Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The building was easy enough to find, but Romy still took a taxi. Having to pack up her entire life for the second time this year was exhausting enough — she didn’t have to add the underground trip with two suitcases and a cardboard box to the equation. 

The landlady was not present for the key exchange, which Romy didn’t much care about anyway. She was aware that the room was so cheap because she would share the place with two other roommates. One of them, the woman, would have the keys. 

At this point in her life, Romy’s living arrangements have mostly been hit and miss. Not only because of the roommates; sometimes the people were fantastic and then what drove her insane were the apartments or the houses crumbling to pieces and being poorly managed. This time, however, she had to leave her last apartment in a hurry and there was a large chunk of embarrassing drama involved in that story. That’s why she had one and one wish only for the new people: please, may they just be fucking nice .

The door to the building had a broken lock. Well, that’s not a great start but at least everything looked relatively clean on the inside. Romy managed to get everything upstairs, in two trips, but before she had the chance to ring the doorbell, the door to number 16F burst open. In it stood a pretty brunette with kind eyes and a smile that made the new tenant dare to be hopeful her roommate would be a nice person after all.

“Goodness, you should’ve called me!” The woman grabbed one of the suitcases and helped get the luggage inside before the other woman could even open her mouth. “I thought it was you! I mean, I heard some noises so it was either you or Alfie coming back home all beaten up again. You know, the last time he had been in a fight, he sounded not that different from you dragging all that shit upstairs, I had to help him get all that blood off his clothes after, Jesus, men are honestly such morons, no wonder they get caught all the time as far as serial killers go, we’re just smarter…”

She talked the whole way, effortlessly carrying the luggage and taking it through the corridor to where Romy imagined must be her room. 

“You, uh… You’re very strong.”

“Crossfit,” she said then, smiling at Romy behind her shoulder. A little perplexed, Romy stayed quiet with her cardboard box and closed the front door behind her with a light kick.

What. The. Fuck.

She followed the woman, though, what could she do? The weirdo had her stuff now. She could theoretically run away still but… where would she go? Maybe she just listens to a lot of true crime podcasts and has lost it at some point, Romy thought.

“Okay. Shall we grab the rest, then?” The brunette put the suitcases in front of the room and smiled at the new girl again. It wasn’t a malicious sort of smile; it was kind. That still left some hope. 

“This is it,” the new tenant said, trying not to sound too embarrassed. On the other hand, what the hell was that entire monologue? Either the other woman had no filter or this was all just a colossal mistake.

“Oh, well… It is? Ah, minimalism. I like it!”

Alright, this could work, Romy decided. She seemed perfectly nice, if a little weird. Maybe she was just naturally oversharing while Romy remained closed up like a clam.

Then, that just left the matter of the other roommate — who apparently had a temper problem? Oh, what the fuck was this place, even. Honestly , that little story about the stairs… The bad feeling was back. Were they just a pair of psychopaths?

Romy knew, however, that she was prone to anxiety so for now she decided to let him introduce himself  on his own, once they’d meet in person. If she did run into a pair of psychos (again), Romy decided to look into her lease and run as far away as possible. This time there would be no wasting her efforts on second chances and whatnot. She had learned her lesson.

“Listen, oh… wait.” The roommate giggled and outstretched her hand. “Ada. Ada Shelby. It’s nice to meet you, let me tell you, after what we’ve been through with the last one… it’s good to have you, is what I mean, oh my God, Ada, stop talking now.” She giggled again and that made Romy smile a little. Alright, maybe just an oversharer, then. It seemed like there was no distance between Ada and other people and so the new girl decided perhaps they were just opposing personalities and that was that.

“Romy Bayko,” the new girl said then, suddenly professional like in a business meeting. Ada noticed and Romy honestly hoped she wouldn’t think she was standoffish; she was just so goddamn tired. They shook hands. Ada had a nice, tight grip.

“Romy, like the actress?” Ada asked.

“Oh, no... I mean, yes, like the actress,” Romy tried to smile but all she managed was a weird grimace.

“You must be tired, huh?” Ada looked at the new roommate curiously after a moment of silence. Ah, fuck. So it showed then, Romy thought. “Feel free to take a nap, but if you don’t have stuff to do, I’m gonna make some tea. Kitchen’s that way,” Ada pointed towards the other end of the corridor.

“Okay,” Romy replied, feeling like an utter barbarian. But Ada was right, she was very tired. Not physically, though, so Romy knew that a nap wouldn’t help in the slightest. Her sleep cycle for the past few weeks stopped being a cycle entirely, and was now resembling a circus.

