I tuck my hands behind my head, staring up at the bright white ceiling. It’s new, like everything else in the apartment, but unlike everything else, it’s still perfectly clean. I know, because in the week since I’ve moved in, I’ve spent a bit of time studying it.
All thanks to my … let’s go with interesting roommate.
There’s noise from out in the living room, and it makes my lips twitch. Beau is different than I thought. It’s weird that I’ve known him for over twenty years, but apparently I didn’t actually know him. When we were younger, he was my kid brother’s friend. Always around, cool to chat to and shoot the shit with, but during our college years I barely saw him, and since then … he said that fucker made him feel uncomfortable, and the more I think back to how Beau behaved with him around, I realize how different it was to when it was only me visiting home.
In the last week, I’m seeing a different side to Beau.
And it’s a side of him I’m not sure how to take.
He’s … high-energy but in a controlled way. Every time I duck out there, he shoots to his feet and hovers around me, trying to force conversation, eyes constantly darting back to his desk. It’s clear he doesn’t know how to react to someone being in his space, and if this is what he was like when he had people cleaning the place, I’m not surprised he stopped having them come. There’s a difference between needing to fill silences and needing to make yourself available for every possible second. Beau is firmly in the latter category.
And during the few times I’ve snuck out there without him noticing, I’ve watched him. He’s constantly doing something. Swinging his chair, or tapping his pen, or punching random keys on his keyboard. Being around all that energy makes even me feel awkward, and that’s not a feeling I’m used to.
So, I’ve been spending time in my room. Too much time. I get what Beau meant about it feeling claustrophobic. The window here looks into the next yard, so I like to have breakfast out on the balcony, looking up at Provin Mountain and the old Kilborough Penitentiary—or Kill Pen for short.
I get up and stretch, then head out into the living area, which is … well, not the same room as it was yesterday.
My feet halt in their tracks. Every item of furniture has been dragged into the room and piled together. Chairs and stools, the dining room table. One couch has been pushed up onto its side, and the other is blocking the entrance to the kitchen. Dark sheets cover the windows, and a mattress—I’m assuming Beau’s—is propped against the door to the balcony, preventing any light from getting in.
Did someone break in? And, what? Caused polite and mildly annoying chaos?
“Ah … Beau?” I call out.
His head pops up like a meerkat in the middle of the mess. He blinks at me for a moment and then, “Shit. Sorry. Umm …” He glances around, like he’s seeing the mess for the first time.
“What is all this?” Somehow I manage to get the question out without sounding too amused.
“A fort …”
“A fort?” Okay, I stumble over my amusement on that one.
“Sorry, just—just give me a second and I’ll take it down. I was, umm—” He cuts off and shakes his head. “Never mind. It will be gone. Momentarily.” He disappears inside, and I choke back my chuckle before approaching. Peering over the side, I find Beau scrambling to pick up a mess of papers and notebooks that surround his laptop. “Whatcha got there, Bo-Bo?”
His head jerks up, face flushed and glasses slipping down his nose. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Instead of pushing him to explain, I duck down, find the entrance, and crawl inside.
It’s obvious he knows I’m here by the tension in his shoulders, but he doesn’t look at me.
“So, it’s possible I forgot you were home,” he says in a rush.
“And you regularly build forts for yourself when you’re alone?”
“Of course not.” He gives me a look like the question is ridiculous.
“Then …”
He sighs and drops back to sit on the floor. “I’m stuck.”
“Stuck?” I pretend to glance behind me. “The entrance is right there.”
“Funny, but I mean on my book.”
That makes more sense. Good to know Beau isn’t losing it. “What are you stuck on?”
A scowl crosses his features. “I have this impenetrable fortress. Like, the whole series has been well established that it’s impenetrable. No one in or out unless it’s approved.”
“Okay …”
“And now the stupid hero’s stupid love interest has been stupid, captured, and taken there.”
I don’t mean to laugh, I really don’t, but it slips out anyway. “Sounds stupid.”
He makes an affirmative noise.
“Well, your world, your rules, right?”
“Sort of. But it doesn’t work that way. Once it’s established, I have to work with it, otherwise the whole series crumbles if the world building can’t be trusted.”
“I know nothing about this stuff, but surely one tweak isn’t something people will notice. They’re there for a good time, not to pick the thing apart.”
He cocks a pale eyebrow, and it makes me grin. “One time I spelled a minor side character’s name as J-U-N-A-E-A instead of J-U-A-N-E-A and had thirty-seven emails about it.”
“Yikes.”
He nods. “They notice. Which I love. But it’s also taught me to be meticulous about everything. I stress over things most people wouldn’t even know to stress over.”
I can see that. He is stressed. It’s in the way he holds himself and how his mouth turns down and his eyes have dark smudges under them. Beau’s a good-looking guy; even with all that going on, I can only imagine what a good night’s sleep would do for him.
