzing outside, but in here, the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

Hange’s hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your top, fingertips burning against your skin. “You have no idea,” they murmured against your soft lips, breathless, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Your nails dragged down their back, feeling the muscles beneath their shirt tense. “Shut up and do something about it.”

Hange growled—a real, deep sound from their chest—and then they were on you.

Their mouth trailed down your jaw, your neck, biting at the skin just enough to leave a mark. Their hands pushed your shirt up, over your head, before their lips were on your collarbone, lower, lower—

You gasped as they sucked a bruise into the skin of your cleavage, reveling in the way your body shivered under their touch. “I hate you,” you whispered.

Hange smirked against your skin. “Yeah, do you?"

You would have had some smart comeback—something snarky, something sharp—but then their hands slipped inside the waistband of your pants, then your panties, and all coherent thought shattered.

You arched into their touch, a soft moan escaping before you could stop it. Hange groaned, their other hand slipping inside your bra to cup your breast in their palm. “Fuck, you feel so good.” they muttered, their voice raspier than before.

Clothes disappeared—thrown somewhere, forgotten. Their hands mapped every inch of your body, and you returned the favor, nails digging into their skin, drinking in every sound they made.

Everything blurred—heat, friction, tangled limbs, the way their body fit against yours like this was always inevitable. Their name spilled from your lips, over and over, and the way they said yours—desperate, hungry—sent a thrill down your spine.

And when the tension finally snapped, when you shattered beneath them, you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t just years of pent-up frustration exploding in one night.

This wasn’t just lust.

This was something much, much more dangerous.

Because when it was over, when the two of you lay tangled in each other, bodies still humming, Hange let out a breathless laugh.

“Told you,” they murmured against your skin. “You wanted me.”

You scoffed, fingers tracing lazy circles against their back. “Shut up.”

Hange grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away.

-

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting golden streaks over tangled sheets and bare skin.

For a few blissful moments, you were warm, comfortable, and pleasantly sore in all the right places.

And then reality hit.

Your eyes snapped open, heart pounding as the events of last night came crashing back. The party. The hallway. The heated kisses. Hange pressing you against the door, their hands on your body, their lips dragging moans from your throat—

Oh, fuck.

You stiffened, barely breathing, turning your head ever so slightly.

Hange Zoë was sprawled next to you, their muscular arm lazily draped across your waist, their bare chest rising and falling with even breaths. Their glasses—somehow still intact—were askew on the nightstand. Their brown hair was a complete disaster, and a few bruises decorated the tan skin of their neck, and down to their collarbone.

Bruises from you.

Shit.

Carefully, you started to move, slipping from beneath the tight hold on their arm around your waist. If you were lucky, you could leave before—

“Running away?”

Their voice, deeper than usual, had you frozen in place.

Slowly, you turned back. Hange’s brown eyes were barely open, but that familiar smirk played on their lips, your lipstick smeared all over their lips, lazy and satisfied.

You swallowed, trying to play it cool. “Just leaving before you start gloating.”

Hange chuckled, stretching, shameless in their nudity. Though it wasn't an unpleasant sight, they were ripped. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to gloat. You’ll be thinking about me all day anyway.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked them in the face.

“Hey!” They laughed, catching your wrist and pulling you back down, hovering over you now. Their gaze flickered over your face—something softer, unreadable, before their smirk returned. “C’mon darling, admit it. That was fun.”

It was beyond fun. It was the best sex of your life. But you refused to give them the satisfaction.

You huffed, fingers weakly pushing at their chest. “You're fucking crazy.”

Hange smirked. “I fucked you crazy.”

You hated how they threw your own words back at you, how they were always so good at making you flustered.

With a final shove, you rolled out of bed, grabbing your discarded clothes on the floor. Hange propped themselves up on their elbows, licking their lip as they stared at your ass as slipped your panties back on.

“What, no morning cuddles?”

You shot them a glare, already irritated. “We are not doing this again.”

Hange only chuckled. “Sure.”

You sighed softly, double checking yourself in the mirror. “You skipping class?”

