Chapter Text
Zoey pressed her forehead against the edge of the cardboard box, silently begging the material to hold strong for just a moment longer. Inside were mugs, thrift store plates, and exactly three wine glasses. Her entire culinary empire- and she was ninety percent sure the bottom was about to give out. Perfect. New apartment, new roommate, same old disaster.
Zoey shuffled the rest of her way to the door, clinging to the bottom of the box for dear life. Her knuckles whitened, her hands acting as the only barrier between herself and a pile of shattered glass at her feet. She stopped in front of a door, the number 317 written on a plaque. She hesitated for a second, unsure whether or not to knock or just let herself in. This was fine. Totally fine. She could do this, she thought to herself as she stood face to face with the closed door. People move in with strangers all the time. People, however, don't combust from awkward small talk.
Still, she caught herself muttering under her breath, rehearsing what she’d say when met with her new roomie:
“Hi, I'm Zoey, thanks for taking me in.”
“Hi, I'm Zoey, I promise I'm not a secret serial killer.”
“Hi, I'm Zoey, and I will definitely break at least one of your things within the first week.”
She let out a loud breath and brought up her knee to support the box in her hand as she knocked on the door. Silence. Shit. Was she at the wrong place? No, apartment 317. She had memorized those three numbers in order to save herself some level of embarrassment had she managed to find herself in this exact situation.
Too far lost in her own thoughts, Zoey didn't even notice the door open. Or the woman standing in the doorway, watching her. Her expression was mostly blank, her eyes analyzing every inch of Zoey. “You’re here,” the woman said as she side stepped and held the door open. Her tone was flat, not unfriendly, but not exactly what you’d consider welcoming either. Zoey took a step inside, pausing in the doorway to soak in the environment surrounding her. The apartment was… neat. The kind of neat that looks intentional, not just empty. A blanket hung perfectly on the back of a chair. The spice rack on the kitchen counter was alphabetized – alphabetized – and there was a laptop open on the table, screen casting a soft glow into an otherwise dim dining room.
Her chest tightened. God, what had she signed up for? Clearly this girl had her shit together. Zoey shuffled over to the kitchen, where she carefully slid the fragile box onto the countertop. She tugged self-consciously at the sleeve of her sweater as she looked back at the woman still lingering in the doorway, her eyes watching intently. The silence began to eat away at Zoey, so she attempted to fill it. “Sorry– I– is it okay if I leave this box here? Just for a minute? I have more in the hall I should go grab. Actually, I can probably leave it–”
“It's fine.”
“Oh,” Zoey paused, caught off guard by the shortness of the girl’s words. She had spoken with her many times by now, but they were all online. She knew the girl standing in front of her to be short with responses, but part of her figured maybe it would be different in person. “I– um, I'm Zoey, by the way.” She extended an awkward hand towards the girl in front of her, then in an instant became aware of the distance between them. She hurriedly dropped it again to her side.
“Yeah, Mira.”
Her voice was even, clipped, like she was confirming a reservation instead of introducing herself. Zoey nodded too quickly, rocking back on her heels.
“Right. Mira. Got it.” She tried for a smile, but it wobbled. She took another moment to soak in her surroundings. “So, uh… nice place. Very… clean. Like, magazine clean. You could probably eat off these floors.” Mira’s brow ticked up, just faint enough to go unnoticed.
“I wouldn't recommend it.”
“Right.” Zoey let out a soft laugh, her cheeks slowly warming. “Joking. Totally just a joke.” Silence again. Heavy, but not hostile– just filled with all the words Zoey wished Mira would say, and the ones Mira refused to. Desperate to fill it, Zoey drifted toward the counter adjacent to her. Her gaze landed again on the spice rack, every label lined up perfectly. “Okay, I just have to ask,” she said, tilting up one shaker to read the label on it. “Alphabetized?”
Mira glanced at it, then back to Zoey, “It's efficient.”
“Efficient,” Zoey repeated, drawing the word out. “Right..” She leaned sideways on the counter, eyes fixed on the girl in front of her. “I love that you said that with a straight face. Do you, like, audit the pantry too? Make sure the rice isn't, I don't know, fraternizing with the pasta?”
Mira blinked once. “Rice goes on the bottom shelf. Pasta goes on the second.”
Zoey snorted, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “Oh my god, you're serious.” Mira didn't answer, just crossed the room and adjusted the shaker Zoey had left crooked in the rack, turning it so the label lined up perfectly again. Zoey watched, biting the inside of her cheek before speaking, “Okay so you might hate me. Let’s just say, I'm organized in spirit. Which means I can find my things, but no one else can. It's a system. Chaotic genius kinda vibe.”