Ada turned around and walked towards the kitchen. Okay. Maybe not a psychopath, after all. Or maybe just a really friendly one, Romy mused. She already knew she wanted to follow Ada for some reason and ignore the luggage entirely, but finally decided to at least partially unpack first. 

The room was nice and had a good lock on the inside. It looked bigger than in the pictures, too, which for that price, was a very welcome surprise. The entire apartment was huge, actually, at least for London rental standards. Romy kind of wondered how come the landlady made it work with just three people. Perhaps she was a decent person? 

She snorted at herself. Ah, for sure. 

Granted, Polly Gray sounded nice enough on the phone but Romy has had mixed experiences with landlords before. Now, as for the unpacking… The first order of business would be finding a nice spot for the plants. 

Romy only had two because her living never allowed for more. The longest she has ever rented a room was two years. There was no sense of permanence or security for her even to be able to take care of her dog, Marlowe, anymore. He lived with her mother in Luton now; an arrangement that Romy kept telling herself was only temporary. She tried to visit as often as possible, which only became more difficult with time as her job grew more demanding and her personal life more unstable.

Romy’s heart broke when she had to leave the dog with her but ultimately, she knew that her mom would take care of Marlowe better than Romy could at the time. Marlowe was a rescue from illegal dog den fights and he needed as much stability as possible. For now, living in Luton was the better option for him.

This whole adoption started, as most crazy things in Romy’s life did, with her friend Linda. She was the one who told Romy about Marlowe because she had been volunteering at the animal shelter at the time and Marlowe was one of the difficult cases. If no one adopted him then, he would have been put to sleep. Having heard the story, Romy remembered basically putting on her coat and the shoes while still on the phone with Linda. She felt like she was destined to become this pupper’s mother.

Unfortunately, Romy’s old roommates were one of the prejudiced kinds and complained to the landlord. The reason for that was Marlowe was a pitbull, at least that’s what they had determined at the shelter. Who knew really with the kind of people that arranged these dog fights —he might just have looked the part. Nevertheless, the roommates and the landlord made Romy give him up. She moved out of that place shortly after and so here she fucking was. For now, she didn’t dare to ask the new landlady for her permission to bring Marlowe back to live with her. She had to be strategic about it this time; she needed a place to live after all.

After placing the plants on the windowsill, Romy already felt the familiar grogginess surround her. Alright, that would be unpacking enough, she decided, so she just threw her coat on the bed and took off her shoes. She decided to join Ada in the kitchen, eager to know her a bit better; if she was going to stay here, Romy had to figure Ada out at least to some extent.

When Romy entered the kitchen, Ada was already sipping her tea from a large mug that had a Gryffindor crest on it. Oh yes, Romy thought. Liking Harry Potter was definitely a good sign.

“Hey, there is still a lot left in the pot,” Ada smiled and then gestured towards the large blue teapot on the counter. 

Romy noticed the kitchen was not exactly as clean as she would like it to be but then again, she really had way too high standards when it came to cleanliness. She decided to ignore it for now and opened the first cupboard, in search of cups. There were a lot of blenders and other kitchen appliances in that one, which was a nice surprise. She guessed someone here really liked to cook. Unless they also liked to cook people…

She closed that one and opened the next. Ada pretended to be busy with her magazine and let the new girl explore her surroundings in peace. Romy finally found the right cupboard and took out the mug that looked the least personal; she didn’t want to accidentally use someone’s favorite.

“Oh, that’s… uh, I guess he wouldn’t mind,” Romy heard Ada behind her as she already poured the tea half way. She turned around then, mug in her hand, face guilty as all hell.

Noticing the other woman’s expression, Ada shook her head quickly. “No, no, no,” she said. “It’s alright. Take any one you want, really. Just be careful with this one, okay? It’s Alfie’s, he got it from an old friend who’s like dead or moved away or something, I don’t know, but he really loves that ugly thing.”

Romy looked at the mug now with an entirely different mindset. The thing that had seemed so ordinary just mere seconds before — red and simple, the generic shape, and with no words or logos on it. Jesus . Now, absolutely panicked that she would break it for the psycho that liked to fight people, she quickly poured the tea into an IKEA glass and carefully washed the mug in the sink. She put it aside to dry and sat next to Ada on the nearest wooden chair.

Romy noticed she was watching her now, but this time Ada’s face was unreadable and the blue eyes distant.

“So,” Romy said after a good minute of curious silence. “How long have you been living here together?”

“Oh, about five years, yeah,” Ada nodded and flashed Romy another smile that comforted her immediately. “And we’re not, like… together-together with Alfie,” she smiled into her tea. “Just friends.”

