Chapter Text
Week One
“You sure you’re not forgetting anything?” Cee’s voice rings through the speaker of Anya’s cell-phone as she shoves the last of her boxes into the small closet of her studio apartment. The door squeaks to a shut, creaking against its hinges as she finally gets it closed.
“I mean, I’m not far if I need to come back for anything,” Anya sighs, taking a seat at her dining table, finally looking around at her new space.
“True, but I’m not really trying to haul ass in that pickup truck to bring anything else to the city. That traffic was killer.”
Anya isn’t listening much. She’s looking at the boxes waiting to be unpacked by her bed. She’s looking at the curtains that somehow already look old and worn, despite having just put them up from the box. Her thrifted couch sags a bit in the dim sunlight.
Wow, this apartment really isn’t getting any bigger, is it?
It’s not like she could complain. It’s a comfortable commuting distance to NYU, had the least offensive monthly prices, and the landlord was only half a creep in comparison to all the other ones she reluctantly met.
She’s taken out of her thoughts when she hears a tumble right outside her door.
“Hey, uh, I’m gonna let you go,” Anya mutters, already standing to assess the damage through her peephole.
“Okay. Don’t talk to strangers unless they’re hot! And be safe! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Cee chirps before hanging up.
Anya slips her phone into her pocket and peeks through the door. There’s a boy outside. Hood pulled up, backpack half off his shoulder, crouched down like he’s just dropped a stack of textbooks. Notebooks and papers are scattered around his feet.
She doesn’t think twice. The door swings open and she’s already moving, stepping out and kneeling beside him to help gather the mess.
“Hey, you okay?” She asks gently.
He barely looks up at her, thick-framed glasses hiding his wide eyes and soft brown hair flopping over his brow, like his entire appearance was designed specifically to hide him from any watchful eyes.
Anya, on the other hand, smiles at him as she remains kneeled at his eye level, handing him back his books with wide eyes, eager and inviting. She’s not the most friendly girl, not usually, but she does find herself attracted to people like him. People who are quieter and more reserved. Something about them feels comforting, less judgemental. Like maybe they’re pickier about who they accept. Like it’s a reward to be accepted by them at all.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t stray away when the boy quietly takes his books back, standing up to his feet and bowing at her quietly before rushing to unlock his door. Maybe he’s just a tough nut to crack.
“I’m Anya, by the way,” She calls. She doesn’t reach out for a handshake. She knows he wouldn’t take it anyway.
“Mark,” She hears him mumble half-heartedly, like even just giving her his name felt too personal for him, before getting inside and shutting the door behind him. The lock clicks in the silence around her.
She grins. Mark, huh? Cute.