“So… chaos.”
“Controlled chaos,” Zoey corrected, “with personality, I like to say.” Mira exhaled through her nose, a sound that might’ve been amusement, if she’d let it be. Zoey grinned, heart easing just a bit.
Okay, maybe this wasn't a total disaster.
She reached for her box, misjudging the weight of it. The bottom dipped, glass clinked violently, and the whole thing nearly tilted off the counter. Before she could react, Mira’s hand shot out, steadying the box with precision. Their fingers brushed– warm, brief, startling.
Zoey froze. So did Mira.
For a second, their eyes met. Zoey’s chest tightened, her pulse tripping over itself at the warm brown stare holding hers. It wasn't much– barely even a moment– but it was sharp, electric, something she couldn't name. Mira was the first to look away, quickly retracting her hand like she had touched fire. “You should tape the bottom better,” she said, voice flat.
Zoey swallowed, forcing a laugh that sounded nervous even to her own ears. “Yeah. Good note. I'll, um, add that to my list of skills to improve on.” The air between them hummed with everything unspoken, and Zoey tugged at the hem of her sleeve again, retreating into chatter. “So, uh… thanks for letting me stay here. I promise I’ll try not to get in your way. I mean, I probably will, but, like– not intentionally. And I’ll… you know. Pay rent on time. Clean my dishes. Try not to ruin your alphabetized utopia.”
Mira stood quietly for a long moment, taking in the sight of the shorter girl stood in front of her, then turned on her heel toward her bedroom. “We’ll see.”
Zoey lingered just a moment too long after Mira disappeared down the hall, the words ‘We’ll see’ still hanging in the air. Not exactly a warm welcome, but not ice cold either. Somewhere lost in between. Zoey could handle that. Maybe Mira just needed some time to warm up to her. She huffed out a breath, then headed back into the hallway outside her new home, scooping up more boxes from the floor and made her way to the smaller of the two bedrooms. The space was bare– just boring cream walls, a narrow walk in closet, and an echo of whoever had lived there before. Across the room sat a queen sized bed, perfectly pressed into the corner. A mattress laid on top of the frame, still wrapped in its plastic from delivery. Once all the boxes from the hallway had made their way into her room, Zoey got to work.
Unpacking gave her something to do with her hands. Old sketchbooks, filled with past projects, went neatly onto the shelves below the tv. New books, waiting to be used, went in a stack on top of the desk. A black wired cup with an assortment of pencils sat next to it. Then she got to work on the bed. She carefully ripped the plastic from the mattress, letting it fall to the floor behind her as she stretched the fitted sheet across. After the bed had been fully made up, she reached into a box for the old quilt her mother had insisted she bring with. She flattened the wrinkles out of it, then nicely folded it and laid it at the foot of the bed.
For a couple of hours, it was just Zoey and the sound of cardboard tearing and scraping against itself as the girl continued to find a home for all of her things. Outside her room, it was quiet. Almost too quiet. She was almost done hanging a couple frames above the space on her desk when a soft knock echoed against her door. “Im making dinner,” Mira said in the same unreadable tone from earlier. “If you want to… help.”
Zoey blinked at her. That was more words than she expected. Maybe even the longest sentence Mira had said since Zoey’s arrival. “Oh,” she said, nervously wiping her palms against her sides before gripping the end of her sleeves. “Yeah, I’d– uh, sure. Yeah. Help. Definitely. As long as you don't mind a mess.”
Mira’s immediate expression remained stoic, but there was a slight shift in her eyes that went unnoticed by Zoey. “C’mon.”
Zoey followed a few steps behind Mira toward the kitchen, where an assortment of ingredients, pots, pans, and utensils already sat waiting, organized to perfection. All of the pots were stacked by size, smaller ones inside the larger ones. Vegetables organized by type, and then sub-organized by size. It was amusing to say the least. That someone would put so much thought into something simple like this. I mean, they’re just making dinner, right? Who cares if the peppers are organized from smallest to largest.
“Can I ask you something?”
Mira turned to Zoey, one eyebrow slightly raised. The first reaction Zoey had seen from her. “You just did,” Mira said matter-of-factly.
“Huh? I mean– no. I was going to ask what's with all of the– you know– it just seems kind of over-the-top I guess.” Zoey’s brow furrowed as she awaited a response.
“It's my job. Just used to it.”