“Oh, sure.” Romy nodded. “I didn’t assume, I was just… Wow, five years? It’s good to know.” She took a sip of her tea and smiled to herself. “Oh, that’s really good tea. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ada leaned back in her seat and sighed contentedly. “So, where did you live before?”

“Uh, close to Camden with my friends.” A lie. Turns out, they weren’t her friends after all but Romy decided to skip that bit. “I loved that place but it got too expensive.” More lies. “And then there was some really shitty drama.” Well, that one was true. “But I guess it’s always like that with people.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I was kind of lucky, I guess? Since this is my aunt’s apartment and she lets us pretty much do whatever the hell we want.”

Ah , Romy noted. Perhaps this is why Ada had no filter. She could basically be herself to anyone she wanted, since there was no way for her to get kicked out. Romy wasn't entirely sure now this was such a great idea, but fine. Let’s just drink the damn tea.

“You’re lucky,” Romy said, trying to make conversation. “This is a very cool place. The only property my family owns is this ancient house near Luton, which... I guess as far as real estate goes, it still basically makes me a royal?” She smirked and Ada laughed at the joke softly. “But uh, I need the city. Luton is entirely too small for me.”

“Oh my God, that is so true! We’re privileged little bitches, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah.” Romy liked that remark; she had to admit Ada’s forwardness made her easy to talk to. Romy raised her glass to Ada. “To privileged bitches.”

“To privileged bitches!” Ada exclaimed and gently clinked her mug with Romy’s glass. 

Romy wanted to ask her something else but that’s when she heard the front door open and close. That must have been Alfie then. Romy was kind of curious now. She was especially curious if a moment would come for her to chuck the glass at him and make a run for it. Who knew, after all — the man supposedly had a temper.

“Be nice,” Romy heard Ada say but then she saw that her new roommate wasn’t looking at her when she said it — she must have been talking to Alfie, then.

Oh, fuck . That can’t be good, Romy decided… She turned around just as the man entered the kitchen. The first thing she noticed was the beard and then the old military-style jacket; it looked comfortable and frequently worn. She also realized Alfie had groceries with him, which… Alright, not entirely a threatening thing to have. When Romy glanced towards the shopping bags he was holding, she also saw the curious crown tattoos on both his hands. They didn’t look professionally made; she knew because she had a couple herself. 

Was he a fucking gangster or something? 

“Hi,” Alfie gave her a small smile and put down the bags to shake her hand. “Alfie.”

“Romy,” she shook his hand, face back to serious and business-like.

She retracted her hand but not too fast, careful to make a good and normal first impression. She definitely didn’t want him to use these hands against her, no sir. She noticed immediately that she wouldn’t be able to fight him, not in a million years.

Alfie was not that tall, although taller than her since she was practically a hobbit. He seemed large, though, broad-shouldered and muscular in a could-beat-you-up-in-two-seconds kind of way. Romy decided to be watchful. She’d had bad experiences with men before and wanted to make sure he would be all right as a roommate. So far, it was fifty-fifty.

“You’re the new girl, right?” Alfie asked her casually and put his jacket on the nearby chair, then he turned around to take care of the groceries. Romy noticed a faint smell that came from the jacket and it kind of reminded her of an Italian restaurant. 

“Nah, she’s from the Health Department, Alf,” Ada chuckled. “Came over to write your room off as a fire hazard.”

“Ha-ha,” Alfie said. Romy watched him in silence as he unpacked the groceries. There were a lot of different things, and nearly none of them the ready-to-eat stuff she was used to relying on more than she should have. These were genuine products; vegetables, dairy, pasta, rice...

“Are you a chef?” she asked before she could stop herself. It all piqued her interest, she couldn’t help it. She already had an idea of what sort of person Ada might be; now she wanted to assess Alfie’s character, too. Or, you know. Chuck a glass at him and make a run for it. Either one. 

“Yeah, I am,” he smiled to himself and then went to the sink to wash his hands. Romy realized then that he was looking at his mug as he did that.

“I’m sorry,” she offered immediately. “I didn’t know it was your mug, we were having tea—”

“Calm down,” he smiled at her and the way he said it honestly sounded soft enough to make her pause. He dried his hands, then the mug, and set it on the counter next to the teapot.

Romy went back to drinking her tea. She looked back at Ada and noticed she was watching them both now, again with that unreadable expression.

“What do you do, Romy?” Ada asked then, in a perfectly neutral way.

“Oh, a shitty job, honestly,” she huffed. “It’s corporate HR, nothing fancy. It’s good money but I want to kill myself every single day.”

