Chapter Text
It starts around 5 p.m., right as you’re trying to reheat some leftovers and watch your TV show to unwind after a long week of assignments, studying, and clinicals. As soon as you’re ready to relax for the night; the sounds of someone screaming, a bursting pipe, the horrible smell of sewage, and then panic fills the dorm hall.
By 5:45 p.m. the building is being evacuated.
You call your brother, primarily to rant and scream about how unfair it all is, and a little to beg to borrow some money for a hotel room for the night. You were already daydreaming of the hot shower and delicious room service you’d order when your brother cuts through on the other side of the line with, “Just stay with me for tonight.”
“I can’t do that– I don’t want to impose. I can just get a hotel, really.” You say quickly, but your brother is adamant in his good-natured offer. “No, it’ll be cheaper on me if you just stay here.” He says, and you groan a little. “What about your roommate?” You toss the question out like a last hail-mary.
“It’ll be just for tonight, besides, I’m already on my way.” Your brother dismisses the question, “It’ll be fine, Ghost won’t care.” That part? That part is a lie.
The apartment is quiet when you arrive—cleaner than you were expecting. Your brother tosses your duffel bag near the couch. “You can sleep on the couch tonight, I’ll have to buy an air mattress tomorrow.” He says, and you turn to give him a questioning look, “What happened to the original air mattress?” You ask, and your brother laughs, “Uhh, had a party a few weekends ago and things got out of hand.” You shake your head and roll your eyes at that, but thank him anyway for letting you crash at his place for the night–even if you were hoping he’d be busy and just loan you some money for a hotel room.
“Of course, baby sis, and just some house rules,” He says, as he gives you a quick tour of the house, “No guys over. Don’t touch our gear. Don’t go into my room. Oh, and don’t break our pipes next.” He laughs as you roll your eyes at him. You salute him with a dramatic sigh and stand at attention. “Got it. No orgies, no touching, and no breaking things.”
He grimaces and playfully shoves you, “Ew, never say orgies to me again. It’s creepy.” You laugh and shove him back, “Don’t say stupid house rules to me then.”
He disappears into his room, and you’re left standing in the living room with your damp clothes and soggy socks, wondering why you had the worst luck sometimes.
You take a quick shower, letting the hot water chase the chill from your skin and the memory of dirty dorm pipe water. You forgot to buy more body wash, but luckily your brother had some in his shower so you help yourself to it. Scrubbing yourself clean and washing your hair, you finish up and step out of the shower to dry off and get dressed. Digging through your bag you groan—of course—in all the chaos you forgot pajamas. Of course.
You peek your head out of the bathroom, ensuring nobody is around before you make your way to the laundry room and find a clean basket of laundry to borrow some clothes. You shout down the hall to your brother that you’re borrowing a hoodie and shorts, and quickly sift through the laundry pile. You find a black hoodie, soft and long enough to swallow you whole. You don’t hesitate as you pull it over your head. It smells like clean linen, pine, and something heavier beneath it.
Feeling refreshed and cozy finally, you head into the kitchen to make some dinner since yours was ruined earlier. You check the fridge, not very surprised to see it’s not well-stocked; typical. You think, knowing your brother’s shopping habits. He’d live off energy drinks and beef-sticks if he could. You rummage through what is available, noticing the leftover Chinese takeout. You call out to your brother, asking if it’s fine if you eat his leftovers— which you get no response and shrug, should’ve answered if he was desperate to save it.
You heat the leftovers and make your way into the living room, placing your now-claimed food on the coffee table and settle into the couch to watch tv and eat, unwinding like you had originally planned all evening.
The sound of a key turning and the creaking hinges of the front door stir you from your sleep. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep. You glance up. Ghost steps inside, shoulders tense under a dark jacket, keys still in his hand, taking his boots off. He takes a few steps, notices you and stops.
His eyes catch on the duffel bag. The couch. Then your legs. Then the hem of his hoodie. His brows knit. “What the fuck…”
You offer the most innocent smile you can manage, “Hi, Ghost.”
His voice is flatter than pavement. “Why are you in my house?”
You blink. “Your house?”
“My name is on the lease.”
“So is my brother’s, which makes it his house too.”
“Did you drop out of college?”
“...No, my dorm hall flooded.”
He walks into the living room fully, eyes taking in the scene.
His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to hold his tongue as his eyes take note of his hoodie on you again. “You’re staying the night?” he asks like the idea is physically painful.