“That’s really interesting.”
“Code for boring as fuck?”
I bark out a laugh. “No, I’m being serious. I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing. Whereas you can create a world out of nothing, using only your brain …”
“I’d appreciate the compliment more if my brain hadn’t written me into a corner.”
I think for a moment. “Could you have the love interest not be taken there?”
“No, it’s how I ended the last book. Which just published.”
“Well, I’m not creative, so I don’t have a lot of ideas for you, but I’m here if you need to, I don’t know, throw ideas out there?”
“Thanks.”
Before an awkward silence can fall, I change the subject.
“I applied for ten jobs last night.” Basically all entry-level, which I’m trying not to think about.
His whole face lights up. “No way.”
“I’ve already been turned down for three of them.” I wave off his surprise. “You’re going to have to put up with me for a little longer.”
“I’ve already said there’s no rush. That wasn’t pity. I’m serious.”
I’m sure he thinks that, but if this fort is anything to go by, he’s used to being on his own. “Don’t you want your own space back?”
“No.” He looks at me like I’ve grown an extra head.
“You don’t feel weird having a roommate at our age?”
“Our age?” He snorts. “I’m four years younger than you, thanks. It counts.”
“Sure, it does.”
“I’m not in my forties yet.”
“Unlucky.” I lift my hands. “Being forty is awesome. Unemployment, infidelity, homelessness, and divorce. Who wouldn’t want to be hit with all that at once?”
“You’re right. Sounds like a dream.” Beau leans back on his arms. “But you’re not homeless. You live here. This is your place too.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but while he might not have an issue with having a roommate, it makes me feel … like I’ve gone backward. “Well, I’m in no hurry to leave, not when you’ve been so kind to me. But once I have a job, I will be on the hunt for my own place.”
“All right, but my offer stands. It’s not as lonely with you here.”
He doesn’t say it like he wants sympathy, but I can’t help feeling bad for him again. “You have friends.”
“It’s not the same. Like, even when you’re in your room, knowing you’re here is nice. I don’t always want to talk to people, but having them around without expectations …” He cuts off. “Sorry, that sounds dumb.”
“Not really. You want the companionship, without the pressure to be social.”
He looks surprised that I get it. I mean, I don’t understand it, but the way he describes it makes sense.
“Exactly. And until I find a boyfriend, your company will have to do.” He blinks innocently at me.
“Glad to know I’m an acceptable consolation prize.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but snaps it closed again.
I glance around at the furniture towering over me. “So, this is what an impenetrable fortress looks like, huh?”
He cringes. “I’m sorry. I thought it might give me some stroke of inspiration.” He frowns. “Wait, is this one of those things you’re supposed to be pointing out to me?”
“Pointing out to you?”
“Our deal, remember? Anything weird, you’re supposed to tell me.”
Oh. That deal. The one I’m doing my best to forget he even asked about. He can call it improvement all he likes, but what he actually wants is to change himself so people will like him better. That doesn’t sit right with me, not that it’s my decision to make, but I’ve always liked Beau. Sure he’s … different in ways, but that’s not a bad thing.
“I’ll admit this isn’t what I’d expect to walk out to—”
His face falls.
“—but it doesn’t matter what I think.”
Beau looks like he wants to roll his eyes.
And fair enough. If this is something he wants to do, I’m not going to stop him, but I’m also not going to encourage it. Convincing him he’s fine the way he is isn’t my place.
“I’m going to cook lunch. You hungry?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He goes back to gathering up the paper. “I’ll put everything back and—”
I cover one of his hands to make him stop. “Leave it.”
“What?”
“You’re working, and if this helps, then it stays for as long as you need it. I’ll slide lunch in through the, ah, door when it’s ready.”
Beau’s forehead creases as I climb out, but I pretend not to notice.
Sure, the fort thing seems like a leap in logic to me, but it’s a minor thing. This is his place, he can do what he wants, and if building a pseudo-replica impenetrable fortress is what he needs to get past the writer’s block, then why shouldn’t he? Beau doesn’t take himself too seriously, and it’s refreshing.
My fuckhead ex took everything too seriously. From our furniture to his clothes to where we hung out and with who. I’d liked it at the time, but thinking back on it makes me sad.
How much different would things have been if we’d taken a step back and built a blanket fort in the living room to watch movies from?
I know exactly what that fucker would say to those kinds of suggestions though. That we’re too old. Like I just told Beau we’re too old to have a roommate.
The whole time I’m cooking the rice for lunch, I keep glancing over at where I can hear Beau shifting papers and tapping at his keyboard as he mutters to himself. He’s like his own center of energy, filling the apartment with his presence.
I’m still not sure how to take him.
But I’m curious anyway.