Hange tilted their head, considering. “Maybe.”

You turned to leave.

“Hey.” Their voice was quieter now.

You glanced back, sharp eyes narrowing at them.

Hange’s expression had softened, just slightly. “You do look cute when you’re flustered.”

You turned your back at them, ignoring the feeling of blood rushing up to your cheeks as you slammed the door shut behind you.

You weren’t sure what you expected after that night, you cursed yourself for fucking up, contemplating on whether you should avoid Hange or act like they didn't just rearrange your guts and make you cum on their tongue.

Maybe you thought things would be unbearably awkward—that you and Hange would avoid each other, pretend it never happened. Maybe you thought it would turn into something casual, something secret, stolen moments in the library or between classes.

What you didn’t expect was this:

Hange Zoë, still your biggest rival, but with less aggression and a lot more teasing.

They were still competitive, still determined to outshine you, but now, there was a new game—one that involved stolen smirks, lingering touches when no one was looking, and whispered remarks just close enough to your ear to send shivers down your spine.

In class, Hange would “accidentally” sit next to you, nudging your foot under the table. During debates, their eyes would glint with amusement instead of just challenge. When you rolled your eyes at one of their remarks, they’d only smirk like they knew what your eye-rolls looked like in much different circumstances.

And the worst part You didn’t hate it.

You still bickered. Still fought for the top spot. But now, it wasn’t just war—it was playful. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind losing to them once in a while.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

One Month Later

You sat in the library, scrolling through your notes, determined to focus on your research.

Then a shadow fell over your desk.

You didn’t even have look up to know who the shadow belonged to. “Go away, Zoë.”

A chair scraped against the floor as Hange plopped down across from you, looking over your shoulder. “What, no warm welcome?”

You exhaled sharply. “I have work to do.”

Hange leaned closer, eyes flicking to your notes. “You’re researching the migration patterns of what species?”

You shot them an irritated glare. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“I do care,” they said, grinning. “Because I’m going to destroy you in the next research presentation.”

You scoffed. “Go away.”

Hange’s smirk grew, their foot nudging yours under the table.

You clicked your tongue.

It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you felt it. And the way Hange looked at you—unbothered, mischievous, like they knew exactly what they were doing—made your stomach flip.

This had become your new game.

A battle of wits and stolen touches, of sharp words and softer ones hidden between the lines.

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. When I destroy you in the presentation, then will you leave me alone?”

Hange grinned. “No chance.”

The rivalry was still there. But now, there was something else, something deeper.

um hey so i'll make a second part of this because i got lazy and i also ran out of ideas. thanks for reading, i'll publish part 2 soon. :3

[podyab]

First reblog hihi 🚶🏾

summary: in which sevika becomes your roommate. read part two here

content: this fic is 4-5 chapters long. i'm still trying to figure out if i should condense it to 4 or keep it at five. mostly gay pinning, fluff, angst and small slivers of smut (not very good at smut writing but i'm trying)

word count: 5k

thanks for reading!

Chapter One

It all started when your best friend told you she was moving out…

You both shared a flat, and for the last near decade or so, everything had relatively been good.

Until it wasn't.

“I know it's kind of bittersweet but,” Mel shrugs, looking down at the ice cream cone in her hand. Remnants of the vanilla treat gather above her top lip. You almost say something but she licks it away with one clean swipe of her tongue. “Alicia has been talking about this for almost a year. And I think it's time we take the next step.”

Alicia is Mel’s long-term girlfriend. Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. It's a miracle that they haven't already moved in together considering how long they’ve been in each other’s lives. You should be happy for them. You really should. But a part of you keeps thinking about the upcoming renewal of the lease and the empty space that’ll fill up Mel’s side of the apartment once she leaves.

The two of you have been living together for a huge chunk of your adulthood. Honestly, the thought of returning home to Mel has been your norm for almost as long as you’ve been filing tax returns.

And now—she’s moving.

Leaving.

Just like that.

“Oh,” She croons. Her ice cream cone nearly falls as she scooches closer to you. “Don't cry.”