Ada chuckled at that and Romy realized what she had just said. Okay. People slip up, evidently. Perhaps she judged them both too quickly as well.

“I know what you mean,” Ada said. “I used to work for companies like that, before my brother really started the business and—”

“Ah, yes, your glorious brother, the mad bastard. How is he? Missin’ me terribly?” Alfie teased then and sat down at the chair beside Romy, his mug in hands. 

Ada chuckled at that and Romy realized she wasn't in on the joke. She paid it no mind, though, she was busy looking at the crown tattoos again. They intrigued her the most.

“Got those in prison,” Alfie said then and she glanced at him quickly, having been caught staring. He didn’t seem too bothered, though. He was still smiling and she didn’t notice anything unkind in the way he looked at her now.

“Oh,” she said, careful to make her voice completely indifferent. Fuck. So there it was. She sipped her tea, though, and nodded but this is when she felt Ada kick Alfie under the table. He barked out a throaty laugh and returned the favor, although with much less force.

“A mate did them, yeah,” he said, looking back at Romy, obviously very pleased with himself for having tricked her. She chuckled at that nervously and shrugged. 

“Dude, I literally have David Bowie’s face on my entire side, I would never judge you,” she said, deciding to share a little bit. And another lie, too. All she’s been doing for the past half an hour was judge them.

“Oh, really?” Alfie asked, arching a brow. 

“Are you a fan, then?” Ada asked. Romy looked at her and nodded.

“Huge, yeah,” she admitted. “His music literally changed my life.”

“Our Alfie’s a musician,” Ada remarked, nodding towards the guy with a sly smirk. 

“Oh, fuck off, I’m not,” Alfie grumbled. 

A musician? That might redeem the crazy a little bit. Romy had her own artistic hobby and knew very well these sort of things required certain sensitivity.

“Oh, yes you are!” Ada protested and took out her phone, looking for something in her gallery. “Here, Romy, look.”

“Ada,” Alfie barked now, still friendly but with a hint of a warning thrown in. She ignored that, but the new girl didn’t. Ada showed her the phone. It was a short YouTube clip of a jazz band concert. Romy noticed Alfie there on stage, a bit to the side. He played the trumpet and did so exceptionally well.

Okay . A crazy artist was definitely better than a gangster fellon.

“Oh, wow,” Romy took the phone to take a better look. She glanced at him and noticed how embarrassed he was. “You’re excellent,” she said kindly, in an attempt to comfort the guy a little bit. She didn’t know why she did that, exactly. 

After all, she wasn't an expert on jazz but her mother was. She listened to Brubeck and Charlie Haden all the time, so Romy could kind of spot the good stuff when she heard it. And Alfie was good.

He grumbled something under his breath and she realized it must have been in another language because she could understand exactly nothing from that. Curious . He seemed somewhat sweet now, just like Ada. Perhaps she’d misjudged number 16F entirely. She pressed the lock button on Ada’s iPhone before the song was over, so as not to torture the guy any longer. 

“I paint,” Romy offered, deciding what’s fair was fair, she had to give up something now.

“Your two entire suitcases are art supplies, then?” Ada asked, smiling brightly. Romy huffed at that soft jab and shook her head with a smile.

“Digital art. Photoshop and an iPad,” she explained. 

“Oh, do you have any on insta?” Ada immediately took out her phone again and showed her profile. “Add me, I want to see!” 

Romy noticed immediately that Ada took nice photos and kept her feed seamless with the same filter. It was custom presets, though, for sure. None of that generic shit. Okay, she had taste. Another good sign.

“One sec,” Romy took out her phone and then was a bit surprised when Alfie leaned in a bit to glance at her insta. He smiled when he saw a large digital painting of Bowie on the main feed. 

“That’s cool,” he said.

“Thank you!” Any nice comment about her art made Romy unnecessarily elated, she realized that, but couldn’t help it. 

Her art was something personal and she included a piece of herself in every single artwork. Romy added Ada and she followed back. Romy didn’t ask for Alfie’s socials, though, deciding this whole exchange was already friendly enough. She didn’t want to seem weird.

“I noticed you have a landline,” she said, changing the subject a little bit. “Does it work or is it like a retro vibe or something?”

Ada snorted at that and pointed at Alfie. “An antique, just like this one. This fucking guy cannot use a smartphone for the life of him!”

Ah. No socials, then. No trace. No possibility to check him even a little bit. Gangster, for sure. A chef by day, a trumpet murderer by night.

“I’m old, fuck off,” Alfie groaned and stood up to pour more tea. He re-filled all three cups. Nice gesture, Romy supposed. He didn’t look that old, though. Couldn’t have been much older than her. 