Zoey tilted her head just slightly, a teasing smile playing at her lips. “Your job? What are you, some kind of closet organizer?” Mira didn’t flinch at the jab, already moving through the vegetables on the cutting board, her knife slicing with effortless precision, like the motion had been built into her muscle memory.
“No…” she paused for a long moment before continuing, “I work for a consulting firm.” A moment of silence passes as Zoey nods, leaned against the counter opposite of Mira. “What about you?”
The question caught Zoey off guard, like she didn't expect Mira to care enough to ask any questions. She expected dinner to go as her move-in earlier did. Mostly silence. “I, uh, I'm still in school. My last semester actually.”
Mira turned to look at the girl, signalling her to come over and help. Mira took a step to the side and carefully handed the knife to Zoey. Their hands brushed as Zoey took it, that same feeling from earlier creeping back, except this time Mira seemed unphased by it. No lingering looks, no charged silence, nothing. “What are you studying?”
Zoey paused for a second, attempting to re-ground herself in the moment. “Art,” she said, a wide grin on her face as she lined the knife against the cutting board, though her cuts were uneven, more like chunks than slices.
Mira’s gaze flicked down for a moment, a hint of disbelief lingering in her expression, then back up. “That’s… generous.”
Zoey laughed, “Generous?”
“As in, generous interpretations of what a pepper should look like,” Mira said, her voice still unwavering.
“Oh my god,” Zoey dramatically set the knife down on the cutting board, and turned toward the taller girl. “Did you just insult my chopping skills? Our first day as roommates and you’re already bullying me?” Mira shrugged nonchalantly when Zoey noticed it. Mira’s lips pressed together, almost allowing a small smile to form, but catching herself beforehand.
“Just… pointing out the inefficiency.”
“There it is,” Zoey teased, playfully wagging the knife at her. “Consultant word of the day. Inefficiency. How many powerpoints does it take to fix a bell pepper?” Mira shook her head, exhaling through her nose, but there was that flicker again– something softer, almost amused, before she pulled it back again. For a while they worked side by side, a comfortable silence forming as they worked in rhythm together. Zoey hummed quietly under her breath as Mira methodically combined ingredients in the pan, stirring with precise movements, like she was searching for a glimpse of perfection somewhere.
“Are you always so serious? So.. dialed in?”
Mira shrugged again, eyes not moving from the stove in front of her. “I like order,” she said simply.
Zoey tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched the girl next to her. Their eyes met for a second, something unsaid lingering in the air between the two, before Mira cleared her throat, looking back down at the pan.
Minutes passed, no words spoken between the two girls. It didn't feel necessary. Eventually, Mira reached down to a dial and flicked the stove off as Zoey reached for the two plates that had been placed off to the side earlier on. She handed one to Mira, who meticulously loaded a bed of rice onto the plate. Then, with that same recognized precision, perfectly laid the mixture of chicken, veggies, and sauce on top. Mira handed the plate back to Zoey, “Go sit.”
Zoey looked up at Mira, a hint of disbelief written on her face, “I can dish my own food you know..”
Mira just shook her head, “Just go sit down.”
Zoey hesitated, caught between rolling her eyes and doing what she was told. Something about the certainty in Mira’s voice made her feet move before her brain caught up. She carried the plate to the small table in the corner, sliding into one of the mismatched chairs. When Mira joined her a moment later, she set her own plate down with the same neatness she’d shown in the kitchen– knife and fork lined up parallel to her plate, napkin laid perfectly on her lap. Zoey glanced down at her own plate, the food perfectly arranged, and snorted. “You, uh… you plated dinner like it’s a five-star restaurant.”
Mira raised an eyebrow, lifting her fork as she glanced over at the younger girl, “Would you prefer chaos on your plate too?”
Zoey grinned, shrugging her shoulders playfully. “Honestly? Maybe. Adds character I think.” For a few minutes they ate in silence, though it wasn’t the heavy kind that had filled the apartment earlier. This was… different. Easy, almost. Zoey found herself watching the way Mira cut her food with careful precision, how her shoulders relaxed slightly now that the meal was done.
“You know,” Zoey said, breaking the silence, “for all the alphabetized spices and the rice versus pasta drama, this is actually really good.” Mira’s lip twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile she’d let on yet.
“It’s edible. That’s the goal.”
Zoey leaned back against the chair, a content smile on her lips. For the first time since her arrival she didn't feel like an intruder here. Across the table, Mira set her fork down with practiced precision, and for just a moment, Zoey swore she almost looked at ease. The thought settled warm in her chest, fragile but real, and she let herself believe it, just a little, that maybe she could feel at home here too.