Your tears drip down your cheeks before trailing the slope of your jaw.

You aren’t surprised. This reaction is warranted. You aren't good at goodbyes.

Actually, no—this isn't quite a goodbye.

But it sure as hell feels just as painful.

There's not enough breathing exercises that’ll prepare you for the life transition that's doomed to happen. A chapter of your adulthood is closing right before your eyes. Mel will move out, marry Alicia, and have annoyingly cute babies. You’ll be the designated bestfriend–turned–aunt that will always feel stuck; left behind. 

It will be horrible.

“Nothing will change,” Mel comforts. She tries to multitask the art of devouring her ice cream while slinging her free arm around you. Her bubbling optimism is nearly comedic compared to your wallowing spirits.

“Everything will change!” Your voice cracks, body jerking as your lungs cause you to inhale sharp uneven gasps. “You've replaced me with Alicia as your roommate. Is she asking for the best friend title too?”

“Oh god—babe,” Another lick of her ice cream. She's trying to contain her laughter. The nerve of her! “I’ll always be your best friend. You know that.” She squeezes your shoulder. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Your eyes burn more and another melodramatic wail leaves you.

The image of you–old and decrepit–in a nursing home comes to fruition. You're in the bed, smelly and miserable, while Alicia and Mel stand before you. They're old too, but far more beautiful. Far more accomplished. Less lonely. Still married. Still happy. 

Oh, and their kids are probably there in the room too; asking Mel why “their Aunt hasn't been properly groomed?”

Mel is absolutely wrong.

Everything will certainly not be okay. 

After a few days of sulking, you have a change of heart when Mel says, “I think I’ve found you a new roommate.”

Suddenly, the imminent doom of Mel moving out doesn’t seem so harrowing. Of course it still saddens you–she’s your best friend after all–but you’re no longer burdened with the stress of trying to find her replacement. 

You and Mel butt heads about a ton of senseless things, but she never disappoints you on the most important matters. 

So if she thinks that someone is suitable enough to be your roommate, then you have hope that she’s right. 

“Who?” Your head snaps up as you look at her. She stands on the other side of the kitchen island, elbows leaning against the wooden countertop and chin resting in her palms. You were mopping the floor–a truly rare occurrence for you–when Mel came out of her room to announce the good news. 

“You know how Alicia goes out with her teammates every now and then?” 

Your memory travels to the brief conversations of Mel mentioning this in the past. Alicia used to be a college athlete during her undergrad. Apparently, she still has a budding relationship with a few of her old teammates, and likes to go to dinners with them to catch up every few months. 

“Well,” Mel continues. “Her friend, Sevika, hasn’t been able to come to the dinners these last few years because she lived up north for a while. But she’s back in town. And I guess she doesn’t like the place she’s at. Apparently, it’s too close to the city. Too hectic. She’s been looking at places in our neighborhood. And when Alicia mentioned it to me, I just figured...”

You nod slowly in understanding, “Oh.”

“I mean, it’s kind of working out perfectly…rather coincidental but I just thought it would make you feel better if your next roommate wasn’t a complete stranger.”

“Do you know her well?”

“I’ve hung out with Sevika countless times before she moved away.” The brown irises of Mel’s eyes become distant; as if she’s drifting off to another time. “God, that feels like so long ago somehow... But I think you’d like her.” Her lips pull into a small smile. “She seems a bit remote at first but it’s all fun and games. I promise.”

“Okay,” You shake your head, trying to wrap your brain around it all. “And you’re sure that she’s–I mean, not that I don’t trust your word. I’m just nervous, I suppose. She isn’t like–”

“Sevika’s good people,” Mel laughs, gazing at you with understanding. “But I get it. So here’s what I was thinking… We can host a brunch and invite her over? That way you can meet her formally and get to know her. Maybe show her around the place? As much as I want this to pan out great, it’s still your decision to make at the end of the day.” She pauses a few beats, trying to gauge your reaction. “What do you think?”

