Chapter Text
Ragatha had mastered the art of pretending to be calm.
Her apartment - a “two-bedroom with character,” according to the listing - was a museum of quiet effort: color-coded binders stacked on the coffee table, polaroids hung on the fridge with quirky magnets, a collection of thrifted throw pillows that didn’t match but somehow worked together. The faint scent of spiced apple wax melts hung in the air, warm and domestic, the kind of smell that tried a little too hard to feel like home.
But pretending to be calm was easier when the world around her looked the part - she’d learned that much. Order, warmth, and the illusion of control could mask any ugly truth she tried to bury down.
It was a Thursday night, midterms were next week, and Ragatha was trying, desperately, she may add, to focus.
“Come on, Ragatha,” she murmured to herself, underlining a line in her education theory textbook. Piaget, scaffolding, intrinsic motivation - all of it blurred into meaningless academic garble. Her eyes burned from staring at her laptop, her hand cramped from writing flashcards, and her head was thrumming.
She blew out a slow breath and reached for her coffee mug, half-empty and lukewarm. That was when she noticed it, the faintest tremor above her head. She froze, highlighter halfway through emphasizing a definition. Above her ceiling, the vibration of footsteps turned into a rhythm. She heard laughter, male voices, and something slamming hard enough to rattle the light fixture.
Ragatha paused, blinking up at the ceiling as the noise spread wider, heavier. Voices overlapped, and music spilled from what sounded like a half-broken stereo. She could faintly hear the scrape of furniture being dragged - maybe a chair, maybe something larger - followed by another burst of laughter.
Her jaw tightened. She tried to ignore it, pressing her lips together and tucking a strand of her wavy burgundy hair behind her ear. She took a deep breath, willing herself to focus, to find some kind of calm in the chaos, and scribbled another note into the margin of her textbook. But then came a sharper noise - a crash, followed by a shout and another round of laughter.
“Are you kidding me?” Ragatha hissed under her breath, snapping her head up toward the popcorn ceiling in disbelief. Sliding her pen into the spiral of her notebook, she stood and pushed her chair back, tugging the sleeves of her soft blue sweater down from her elbows to her wrists as she moved to the door.
Her bedroom was small but hers. A corkboard lined one wall, scattered with sticky notes, polaroids, and doodles Pomni, her roommate, had made of them during late-night study sessions. Her bed was half-made, covered in a patchwork blanket from home, and the window let in a dim yellow haze from a distant streetlight. Her room was a collection of people she loved, with picture frames adorning every flat surface manageable. It was cozy, warm, and safe - until whoever lived upstairs decided to ruin it.
Ragatha huffed, hand slipping over the door handle of her bedroom door and opening it. The hallway's air was cooler, smelling faintly of a fresh pot of coffee and whatever candle Pomni had lit earlier that evening. She poked her head out of her room, mop of red hair spilling to one side of her shoulder, a frown spreading across her face.
“Pomni?”
Ragatha’s soft voice carried through the hall, echoing off the walls that were covered in trendy posters and artwork. She heard a muffled noise from the kitchen, followed by the clink of a spoon against a mug. Ragatha followed the sound, arms wrapping around herself in discomfort from the sounds upstairs.
Pomni was perched at their kitchen bar table, knees drawn up, spoon in hand, eating cereal out of a mug like her life depended on it. Her short black hair was messy, wet, and tucked behind her ears from her shower. Looking up at Ragatha, Pomni had that look on her face like she already knew what Ragatha was going to say.
“They’re doing it again,” Ragatha said flatly, pointing at the ceiling. She walked over to the countertop across from the barstool, propping herself on her elbows as she faced Pomni.
Pomni blinked once. “Doing what again?”
“The stomping. The yelling. The- whatever that was.” Ragatha gestured vaguely upward, appropriately after another loud bang, her voice climbing an octave in exasperation. “Does that not bother you?”
