Ryan had been buzzing since morning. He was in and out of phone calls, confirming things with delivery men, arranging a handyman for the AC, and making sure the place didn't look like some abandoned storage unit. By the afternoon, when he finally found Kai lounging in his cabin, arms folded and gaze fixed lazily at the ceiling like a cat bored with existence, Ryan walked in with the smug air of a man who'd just cracked a secret code.
"All done," Ryan announced, dropping into the chair across from him.
Kai arched a brow without moving his head. "Done what?"
"Everything. The papers are signed, the luggage has been shifted, and even your clothes are hanging neatly in the cupboard. Hairdryer, steamer, toiletries, extra coat hangers sorted. The kitchen is stocked. The living room looks alive. The bedroom smells like lavender, don't even ask me how. Basically, all you need to do is go there, take a bath, and sleep."
Kai gave a low, sarcastic chuckle but didn't argue. "What's the time?"
Ryan checked his watch. "It's already seven thirty. Head over by eight. That way, you'll settle in before..."
"Now," Kai cut in, his tone firm.
Ryan blinked. "You're going this early?"
Kai's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "Why wait?"
Ryan groaned dramatically. "You know, normal people make a ceremony out of shifting into a new place. They call friends, order pizza, and maybe toast with a soda. You? You want to sneak in like a thief at eight p.m."
Kai smirked faintly, lips curving with that cold amusement. "Exactly. Less noise."
Ryan rubbed his temples. "Fine, fine. Wait, let me go with you. At least drop you off. God forbid, you walk into the wrong house and scare some aunty to death."
Ten minutes later, they were in Ryan's car. The drive was quiet, the kind of silence only Kai seemed capable of commanding without effort.
When they pulled up to the small house, Ryan killed the engine but didn't get out. Instead, he leaned across, opened Kai's door with a flourish, and said, "Sir, your castle."
Kai gave him a flat look.
"I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow," Ryan added quickly, almost like a chauffeur dismissing himself. And before Kai could mutter anything, Ryan sped off, leaving him alone with his suitcase and keys.
Kai stood in front of the house for a long second, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling the keys Ryan had thrust at him. The night air was cool, brushing his jawline as if even the wind dared not linger too long around him.
He finally stepped inside, his footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor of the hallway. The keys clicked smoothly into the lock, and with a twist, the door creaked open to his new "house."
The place was neat, surprisingly warm, not extravagant but cozy in a way Kai wasn't used to. He slipped off his shoes, leaving them aligned near the door like he'd always done.
His gaze traveled slowly, deliberately, from the living room to the corridor. His movements were unhurried, precise like a man inspecting a chessboard before making the first move.
He noticed the small details immediately:
– The faint scent of detergent lingered on the curtains.
– The soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
– The way Ryan had placed a fresh set of towels folded on the arm of the sofa, like he was checking Kai into a hotel.
Kai muttered under his breath, "Overachiever."
He walked into the living room and stopped dead. Two doors beside each other. On one, a playful, girly board with glitter stickers that spelled out: Princess. On the other hand, in bold, dry handwriting, someone had scrawled: Mr. UnsocializedPerson.
Kai stared at it, jaw tightening. "Ridiculous."
He flicked the paper with his finger, as if it had personally offended him, and muttered, "Ryan." Then, shaking his head, he turned the knob and entered his room.
The lights clicked on, and for a moment, Kai just stood at the threshold. His sharp eyes scanned every corner, absorbing the perfection. Clothes are neatly arranged in the cupboard. Shoes are aligned at the bottom rack. His coat hanger stood ready like a soldier at attention. Even his nightgown was folded on the bed.
Kai stepped inside, pulled open the closet doors, and ran his hand across the row of neatly hung shirts. His fingers brushed the fabric lightly, his expression unreadable.
"Efficient," he murmured.
He grabbed his nightwear, slung it over his arm, and moved toward the bathroom.
The bathroom was simple, clean, and functional. No fancy marble counters or gold taps like the hotels he often stayed in. But something was grounding about it.
He set his clothes neatly on the counter, opened the shower, and tested the water with his hand before stepping in. The warm water cascaded over his head, and for a moment, he tilted his face up, closing his eyes. The steam clung to his lashes, and a sigh escaped him, not of relaxation, but of restraint breaking for just a second.
Minutes later, he stepped out, towel around his waist, wiping droplets from his hair. He dried himself, dressed in his nightgown, and walked back to his room.
Everything was divided perfectly: his side arranged with military precision, the other side left untouched. He didn't need to guess that was his roommate's corner. He glanced at it briefly before turning away.
Hunger nudged him next. He padded to the kitchen, opened a few cabinets, and found packets of noodles. He didn't hesitate. He moved with a quiet competence, pan on the stove, water boiling, noodles slipping in, seasoning sprinkled.
As the noodles softened, he leaned casually against the counter, arms folded, waiting. His expression remained calm, but there was a faint crease between his brows, as if even boiling water couldn't fully silence the constant restlessness in his mind.