Your hands fiddle with the top of the swiffer handle as you weigh your options. You had put together a more elaborate and time consuming plan prior to today; which would have consisted of flyers and roommate interviews and even Facebook posts. Of course, posting to Facebook would have been the last resort; an addition to the plan that you only added out of mere desperation. But it was a plan nonetheless.

Mel’s offer is more tempting. 

“Okay,” You sigh, squeezing the handle of the swiffer. “But if this doesn’t work out, then you owe me ice cream.”

She beams, clapping her hands together excitedly. 

“And not the cheap kind,” You add. “I’m talking Cold Stone.”

Mel doesn’t appear to be fazed. Instead, she turns on her heels, making her way back to her room. “I’m gonna call Alicia and let her know!” The exclamation has a song-like lilt to it; a clear indication of her delight.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting off a grin while you carry the swiffer to the trash can.

Your thumb absentmindedly plays with the stringy bracelet decorating your right wrist; a gift that Mel gave you over ten years ago when the two of you first became friends. It’s nearly falling apart now, but still a staple piece in your daily attire. You find yourself looming over the possible outcome of tonight’s gathering–for the ‘nth time–as your stomach stirs with unease. 

It’s not like you haven’t been obsessively ruminating over this very evening. It’s all you’ve been able to think about ever since Mel helped you plan it last week. But despite all of the preparation, your mouth still remains dry.

You’re seated at the dining table, with Mel to your right and Alicia right across from her. Sevika faces you directly, which is a circumstance you tried to desperately avoid upon Mel’s suggestion.

“How do you guys like the food?” Mel asks. “I can proudly say that I’ve managed to keep the kitchen intact while I was preparing it.”

Alicia’s eyes twinkle when she glances at her girlfriend. “It’s good, honey. Thank you.”

A pair of alert grey irises flicker to you: Sevika’s. 

The woman studies you with a gaze that is piercing and direct. She takes you in fully–something that she’s been doing all night–which makes you feel as if you’re under inspection. You can’t decide whether or not you like that about her.

“It was nice, Mel.” You reply. You wolfed down your food the minute your plate was served. So now you’re just awkwardly waiting for everyone else to finish their meal.

You usually don’t eat so quickly, but the task gave you something else to distract yourself with, rather than Sevika’s scrutiny. 

But despite doing everything possible to avoid her stare, you can’t help but notice the calm and leisure way she eats her food. From what you’ve gathered, she doesn’t seem fond of mixing meals with conversation. But there’s still a pleasant way that she dines. 

The oscillation of her jaw, especially with every chew, is a trait that you find particularly distracting…

“So, are you enjoying your return to town?” Mel inquires, turning to Sevika. She’s always had the talent of conversing with the least willing. 

It takes a few seconds for Sevika to shift her gaze away from you.

You feel your muscles relax when she does.

“Yeah, it’s been good,” Sevika’s voice adopts an amiable timbre; a pattern you’ve picked up on every time she addresses Mel. “The traffic sucks on the east side, but that's nothing new.”

Mel hums in understanding. “Well, I think you’ll like it here.The people are quieter. Life is slower.” 

That’s when Alicia takes that as her cue to wrap her arm around Sevika’s shoulder. They’re both nearly the same height, only Alicia is leaner. 

“It’s good that you’re back home,” Alicia butts in. “You’re getting wrinkles. You’ve been frowning too much.”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “I’ve been perfectly fine.”

“Is that so? I heard…”

You’re ripped from their conversation when Mel wraps her fingers around your bicep. She leans into your ear, whispering, “Let’s go to the kitchen.” 

You follow her without question.

It’s not until you’re grabbing the fruit salad out of the refrigerator when she says, “How are you liking her so far?”

You bite the inside of your cheek while carrying the dessert to the counter. 

“I don’t know.” You try to sort through your feelings to find some sort of opinion–anything–that can help you identify your stance. But it’s to no avail. “She’s a bit intense, don’t you think?” 

“Well,” Mel snickers. “I suppose.”

You glance up at her, noticing the way that she’s covering her smile with her hand. She flutters her eyelashes coyly, “But is that not a good thing? You’ve been staring at her all evening.” She continues, wiggling her eyebrow.