Pomni chewed her food slowly, eyes thoughtful, and then gave the world’s most half-hearted shrug. “It’s… not ideal,” she admitted between bites. “But honestly, I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”
The answer made Ragatha’s stomach twist with guilt, like she’d just complained about something small and insignificant. The last thing she ever wanted was to seem uptight or make Pomni think she was some bitchy roommate who couldn’t loosen up. She rubbed her arm, eyes dropping toward the countertop, freckled cheeks flushing a muted pink. “Sorry. I just - It’s been a long week. I’m trying to keep up with Kinger’s grading and my lesson plans for midterms and-”
Pomni softened, setting her mug down and resting her chin on her hand. “Hey, no. Don’t apologize, Rags. You’re not crazy for being annoyed. You’ve got, like, a lot on your plate, so I get it.” Then, almost hesitantly, Pomni reached out and gave Ragatha’s arm a small pat - a brief, awkward motion that still managed to carry weight. She wasn’t a touchy person, not by nature, but she’d learned that sometimes Ragatha needed to feel comfort, not just hear it.
“There,” Pomni said, withdrawing her hand and shaking off the shiver it left. “It’ll be okay, try not to worry so much.”
Ragatha sighed, running her fingers through her curls before letting her hands fall into the pockets of her white cotton shorts. “Easier said than done,” she muttered, leaning against the counter.
Pomni shrugged, her mouth twitching into a faint smirk as she swirled the cereal around in her mug, “You could always leave them another note.”
Ragatha groaned quietly. “Yeah, because that worked out so well last time. I literally think I saw it in the outdoor trash can.”
“Oh right,” Pomni said, laughing under her breath, her hands slipping into her black hoodie pockets as she replied, “The ‘Please be considerate, some of us have early classes’ one?”
Ragatha shot her a look. “Hey! There was a smiley face. I was trying to be polite.”
“Yeah, that was your first mistake.”
Ragatha rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching. “I’m not going up there, Pom.” She stood up straight, no longer resting on the counter, arms crossing almost like a stubborn child.
Pomni stared at her, bright blue eyes boring into Ragatha’s with a hint of amusement behind them. The black haired girl tilted her head toward the ceiling, listening to the faint yelling of their upstairs neighbors. “Well, maybe you should. Clearly, somebody didn’t get the message.”
Ragatha felt her cheeks flush, rolling her eyes almost defensively. “And what am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m your downstairs neighbor, can you stop doing everything so loudly?’”
Pomni grinned, resting her cheek on her palm. “Exactly. Maybe toss in your teacher voice while you’re at it.”
Ragatha huffed out a laugh, half-amused, half-irritated. “You act like I have one.”
“You totally do,” Pomni said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I literally heard you teaching Professor Kinger’s lecture the other day, it’s pretty fucking good.”
Ragatha pretended to glare, though she was fighting a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
Pomni shrugged. “And you love me for it.”
Another heavy thud shook the ceiling above them - louder this time, followed by muffled laughter.
Ragatha’s eyes flicked upward, jaw tightening again. “That’s it.” She turned toward the door, slipping her feet into her Uggs with the kind of urgency reserved for emergencies. “I can’t do this anymore - God, I just want them to shut the fuck up.”
Pomni’s grin widened. “Uh oh. Little Miss Nebraska’s about to go feral.”
Ragatha pointed at her. “No. I’m not going to be feral. I’m going to be polite. And kind. And I’m going to get them to stop without, you know, committing a crime.”
“Sure,” Pomni said, resting her chin in her hand. “That’s exactly what people say right before committing a crime.”
“I mean it, Pom.” Ragatha tugged the hem of her sweater straight before looking at the small mirror situated next to their door. She scrunched her hair a little bit, trying to tidy up her messy curls, and wiped at her freckled cheeks, “I’m going to ask nicely. Like a rational adult.”
Pomni’s laugh was soft and knowing. “You are a rational adult. You’re just a rational adult who’s one loud noise away from losing her mind.”
Ragatha exhaled sharply, flashing Pomni a toothy grin. “If I’m not back in five minutes, assume I've been murdered by our loud ass neighbors.”
“Got it,” Pomni said, raising her mug. “I’ll shoot them dead with a gun and avenge you.”
Ragatha rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smirk as she pulled open the door. “Thank you, Pom!”
Pomni called after her, “Love you!”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Pomni alone in the soft kitchen light, grinning into her cereal like she was watching the opening scene of a shitty comedy movie.
Outside, the air was thick with the tail end of a late-September storm - dull, humid, and smelling faintly of wet asphalt. The narrow breezeways of their apartment complex echoed with dripping rainwater and the buzz of a nearby streetlight that flickered like it was hanging on for dear life.