Then again, could’ve been younger and lying, too. As an expert in that department, she decided to keep an eye on him.

“It’s okay, we could like… chip in to buy you one of these old people phones, with the big buttons,” Romy smirked at him a bit. She decided to test that temper.

Ada guffawed at the remark but Alfie shot Romy a look. She winced a bit and he must have noticed, because he smiled at her again. It was a nice smile, too, she noticed. It reached his eyes, at least.

“Oh, very funny, yeah,” he said, though now he kept his distance. Why? Romy wondered. Did she make him angry? 

“I’ll get ya for that, you’ll see.”

Shit. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Give us your best, grandpa,” she leaned back in her seat. She was still pushing, trying to see if he would attack her. No point in moving in with another unstable man; Alfie looked scary enough, she really didn’t need him to actually be scary.

“Nah, I’ll be nice,” He didn’t sit back down; he leaned back on the counter and watched her, scratching his beard. She noticed a long patch missing on the right side and wondered if it was a scar. “Otherwise our Ada here’ll have my balls, mate.”

Romy snorted at that and realized that she could give them an honest chance. At least, she really wanted to. At the end of the day, they both had a cool sense of humor. If they murder her, they might be entertaining about it.

Monday hit Romy like a ton of bricks. As she turned on her work laptop, she felt anxiety and dread so intense that she nearly keeled over. She sighed and then nodded to herself as she pressed the login button on her desktop and tried to be brave.

Romy liked the fact that she worked for a foreign company and so she didn’t really have to physically be in an office with other miserable people like herself. Then again, the amount of absurd corporate problems that she had to tackle every single day fuelled her anxiety like nothing else could. No one in their right mind bothered themselves in the real world with the type of things that these people wrote to her about; asking to fix their system issues, or documentation issues, or issues-issues in general. 

Today it seemed that Romy’s boss had finally descended into a level of madness that she never suspected a human being could even achieve, and she would have been impressed had she not been so damn angry with the man. He gave her yet another impossible task to complete by the end of day and she just knew she physically wouldn’t have the time. 

She decided to work in the kitchen, since both her roommates were at work. Also, the coffee machine was closer this way and the large table was comfortable to sit at. 

Romy had so much to do that she didn’t even realize when time flew by and she was already doing overtime. It was one call after another and honestly, at the end of her shift she felt like she couldn’t really function properly in any language anymore — the company was Russian, and she was fluent because of her father. This is why they paid her so well; they needed someone bilingual to liaison and handle the difficult parts of the HR business. Her day-to-day contact was either with oblivious foreigners, whom she had to help out in English in navigating the world of Russian bureaucracy, or the very angry shareholders calling her directly from Moscow and demanding she be their slave. This job required strength and she had plenty, but some time ago she realized she had been toying with the idea of quitting a tad too often.

She wanted to log out already but then she noticed someone calling her directly. They had a red VIP label attached to their icon. Romy sighed, knowing full well she had to take this call, otherwise she’d be in trouble. She answered then and before she could even greet the man, he already started yelling. Romy winced and tried to help either way in between the shouting, but it was useless. 

She didn’t even notice that someone had entered her “office” around the same time, but since the man on the other end of the line was currently busy insulting her work, her whole person, and her non-native accent, she had a hard time to focus. Romy closed her eyes, trying to still talk to him in a professional manner, but then she felt someone touching her hand gently. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

It was Alfie. He was standing by the table and she recognized he must have switched on the light. She didn’t even have the mind to do it herself earlier. Romy unplugged the headphones then and sighed, letting the Russian on the other end of the line scream his insults into the void now. She muted her microphone and gave Alfie a tired look.

She was in her pajamas, as she had absolutely no will to live while doing her job, let alone wear a bra for these people. She noticed a quick glance there from Alfie but decided to pay it no mind.

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “It’s work.” 

He frowned, looking from the laptop to Romy and then back at the laptop.

“What?”

“I decided to work in the kitchen, you guys were out.”

“This is your work? ”

The Russian was on a tangent now and Romy prayed he’d get that aneurysm already.

“What the fuck do you even do for these people?” Alfie asked. Romy imagined now that maybe he minded her taking over the kitchen like that, perhaps it was a chef thing. She cleared her throat, and meanwhile the Russian was still screaming his balls off, calling her all sorts of things.

“I’ll take this to my room...” She got up but Alfie put his hand on her shoulder, kind of stopping her in her seat. She gave him a surprised look.

“No. Who the fuck is this? Why is he talking to you this way?” Alfie pointed to the laptop again.