“Please don’t.”

“What? I’m just saying…”

“There’s nothing that needs to be said.”

“...the tension has been palpable ever since you laid eyes on her. You don’t have to make it into a bad thing, babe. You both are grown adults here.” 

Your jaw is clenching when you mutter, “Well, you're off-base on this one.”

You think you hear her laugh again, but you don’t have the energy to entertain it. Instead, you turn around and march back to the dining room.

Your eyes are slightly droopy from the combination of wine and dinner that sloshes in your belly.

Under the haze of the ceiling lamps, you stand with your arms folded across your chest.

“This would be your room,” You’re mumbling. Sevika hums beside you, only a few feet away. She’s so far yet so close. Too close.

Yet not close enough.

You feel silly for thinking such thoughts. 

It must be the wine.

The floorboards creak underneath her weight as she inspects the room. It has a fair amount of space in it. It’s larger than your room for sure. The connecting bathroom is smaller than yours though–a bargain that you and Mel made over a decade ago.

Sevika travels to a nearby wall, inspecting the paint job for a few seconds before peering at you.

Despite the warmth emanating from the heating system, a cool shiver runs through you. 

Your voice dips with humor when you explain that, “Mel painted it a while back.”

You examine the way she pushes her tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of her nose. A vein from her right forearm flexes due to the movement. 

She smiles, poised and reposeful. 

“Figures,” That’s when you notice the fullness of her lips—her prominent cupid's bow, and how well they look when spread into a grin like that.

She stretches her arms above her head, back arching as she seemingly holds back a yawn. You fight the urge to do the same, eyes trailing over her physique before you can stop yourself. Sevika looks strong–really strong. Her arms are thick bands of pure muscle and her broad shoulders barely concave from the movement.

She’s wearing a long-sleeved button up, which has a toffee silk-like material. You don’t realize how low her black slacks are sitting on her hips until the hem of her shirt rises. A happy trail peaks through, as well as deeply grooved muscles. 

The sight feels sacrilegious and simultaneously pious. Your eyelids are heavy, droopy, when her muscles relax and her arms fall to her sides. You draw your attention back to her face. She’s caught you, eyebrows lifted and lips pursed to the side–an attempt to mask her amusement? You don’t know. Or at least, you don’t want to. 

With the sudden pounding of your heart, you gesture behind you, “I can show you the laundry room?” Your desire to escape has never felt so prominent until then.

You're beginning to realize that she makes it hard for you to breathe when you’re around her.

Laughter rings in the air between everyone–Sevika, you, Alicia and Mel–while Alicia tells a funny story about a customer she had a few days prior. You’re wearing one of your nighttime sweaters now, a glass of wine in your hand, while all of you sit in the living room. 

Sevika cards her hand through her hair. It’s no longer in its bun, meeting the sides of her face with buoyancy. The length is much longer than you initially thought, stopping a few inches below her neck; a feathery cut that frames her face quite perfectly.

She sits with her legs parted, left arm resting along the back of the couch. Her fingers lay a few inches from your right shoulder. With a mere flex of her hand, she’d be able to touch you. 

Amidst the ring of Alicia’s voice–she’s going into detail about another story now–you turn to Sevika and ask, “Are you a heavy sleeper?”

You receive a better angle of her chiseled jaw when she tilts her head, expression contemplative while she thinks of an answer. You aren’t sure why it takes her so long since it’s not necessarily a loaded question to ask, but still—you allow her to think.

“Not really,” Her eyes dart back to you. “Is that a deal breaker?”

“I'm not sure,” You blink through a daze, overcome with an unexpected wave of tranquility due to her regard. “I listen to music sometimes in the middle of the night. It helps with my insomnia.”

“...Well, is it loud?”

“Not all the time. But you may hear it faintly.”

A nod. “Then that’s fine with me.”

You swivel the wine in your hand, “Besides going out for work, a lot of my hobbies consist of me being at home. You’ll probably see me a lot.”