Ragatha tugged her sweater tighter around her, the fabric brushing against the tops of her bare thighs. Her Uggs scuffed quietly on the damp concrete as she crossed the open-air walkway, the muggy air sticking to her skin. Somewhere down the block, someone’s car alarm chirped halfheartedly before dying again, and she thought briefly of how lucky she was to live in this shit hole.
The building was one of those older college-housing complexes that always smelled faintly of mildew and takeout: brick walls, faded red doors, iron stairs that creaked with every step. As she reached the staircase, another bass-heavy thump rattled through the metal under her feet, followed by laughter echoing from above.
Ragatha let out a humorless laugh of her own, her soft blue eyes shooting daggers at the apartments above her. Running a hand through her hair, she muttered, “Okay, Rags, you’ve got this. Deep breath. Smile. It’ll be okay,”
She started up the steps, gripping the cold, damp railing. The sound of muffled laughter grew louder with each step; that telltale thrum of some cheap speakers and college boy chaos got closer and closer. Someone shouted something unintelligible over a burst of laughter, and she could practically picture the scene already - she just hoped it wasn’t nearly as bad as she imagined.
The hallway smelled faintly of weed and cologne, and by the time she reached the top step, her heart was pounding in her throat. Ragatha glanced up at the number by the door - 319 - then leaned over the railing to peer down the stairwell, confirming this was the one situated directly above her own.
Her stomach twisted with nerves. Ragatha wasn’t a confrontational person by nature. She liked things that were calm and quiet, like the farm she grew up on in Nebraska. She liked things that could be reasoned with, cared for, even. But the pounding above her head for the last week had chipped away at her composure until she was hanging by a single, frayed string.
She took in a deep breath, tucking a strand of burgundy hair behind her ear as she reached up to knock on the door. Three quick taps. Not too aggressive, but not too soft either.
The laughter cut out almost immediately, replaced by a flurry of muffled voices - some kind of scrambling, something crashing to the floor, a hissed sound from inside. Her brows couldn’t help but furrow as she tilted her head, blue eyes widening in both curiosity and nerves.
She heard the click of the deadbolt, a voice murmuring something low and close on the other side - too faint to make out - before the knob turned.
The door opened abruptly, just wide enough for someone to slip through, like whoever was behind it didn’t want her getting a good look inside.
The guy in the doorway wasn’t what she expected.
He was tall - like, duck-through-doorways tall - with a lean frame that filled his red vintage t-shirt well. His hair was an uneven mess of grown-out brown roots and fading purple dye at the ends, a color that caught the dim hallway light like gasoline on water. His skin was sun-kissed, his features sharp yet soft in almost a boyish manner - with downturned eyes that looked naturally heavy-lidded, and lashes unfairly long for someone who definitely didn’t deserve them.
He leaned lazily against the doorframe, forearm propped up above her like he owned the entire building, and looked down at her with the flattest expression imaginable - unimpressed, bored, and somehow still magnetic.
Ragatha blinked once. Then twice. Her brain stalled completely, buffering somewhere between irritation and a traitorous feeling of attraction.
“Uh,” she started, eyes flicking down the length of him before jerking back up to meet his. His mouth was set in an indifferent line that made her completely forget what she’d come up here for. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing a smile that wobbled somewhere between polite and panicked. “Hi.”
The stranger blinked at her, slow and deliberate, before speaking. “You knocked on my door, lady.” His voice, when he spoke, was not what she expected - it wasn’t deep in a dramatic way, but smooth and monotone.
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Right. Yes. I- uh, I live below you. In 219.”
“Cool,” he said flatly, like she’d just told him the weather forecast.
“Cool?” she echoed, her tone sharper than she intended. Her previously kind smile melted into a grimace of sorts as her arms slowly crossed, “Yeah, well, what’s not cool is all the noise you guys make up here every night.”
The boy rolled his eyes - slow, deliberate, and obnoxiously dramatic. “Jesus, what are you, the fucking hall monitor?”
Ragatha’s eyebrows shot up. “No, I’m exhausted and tired of listening to your shitty music and loud ass footsteps for a week straight.”
He gave a short, breathy laugh - in more disbelief than humor - and dragged a hand through his uneven hair. “It’s an apartment complex, not a fuckin’ monastery. You ever heard of, oh, I don’t know, living a little?”