“He’s a vice president,” she said, even more resigned than before. She noticed then that the Russian on the other end finally went silent and so she immediately put her headphones back on. “One sec,” she said to Alfie and turned the mic back on. 

In her best and most professional customer service voice she explained to the guy that the issue had already been fixed by IT last week and the only thing required from his end now was to log out and then log in again into his payroll system. He said nothing to that and then promptly disconnected. 

Romy leaned back in her chair and looked at the time. It was eight o’clock in the evening. Fuck.

Alfie was still standing there, watching her with an outraged expression, his brows knit in frustration that kind of reminded her of Marlowe. Oh, fuck. What wouldn’t she give to have Marlowe at her side now; at least then she’d have someone to make her feel better. 

Romy sighed, then shut the lid of her laptop and got up again.

“What the fuck do you do for a living, woman?” Alfie asked sternly. “D’ you work for a fuckin’ mafia or somethin’?”

“Ah, dude, I wish it was mafia,” Romy said and unplugged the laptop charger. She stacked all her tools of the trade neatly and put the coffee mug she’d been using in the sink.

“Are you makin’ weird porn for them or somethin’? Because I ain’t judgin’, alright, but this is too much even for that, mate, I mean is that… is that how things usually go? They just insult your entire fuckin’ person and you have to be nice to ‘em?”

Romy chuckled darkly and then the realization finally hit her. She was so tired she just never fully grasped the fact that Alfie had understood the entire exchange and that was his concern. He understood what the VP had been shouting at her. 

The man was honestly one surprise after another. “Wait, you speak Russian?”

He still looked at her in the same way, obviously mulling something over.

“Yeah,” he turned around then and walked towards the stove. He took out two pots from inside one of the cupboards, evidently now focused on something different. “My mother, she's a linguist,” he muttered and inspected the pot, visibly still wondering about something. “Have you eaten?”

“Ah, sure.” A lie.

Romy realized then she literally just had one yoghurt and some cereal. That thought sent out an immediate response to her stomach. The growl was so loud that she physically put her arm around it and winced. Alfie chuckled and shook his head at her.

“I’ll probably just order a pizza later,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “You’re welcome to share it if you want,” she offered, as she still wanted to let him know she appreciated his concern. 

Shouldn’t have taken that mug to the sink. Could’ve still chucked it at him and made a run for it… Romy smirked to herself a little bit. Wasn’t that lonely? Having inside jokes with yourself?

“Nah, not a fan,” Alfie frowned, then switched one pot for a frying pan. He turned around then, obviously in his own head again, and busied himself to find the right ingredients in the fridge. 

Romy realized that probably Alfie’s standards for food were a tad higher than her own and so she left him to his own devices. None of her friends or family were chefs so she had no idea if, after a long day of work, they even had the energy to cook at home. Then again, Alfie was probably too particular to trust someone else with his meals.

Romy took it as her cue to leave and so she grabbed her work stuff and exited the kitchen, deciding to let him be. Besides, she was too hungry to even watch someone cook. She placed her laptop and other work accessories in an empty drawer in her room, thus distancing herself from her job if just a tiny bit. Then she went to the bathroom to take a scalding hot shower and subsequently spent exactly no time on her hair since she liked to keep it short exactly for that reason. No fussing over the details. She didn’t have the mind for it.

With wet hair and in a fresh set of clothes, Romy went back to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. To be perfectly honest, she was physically hungry but entirely unwilling to eat, as weird as that sounded. It was the residual post-work anxiety, she realized that, since she’d been to therapy a couple of times before. Life was manageable now, though, and she didn’t really want to go back to meds — as much as they had helped her before, she couldn’t stand the side effects. She knew the signs of the situation becoming unbearable, however, and would be ready to renew the prescription when the time came. Because she knew it would. Sometimes she wondered how much longer would the money be the redeeming factor here, until her job finally breaks her.

“Smells good,” she remarked, seeing Alfie nearly done with his cooking. He gave Romy a throaty hum instead of an answer and she realized then that he was putting pasta into two bowls, instead of one. She thought that he was perhaps preparing leftovers for himself but then he took one bowl and a fork and passed that to her.

“Eat,” he said, still entirely serious. 

She hesitated but took the bowl slowly, deciding that the guy probably just pitied her. She was fine with that; she could accept pity because it’s been some time since someone cooked for her or done a nice thing like that in general. She sat down and started to eat, trying to ignore him watching her. She managed half a bowl before he sat down next to her, though still one chair over.

They both ate in silence for a minute, which was a relief for Romy after people talking at her all the goddamn day. Then, Alfie said something, voice considerably softer but still with that throaty rasp.