By 8:30, he was sitting at the small dining table with a steaming bowl. He ate in silence, chewing slowly, eyes drifting occasionally toward the clock. Two bites in, he pushed the bowl away, appetite gone.
He stood, covered the bowl neatly with a plate, and left it on the counter. His discipline wouldn't allow him to waste food openly, but his stomach refused to cooperate.
Returning to his room, he eyed the bed with a perfectly made, inviting spread. For a long second, he stood frozen, hands in his pockets, staring. His throat tightened faintly.
Then, without a word, he turned to the couch Ryan had arranged in front of the bed. He pulled the blanket off the bed, threw it over the couch, and stretched out on it.
The couch wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't a bed either. Still, Kai's body fell into it like it had been trained for years.
He stared at the ceiling, expression unreadable, but his mind flickered briefly to memories of his mother tucking him into bed as a child. That was the last time he had ever slept on one properly. Since her death, beds felt alien, almost cruel in their softness.
He shifted, pulling the blanket higher, shutting his eyes. The silence of the house wrapped around him. Somewhere outside, a dog barked. Inside, the faint ticking of a clock filled the room. And finally, for the first time in this new space, Kai Arden let himself drift off to sleep not on a bed, but on the couch.
By the time Alina got home, the clock was ticking toward 9:30. Her shift had stretched her bones thin; every step from the cafe to the house had felt like she was dragging cement blocks instead of legs. She exhaled deeply as she finally slipped her shoes off at the door.
At one moment, she was shocked to see it was his house; usually, it'sn't so clean and tidy, it's definitely Ryan who made it look so beautiful, even for a moment, she couldn't recognize her own house.
As she was scanning the whole living room, her eyes fell on a pair of unfamiliar shoes placed neatly beside hers. Men's shoes. Clean, polished, not even a speck of dust on them. Her lips curved instantly.
"Oh-ho," she whispered to herself, eyebrows shooting up. "So, the unsociable person has arrived."
She tilted her head, staring at those shoes like they were living proof of her earlier prediction. He didn't even say hi or hello? Just came in like a shadow and locked himself up? She folded her arms across her chest, nodding to herself. "Exactly why I wrote Mr. Unsocialize Person on that board. Perfect description."
A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Murmuring under her breath like she was scolding a child, she muttered, "First day of shifting, and not even a courtesy hello. Hmph. Weird."
She slipped into her slippers, the soft padding of her steps echoing against the wooden floor as she shuffled toward her room. Without bothering to turn on many lights, she collapsed onto her bed, face-first into the pillow. Her bones screamed relief, but her stomach had other plans.
Grhhhhh.
Her eyes widened at the loud growl, and she lifted her face from the pillow with a groan. "Seriously? You too?"
Dragging herself upright, she pushed her messy hair out of her face and padded toward the kitchen. As she turned on the lights of the room, the room was shining due to the cleanliness that wasn't usually there; her kitchen was full of all the necessary things.
She opened the refrigerator door and stared blankly. It was filled with numerous things, which made her confused about what to pick up. Just the thought of standing there and cooking after such a long day made her want to cry.
She was about to shut the door when something caught her eye on the dining table. A bowl, covered neatly with a plate.
Alina frowned, her lips pressing together. "Wait… I didn't put that there."
She slowly turned her head left, then right, like she was in some low-budget thriller movie. Her gaze flicked toward the corridor where the doors were. Then back to the bowl.
Her lips parted as realization hit her. "Roommate?"
Her stomach gave another growl as it was confirming the deduction. She approached the table, pulling out the chair and sitting down like she was about to conduct an interrogation. With cautious fingers, she lifted the plate cover and peeked inside. Noodles. Perfectly cooked, seasoned, and still faintly warm.
She blinked. "No way."
Her first thought was obvious: Is this poisoned? But then she laughed at herself. "What am I thinking? This is not a spy movie, Alina."
Her second thought: What will happen if I eat it?
She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms, thinking dramatically. "We're roommates. Sharing is… normal, right? I mean, that's the whole point of having a roommate. Right?"
After a moment's pause, she clapped her hands together. "Exactly. Roommates share. Case closed."
With that final verdict, she picked up the chopsticks and dug in. The first bite made her hum. The second bite widened her eyes. By the third, she was leaning forward over the table like a starving soldier at a feast.
"This is...." she mumbled between bites, "....so good! Who even cooks noodles this delicious?!"
She shoved in another bite, covering her mouth with her hand to stop herself from moaning dramatically. Her expression lit up like a child discovering candy for the first time.
By the time she slurped up the last strand, she leaned back, tapping her stomach with satisfaction. "Okay. No exaggeration. I don't know who he is, but he's definitely part chef. No, secretly a chef. Or at least has the soul of one."
She gathered the bowl, washed it in the sink, and placed it neatly on the drying rack.