“Yeah,” she shot back, “I’ve heard of it. Some of us just don’t make it everyone else’s problem.”
That actually made him pause, eyes flicking over her face like he was reassessing her. For a moment, he almost looked impressed, then that faint smirk crept in, like he couldn’t help himself.
“I guess that stereotype about gingers being feisty’s true, huh?” he drawled, voice lower now - not flirtatious, exactly, but with that edge that made her pulse tick up anyway.
Ragatha blinked at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and offense. “That’s what you got from that?”
He lifted one shoulder in a slow, infuriating shrug. “Just calling it like I see it.”
She let out a sharp exhale through her nose, crossing her arms tighter. “Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?”
A grin tugged at his mouth, teeth flashing briefly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re fun to annoy?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No, because most people don’t make it their hobby.”
“Well,” he said, leaning a little closer, bracing one palm on the doorframe above her again, “guess I’m just an overachiever.”
She could smell him now - faint cigarette smoke, laundry detergent, and something warmer she couldn’t name. His t-shirt was frayed with wear, hanging loose on his frame, the red fabric stretched slightly where his shoulder pressed against the wood. His movements were easy, almost animated; every shrug and half-smile carried a kind of restless charm that made him infuriatingly magnetic.
And Ragatha hated that she noticed.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, eyes flicking away, mostly so she wouldn’t keep looking at that stupid grin on his face.
He laughed - a low, throaty sound that shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was. He moved closer again, bracing a forearm against the doorframe above her, posture loose but towering. “Relax, doll,” he said, voice softening to something teasing.
Ragatha froze. Her eyes darted up to meet his, blue against a yellow-ish brown, and something hot flared in her chest. “Did you just call me doll?”
He blinked at her, pretending to think. “Would you prefer ma’am?”
“I’d prefer you and your roommates learn basic volume control.”
“Got it,” he said, like he hadn’t heard a word of that, grin stretching wider, “Dollface.”
Her lips parted in disbelief, an incredulous laugh slipping out before she could stop it. “Oh, you’re- you’re impossible.”
“And you’re loud for someone who came up here to complain about noise,” he shot back, that grin widening.
Her mouth fell open again, ready with some scathing reply, but it caught somewhere in her throat. He was too close - close enough that she could see how uneven his stubble was, how his lashes curled just so when he blinked, how infuriatingly good-looking he was for someone this annoying.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered instead, the words more breath than voice.
“Yeah,” he said, tone low and teasing, “you’ve mentioned that.”
She scoffed, pushing a stray curl out of her face, heat prickling across her cheeks. “Listen, I don’t care what you do up here, just-” she let out an exacerbated sigh, “Try to be a little more considerate. Some of us have to actually study.”
“Noted,” He said, all mock sincerity. “We’ll try to keep it down, doll.”
Her eyes snapped up again. “Don’t call me that.”
He leaned back a little, smirk deepening like this was his favorite game. “Sure thing, doll.”
“Jax,” someone called from inside the apartment, muffled through the door. “Everything alright out there?”
Ragatha blinked, mortified, while Jax’s grin sharpened just a bit. She blinked, frozen mid-glare, mortified heat crawling up her neck. Great. Now there was an audience.
Jax didn’t even flinch - he just angled his head slightly toward the voice, still grinning like a cat with its paw on a trapped bird. “Yeah, we’re good,” he called back lazily. Then, lowering his voice, eyes still fixed on her, he added, “Just handling a noise complaint.”
Ragatha’s mouth fell open, a sharp sound of disbelief caught in her throat. “You’re the noise complaint,” she shot back, voice pitching higher than intended.
He chuckled, quiet and low as his eyes squinted at her in emphasis. Her upstairs neighbor, now known as Jax, looked at her slyly, biting his bottom lip as he quipped, “That right?”
She glared, cheeks burning, but God help her, it only made him look more entertained. The hallway light flickered above them, catching the faint purple at the ends of his hair as he shifted his weight against the doorframe. His grin was easy, practiced - like he’d had a lifetime of getting under people’s skin and had decided she was his next project.
“Unbelievable.”
“You keep saying that,” he said, leaning just enough into her space again that she had to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. “I’m starting to think you might actually believe it.”
Ragatha blinked rapidly, trying not to trip over her own words. She could feel the smug warmth of his attention on her like static - the kind that made her skin prickle and her heart hammer for all the wrong reasons. God, he was infuriating.