“You have a much better accent than me,” she sighed. 

Fuck these people , is what he had said to her in Russian.

“Yours is just fine, it’s that job I’d worry about.” For some reason, he was avoiding her gaze now.

“It’s very good money,” she remarked. “But yeah. I hate it. This wasn’t even that bad, to be honest. I’ve had worse callers than this guy, believe me.”

“What the fuck…” Alfie sighed, then went silent. She cleared her bowl and leaned back in the chair, content. Shit. That pasta really was something. And Alfie, honestly? One weird but talented guy.

Restless as she was, Romy wanted to return the favor somehow or just let him know she appreciated the gesture. She couldn’t help it, she was still a bit wary with him. Since she noticed he was done eating as well, she stood up and took the dishes to the sink to clean up. Alfie said nothing but she felt his eyes on her back the entire time. She honestly didn’t like cooking, it was a chore, but cleaning was relaxing. There was no thinking involved in cleaning. Still a chore, granted, but at least it made Romy feel accomplished.

“So, was your day as shitty as mine?” she finally asked, as she wiped up the water droplets from the frying pan.

“Nah, it was good,” Alfie said and nodded to himself. He was still looking at her and she felt like she was on display.

“Don’t think I would’ve lasted long with clients like that asshole there, mate,” Alfie said after a good minute. “No shortage of knives in my kitchen, innit?”

She laughed at that and nodded. He smiled at her and this time the stern look faded away.

“Thank you, I—”

He raised a hand and shook his head. “All good.”

“Hm,” she looked around the kitchen, suddenly needing to busy her hands with something. “I’ve got beer, do you want one?”

“Don’t drink.”

Interesting. In recovery?

“But do you mind if I do?”

“Nah, ‘course not.” 

Romy nodded and took the beer out of the fridge. She liked drinking it straight from the bottle so didn’t even bother with a glass. She sat back down next to Alfie and after a few sips she felt herself relax. Granted, it was a dangerous thing when alcohol relaxed you, even more dangerous was to make it a habit after you’ve had a tough day — all of her work days were tough, after all. She tried to limit herself but then, this was no Eastern European beer. This was English and weak as piss. Did the job, though.

Alfie started to talk now, telling her a story about the weird customers that came to the restaurant for lunch. None of them sounded bad, though, and he made the stories funny. Romy listened with her eyes half-closed, after a while just sipping the beer and not even paying too much attention to the meaning of his words; she just listened to him like she would listen to music. The anxiety subsided and she unclenched her jaw a little bit.

Then, she heard the front door unlock and straightened up in her chair like a student caught on daydreaming. 

“Oh, hi you guys!” Ada exclaimed as she entered the kitchen, the smell of her expensive perfume following her. “Something smells good! Alfie, did you cook?”

Romy frowned, not entirely sure what to make of this now. This suggested he didn’t do it all that often. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed; she really must have looked like quite the disaster for him to pity her so much.

“A bit,” Alfie said. “Help yourself, luv.”

Ada beamed at him and eagerly prepared herself a bowl from what was left in the pot. She sat down next to Romy and immediately started eating.

“Mm, this is delicious!” she mumbled and then hummed gleefully. Romy smiled at her because it was very hard not to smile at Ada.

She heard Alfie chuckle a bit at Ada’s appreciation and then let herself relax again. She finished her beer but decided against another one. That is, until Ada said:

“Hey, Romy, wanna share one with me?”

“Sure!” she said, entirely too eagerly. She opened two more for her and Ada and gave her the beer.

“Ah, thanks. You’re a star.” Ada clinked her bottle together with Romy’s and resumed eating. Romy drank and looked at the wall in front of her, no energy to do or say anything.

Then, Alfie pointed at her left forearm and asked:

“So why is David Bowie on your side, right, but this guy out in the open right here?”

Romy looked at her hand even though she already knew which tattoo Alfie meant there. “This guy” would be her twin brother, Miles. He died a couple of years ago, just as he got out of rehab. Overdosed a week after they released him home, actually. It happened sometimes with addicts; his body had detoxed and couldn’t take the regular amount he would have been taking before the clinic — at least that’s what Romy’s therapist had told her. This was why Romy came to her in the first place, to deal with her grief, but eventually she stayed for the other baggage. The sessions really helped her clean up some messes, but not that perpetually racing stream of consciousness inside her.

“Miles,” she said and smiled to herself. “My brother.”

Alfie hummed and since he asked anyway, Romy showed him another one, underneath her right bicep. It was a small, cartoonish Mia Wallace from “Pulp Fiction”.