“Not a problem.”

“I’m not incredibly messy or dirty but…” Your palms sweat from the loose confession. “I’m not a neat freak. And I don't like mornings. I'm really grumpy any hour before 11. Like—I will not speak if I can avoid it. And I’m a terrible cook.”

She looks away from you momentarily, lips rubbing together as her hand flexes. You grow rigid at the motion; she’s only inches away from coming in contact with your shoulder. Then her fingers relax. She looks back at you. Her lips part, “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

Her left eyebrow twitches. “You call the shots. If you don't think it’ll work, I can look into renting somewhere else.”

“I'm just trying to be transparent with you as much as possible.” 

You don't want any surprises. The last thing you need is the false hope of thinking this will work just to ultimately have the infamous roommate disagreements that you've heard too much about. 

You got lucky with Mel. 

For 13 years, you’ve managed to have the best roommate dynamic. But now she's leaving soon. And you fear that those 13 years have just been a fluke.

If Sevika is truly serious about moving in, you need to make sure that it'll be a right fit.

“Do you have any kids?” You find yourself asking.

She lets out a gusty breath; a dry chuckle mixed with a hint of disbelief. For a second, you fear that you've offended her.

But then she's replying, “God no.” She grins with her head slightly shaking. You swear she leans a few inches closer as she adds, “Do you?”

You blink. You swallow. You try to not get distracted by the swirling grey of her irises. They're quite pretty. Too pretty. Unbelievably pretty.

“Definitely not.” 

Her grin widens, “Okay, so we at least have that in common.” She allows her eyes to flicker to other features of your face; your eyebrows, then your cheeks, then your nose. “Are there any other incriminating questions that you have?”

“Of course.”

She laughs again and her eyes fall shut. There's a part of you that wants to draw closer to her at that moment. But you remain where you are; as if you’re resisting the tug of a rope. 

“Okay,” She mutters, voice a gentle hum while her lips remain pulled into a grin. 

“Does that annoy you?” You find yourself asking. It’s a silent test. You want to know if this will turn her away. Is she willing to answer your long list of questions? And if she is–will you find something about her that you don’t like? 

“No, I don’t mind at all.” Her eyes flutter open slowly, blazing a stormy grey when they land on you. “Ask however many questions you need.” 

Her hand flexes once more. This time you feel it. It’s the slightest graze, and too fleeting for it to feel real. The tip of her forefingers brush against the material of your shirt, at the very top of your bicep, before she’s running her hand through her hair. It could have been an accident–a mere sweep due to her close proximity–but you guess you’d never truly know.  

Your breathing falters. She blinks at you with a placid expression, seemingly unfazed. 

“Okay,” You clear your throat, shifting your weight restlessly. You try to put more distance between you two by subtly scooting a few inches to your left.

“...Going to get some more wine. Be right back!’ Mel calls. 

The bubble around you and Sevika bursts.

You’re submerged into the sound of the TV playing an Old Navy commercial. Alicia stares at the screen with droopy eyes, feet propped up in the recliner chair and hands clasped together as they rest on her stomach. She hums lazily at Mel’s announcement. Faintly, you begin to hear Mel rummaging through the kitchen: the clanging of silverware, the rush of running water, then the thump! of a closing cupboard. The calming livelihood of Mel and Alicia’s existence buzzes around you. But you somehow find yourself turning back towards Sevika because, although you don't want to admit it, she’s a new enigma that’s hurdled into your life. 

She beholds you with remarkable patience, elbow now resting against the back of the couch as she cradles her temple with her hand. 

“So…” She says, voice laced with an expectation. She’s waiting on you.

“Right,” You nod. You shake your head in an attempt to clear the brain fog. Must be the alcohol... "Do you smoke?”

Sevika does smoke; she has a preference for cigars. 

She’s a tattoo artist, which you never pinned her for. But after a few seconds of contemplation, it makes sense. She tells you that it’s been her career for a long time now.

She’s quite the morning person and a bit meticulous about her living environment. She likes to cook and happily divulges in burning incense. She doesn't have very many friends, but the ones she does have are practically her family—who, she assures with an unwavering gaze, are people that, “You will love.”