“Just-” she stammered, gesturing vaguely between them like she could wave away the entire interaction. “Keep it down, okay? Please.”
The word please slipped out softer than she meant it to. Jax’s grin faltered for just half a second, like it caught him off guard - before he masked it again with a lazy half-smile.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Sure thing, doll.”
“Goodnight,” she said tightly, spinning on her heel before she could humiliate herself further.
He didn’t stop her this time, but his voice followed her down the hall, smooth and self-satisfied. “Night, 219.”
Ragatha didn’t look back. Wouldn’t. But her pulse thrummed in her ears, and her steps down the stairwell came a little too fast. The hallway light flickered once as she started back toward the stairs, the sound of his chuckle chased her the whole way down - soft and low, like the echo of something she refused to admit got under her skin.
By the time she reached her apartment, her cheeks were still warm. She shoved open the door with more force than necessary, letting the scent of wax melts and coffee ground her again. Ragatha kicked her slippers off by the doorway, tiredly running a hand through her frizzy red curls. A frustrated groan escaped her lips as she walked further into their apartment, trying to calm herself down.
Pomni had migrated to the couch now, hair drying into loose waves, wearing an oversized accounting club hoodie that swallowed her frame. Her laptop glowed in her lap, spreadsheets open, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously beside her.
She didn’t even look up before asking, “So, how’d it go, Rags?”
Ragatha let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh as she flopped down beside her, finally allowing herself to relax. She curled in on herself, her knees tucked into her chest as she tilted her body towards Pomni so she was able to face her, “He’s unreal, Pom. Like, I think I hate him.”
Pomni hummed, still typing something on her laptop. “So… went great then?”
“Oh, worse.” Ragatha pulled a throw pillow into her lap, fidgeting with the corner of it. “He called me doll - and was a pompous asshole!” She couldn’t help but throw her head back against the couch and let out a frustrated groan.
That got Pomni’s attention. Her head snapped up, one brow arching high. “No.”
“Yes,” Ragatha reiterated, eyebrows raising as she nodded her head. Her exasperation earned a full laugh out of Pomni - warm, delighted, and entirely at her expense.
“Oh my god,” Pomni gasped between giggles, clutching her hoodie sleeve. “Doll? You’re actually joking- he called you doll?”
“I wish I was!” Ragatha threw her hands up, eyes wide as the memory replayed in her head. “Like, who in our generation says that?”
Pomni blinked at her, mouth parted like she was still catching up. “Wait, wait, wait- so are they going to be quiet now, or…?”
Ragatha huffed out a dry laugh, flopping back into the couch cushions. “Oh, I doubt it. He acted like I was asking him to donate a kidney. Just stood there, all smug and-” she waved her hands in frustration, “-tall, for some reason. I don’t know, he was just so arrogant. And slightly attractive. Which is even worse.”
Pomni’s brows lifted, a teasing spark lighting up her face. “Oh, attractive, huh?”
Ragatha’s eyes shot open. “I mean like- objectively attractive.”
Pomni tilted her head, fighting a grin. “Mhm. Sure. Objectively.”
Ragatha sat up straighter, a faint pink flush dusting along freckled cheekbones, “He’s awful, Pom. Like, actually the worst person I think I’ve ever met.”
Pomni smirked, grabbing her popcorn bowl and idly stirring it. “He sounds charming.”
“What he is isinsufferable!” Ragatha muttered, hands thrown in the air again, her voice pitching higher than intended.
Pomni laughed again, the sound filling their little living room. “You’re actually flustered right now.”
“I’m annoyed,” Ragatha corrected, pointing at her with mock offense. “There’s a difference.”
Pomni only smiled knowingly, turning her attention back to her laptop. “Whatever you say, Rags.”
Ragatha huffed, crossing her arms but fighting the tiny smile creeping in. “I hate you.”
“I love you too, angel,” Pomni said with a smile on her face, not looking up.
Ragatha sighed, leaning back into the couch, letting the soft hum of the air conditioner and the glow of the lamp settle her pulse. Her curls were still frizzy from the humidity, her heart still beating a little too fast - but the apartment was quiet again, back to being calm.
Still, as she leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes, one word wouldn’t leave her head.
Doll.