“Just for tonight,” you promise. “Flooded dorm. No big deal.”
“Unbelievable.” He mutters under his breath, and then, as he’s about to storm off, he stops. He stares again. Not at your face, at his hoodie. “Take that off.”
Your brows shoot up. “Excuse me?” His eyes flick to yours, sharp, unreadable. “That’s mine.”
“I thought it was my brother’s.” You answer, cheeks feeling a little heated realizing it was Ghost’s hoodie. His eyes flick from yours to the hoodie again, an unreadable expression still. You look from his face to the floor, back to his face, feeling awkward. “I didn’t pack any pajamas, so I have nothing on under this.” You explain, eyes not quite reaching his. Ghost just stares, the muscle in his jaw twitching again. He doesn’t respond this time, he just turns and heads for his room, leaving you on the couch.
~~~~~
The apartment is quiet when you wake in the morning. Too quiet. You blink up at the ceiling, cocooned in a blanket that smells like laundry detergent and military-grade masculinity, and stretch out across the couch with a soft groan. You don’t remember having this blanket when you fell asleep last night.
Your back aches. Your feet are cold. And your borrowed hoodie—his hoodie—is riding up your thigh in a way that feels borderline criminal. You sit up slowly, yawn, and glance at the time. 7:42 a.m. Still early, and probably safe. You get up off the couch, remembering the way Ghost reacted to you in his hoodie and promptly head for the laundry room to change into a shirt to hopefully appease him. You pick out a black tshirt, it’s soft and long just like the hoodie, and practically looks like a dress on you as it hangs just a few inches above your knees.
You pad into the kitchen barefoot, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and start digging around for coffee. You get the pot going and lean back against the counter, absently humming a song under your breath and playing with a strand of hair as the scent of coffee starts to fill the kitchen.
And then— you hear a door open. Heavy footsteps move down the hall, deliberate and sure, and when Ghost turns the corner, he doesn’t stop walking—but he does stop blinking.
He’s shirtless.
That’s your first problem.
The second is that he’s clearly not expecting to see anyone else awake—especially not you standing in the middle of the kitchen, in his damn t-shirt, humming a song like you live here.
Your third problem is the silence.
Thick. Charged. Uncomfortable.
His gaze drops to the hem of his shirt again. Still on you. Still his. And then to your bare legs. Then back to your face. You swear those brown eyes of his darken.
You raise the mug slowly, “Morning.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just moves to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and twists it open with more force than necessary. “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says flatly.
You smile sweetly. “Why? Planning to fumigate the couch?”
He doesn’t laugh, but something about the twitch in his jaw makes you feel like you scored a hit.
“Just figured you’d run out the moment you could.” Ghost answers, his eyes lingering over your form briefly. You suddenly remember how cold they keep the house.
Your brother’s door creaks open somewhere down the hall. You both go still.
You glance over at Ghost. “So,” you say quietly, “are you gonna tell him I’m wearing your shirt, or should I?”
He blinks. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” You ask, faux-innocent. “It’s not like it’s a thing.”
“It’s not.” He snaps, eyes narrowing on you.
“Exactly,” you say, lifting your mug. “No big deal.”
Ghost glares at the coffee pot like it personally offended him.
Your brother finally stumbles in, major bedhead and rubbing his eyes from sleep. “Why are you both up?” he groans, “It’s Saturday.”
“She made coffee.” Ghost mutters.
Your brother frowns, looking at you as if he's just realized something, “Wait… are you wearing—”
“She didn’t pack a shirt.” Ghost says quickly. Too quickly.
You sip from your mug, barely hiding your smile. “He’s been very accommodating.”
Ghost sends you a look that could cut glass.
Your brother yawns. “Whatever. Just keep your weird tension quiet, I’m too tired for it.” Ghost straightens like he’s been shot. “There’s no tension.”
You raise your eyebrows. “So defensive.”
“Nothing’s going on.” Ghost grits out, eyes flicking toward your brother.
“Mm-hmm,” you hum, sliding past him to grab creamer. “You keep telling yourself that, Ghost.” Your fingers brush his arm as you move, warm and deliberate. He doesn’t flinch. But he doesn’t move, either.
For one long second, you both stand still, breathing the same air, with the hum of the coffee machine the only sound in the room. The moment breaks. Ghost steps away. You sit at the table like nothing happened, but your skin still tingles where you touched him.
You can feel his stare as you take another sip from your coffee mug, pretending you don’t notice anything.