She doesn't watch much television, but she does have a knack for sports. “I like to have my friends over on game days,” She admits, sending you a sidelong glance. “Would that be something you're okay with?”

Not much time passes before you're nodding your head yes.

Sevika has no siblings and no parents. Her parents passed away a while back–a fact that you seemed more saddened by than her–and left her their house, which is why she moved out of town a few years ago.

When you ask her why she’s decided to return, she doesn't answer. 

It’s your only question that makes her come to a full stop.

When the night ends and she’s getting ready to leave the apartment with Alicia quickly behind her, it’s the only question that's lingering in your mind.

And after Mel closes the door, bolts it shut and asks, “Any red flags from Sevika?”

It’s the sole reason why you find yourself hesitating, wanting—for some strange reason—to tell Mel yes. Even though every fiber of your being knows that the true answer is no.

Sevika’s vehicle is exactly the sort of car you’d picture her in. A sleek black Ram 1500 sits in front of you. Your eyes are wandering. You can't help it. You don't want to make it into a thing. It's only a truck after all…

But you've always admired cars, especially the big shiny ones.

 “I would have showed you this days ago had I known you’d be so pleased,” Sevika muses. That's when you draw your attention back to her. "I didn't know you liked cars so much."

She's gazing at you with the smallest form of a smirk on her face. You want to wipe it off; you feel vulnerable somehow. Exposed.

Your blink wordlessly, breath shallowing and palms clamming up. 

How is she so infuriatingly good looking? 

Then, as if you've suddenly become aware of everything else about her, you're taking the rest of her body into account. Her bulging biceps are flexed due to the moving box in her arms. Small beads of sweat collect at the base of her neck…some sliding into the dips of her collarbones. Her hair is pulled into a low bun, highlighting the clenching of her jaw as she chews her gum; minty breath wafting towards you. Your stomach dips. 

“Shut up,” You mutter.

Her grin widens. She laughs. You struggle to suppress one yourself. 

She doesn't say anything else.

You stand awkwardly by her truck as she turns to walk into the apartment. 

A part of you doesn't know what to make of this. Here you are, moving a woman that you've just met into your apartment, with no idea of how this will turn out.

You feel like you're floundering through life. Surely, everyone else your age is settled down with a family and a secure living environment—not stressing over the prospect of a new roommate. This situation feels too…juvenile. It would make sense for a younger version of yourself to be facing roommate insecurity. It would make sense for your younger self to grow uncharacteristically flustered and perturbed around someone like Sevika.

But not now. No—certainly not now.

The sound of Sevika’s footsteps pull you from your reverie. When you glance in her direction, the first thing you notice is the quirk of her eyebrows. You shift your weight, wringing your hands as you work up the courage to say, “I can help,” You clear your throat. “If you want.”

She’s in the middle of grabbing another box from her car but stops mid-reach from the sound of your offer. She cranes her neck, lines appearing in her forehead as she mutters, “I’m good.”

You take offense to that. Does she think you're weak? That you're not strong enough to carry a few stupid boxes? Or worse—has she already found a reason to dislike you?

Goosebumps trail up your back.

“I’m strong enough, you know.” You find yourself tilting your chin up defiantly. 

“Is that so?”

“I may not be ripped like you,” You fold your arms across your chest and you hear a snort. A fucking snort! “But I don't do pilates for nothing."

That's when she stands upright, two stacked boxes now in her arms. She manages to rest them on her left hip, closing the back door in one swift motion.

"Yeah?" Then she’s tilting her head slightly, appraising you with an expression that nearly sets you on fire. "You think I'm strong?"

The world around you spins and you're nearly knocked off balance.

There's a part of your spirit that uncurls. Heat plants a seed in your gut then burns, burns, burns.

Perspiration has gathered at the base of your neck, and one bead of sweat drips down the slope of your spine. Then another. You're scowling at her, a reaction that she seems to enjoy, when you feel the drip of one more.

She takes your silence without question. Her irises trail down to your crossed arms then back up to your face before continuing. “You don't have to lift a single one of those pretty fingers for me.” Then you feel her warmth—her touch—at the tip of your chin. It's a small brush with her index finger, yet strong enough to tilt your head before she's pulling away. Then she's grabbing the boxes with both of her hands, snickering under her breath while adding, “But since you seem like the adamant type—be my guest, darling.”

Your legs tremble when she brushes past you.

For the rest of the evening, you allow her to settle into the apartment without your help.

“Sevika?” Your voice is scratchy from lack of use. “Can you help me?”

You're frustrated because you can't find your favorite mug. The entire kitchen is spotless—a sort of clean you haven't seen in ages. You're grateful for Sevika—truly, you are. But due to how organized it all is, you now have difficulty locating everything. The way she cleans and sorts through the apartment is completely different from your way. 

Irritated, you call her name again. But no answer.

You know that she’s in her room because her door is closed. It’s only been a few days since she’s moved in but you’ve started to notice that she likes to leave it open when she's not in there. 

You sigh, storming to her room. You have a taste for tea, something you've been craving all morning. And now that you've finally finished your work, you’d been so excited to drink it. 

But now you're completely turned about by the state of the kitchen. Nothing is where you usually keep it.

“Sevika!” You practically bark, voice growing thin. “Are you awake?”

You're about to knock on her door—a disturbance that would surely wake her if she's in a deep slumber—but then it flies open. And there she stands, wearing a pair of boxers and a tank top. She appears to have just showered, hair seemingly damp and towel in her hand. That familiar woodsy scent of hers hits you like a tide wave, but this time it’s tenfold stronger than what it usually is.

“Is there a reason why you're shouting my name at 10 AM?”

You swallow thickly. Your mouth has suddenly become dry. “I can't find the mugs.”

Sevika blinks slowly then mutters, “What?”

“The mugs. They're a type of cup, cylindrical in size? Often used to drink things like coffee, tea, hot ch-”

“They're in the cupboard by the refrigerator.”

“...”

“...”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why are they in there? I’ve never put them there before.”

“You could barely reach the cupboard they were originally in—”

“That's why I have a stepping stool!”

“So I figured it would be easier if they were moved to one that's more accessible for you. I told you about this Tuesday. Do you not remember?”

“...You never told me that.”

“Yes,” Her jaw grinds. “I did. You were talking to Mel on facetime and nearly ate shit when grabbing that awfully gaudy mug you like,” Oh. “So I told you that I would move it to the cupboard by the refrigerator,” Oh. “And you looked me right in the eye, smiled and said you thought that was a great idea.” Fuck. “...Do you not remember that?”

That’s right.

You did say that.

Your heartbeat skips from the piercing silence.

God, she's going to think you're crazy now.

Sevika sighs. 

Shoving down a mountain of guilt, you shift your weight, “I’m sorry. I don't think I actually processed that conversation when it happened.”

She isn't quick to reply, and you're not sure where to go from there. So you add, “Um, would you like some tea?”

As a peace offering, you make Sevika a cup of tea the next morning too.

The third day is when you have to go back to work, so you force yourself awake earlier than you want. There's still a small chip of guilt weighing on your shoulders that morning, so you fix Sevika a cup of tea again.

You also do it for that following morning because it's Saturday. Who wouldn't want tea on Saturday?

Sunday is a lazy day for Sevika. But somehow she's already in the kitchen when you stumble in at a harrowing 8am. She's waiting for the toaster oven to sound when you pull two mugs out of the cupboard. Even after the appliance dings, she lingers with you in the kitchen, silently eating her toast while you prepare the kettle. Ten minutes later, she’s drinking her tea while her elbows lean against the island counter. 

You hold onto your mug tightly and listen to the chirping of the birds in the distance. The only other sound that is audible are her even breaths. 

You don't know how you've settled into such a routine after 8 days of living with her. But somehow, standing in the middle of the kitchen together with nothing but comfortable silence, you think that you’ve found the oasis of serenity.