“This one is a matching tattoo, I got it with my ex. She has John Travolta, I have Uma Thurman. We got it together from this visiting artist from Denmark, a really cool dude. Love his lines, they’re so precise and… you know, clean? Love that style.”

“Oh,” Ada said, suddenly interested. Romy prayed ardently in the moment that her sudden slip up about the “she” wouldn’t get her any homophobia. “Will you have it removed, then? Since she’s your ex?”

“No,” Romy said pensively, but exhaled in her head. One problem less, at least. “I like it too much. And I did like her, we didn’t… it wasn’t like a big fight or anything, it wasn’t a traumatic breakup. We just drifted apart gradually.”

A lie. Romy was such a liar sometimes. Her therapist used to tell her that she tended to avoid sharing in order to paint a happier picture of her life for others. She knew the woman was right, but should she really have burdened her brand new roommates with all the sad stories? Everyone has baggage , Romy decided. Who knows, perhaps she would straighten it up with Alfie and Ada one day, if they really wanted to know.

“I’m sorry,” Ada said either way, compassionately.

“Don’t be, it was a year ago or something.” Romy shrugged. “All good.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?” Ada asked then, somewhat slyly.

“Nah. You’ve seen my job,” Romy turned towards Alfie who now seemed to have been back to pensive. He looked at her, though, as she said that. “It’s demanding enough, I wouldn’t have the emotional capacity,” her hollow laugh that followed had no humor in it.

Ada and Alfie exchanged looks Romy couldn’t decipher.

“Oh, yeah, Ada, it’s fucked up,” Alfie said, his voice back to serious. “You remember Tommy’s Christmas breakdown? This is fuckin’ worse, mate, never heard shit like that, and people throw all kinds of fuckwittage around me all the goddamn day.”

“Holy shit.” Ada looked at Romy now, eyes big and concerned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone rant worse than our Tom.”

“Nah, this is fuckin’ abuse. You shouldn’t take it, Romy.”

Suddenly, she felt embarrassed again. She barely knew these people and was already forcing them to care about her shitty little life. She had made a mistake like that before and knew that ultimately, you should be friendly with roommates but remember they were still your roommates. 

“I’ll be fine. But thank you,” Romy smiled at him and this time did a very good job to hide her sadness. “So who’s Tommy?” she asked Ada, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, my brother.” She grinned, realizing immediately that Romy wanted to talk about something else now. “He runs the company. I work… well, not entirely for him but not with him, either. We try to be a team but it’s a bit difficult with family.” 

Romy nodded earnestly. Oh, yes. She had her own share of issues on the subject, and that was even without her twin’s sudden death. Once she had agreed to work as her mother’s assistant and after two weeks they nearly clawed each other’s eyes out.

“But I’m sure you know what I mean,” Ada said quickly, as if sensing Romy withdraw into her own head again. “Is Miles your only sibling?”

“My twin,” she smiled to herself and finished her beer. Entirely unexpectedly, Alfie took her wrist gently and inspected Miles’s face once more. He looked back at Romy’s face and then at the tattoo. A tiny bit shocked, she said nothing and let him do it.

“Don’t see it,” he announced.

“Oh, you little shit, stop embarrassing her!” Ada laughed. Alfie grumbled and gave her the finger. She did the same immediately but then they just grinned at each other and settled down. Romy smiled at that. She liked how close they were. 

“Am I embarrassing you, Romy?” Alfie asked her, voice suddenly low.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“No,” she lied, unconvincingly. He wasn’t embarrassing her per se, both him and Ada were a very pleasant company to be in. He was just a tiny bit unpredictable. A little forward, too, though not in a creepy way. Romy has met her fair share of creepy men, especially with the “nice guy” personas. And Alfie wasn’t that. She would've long sensed it. She still wasn't entirely sure about his character, but he was not a creep. He was actually kind of sweet.

“See? You’re just jealous, darlin’,” Alfie said to Ada triumphantly.

“Oh my God,” Ada rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I literally moved here to stop fighting with my idiot brothers and then in waltzes this guy!”

Alfie chuckled at that before he got up and busied himself with making tea.

“Oh, more than one brother, then?” Romy asked Ada, a little intrigued. It wasn’t common for people to have multiple siblings anymore.

“Yeah, there’s me, John, Tommy, Arthur, and little Finn. Who is like seventeen now but we still call him little. We have two cousins, too, and countless nephews and nieces, it’s insane! You should see our Christmases, Tommy’s drunk rants are honestly the least messy bits.”

Romy saw it in her face that the family was close. Ada spoke of them a little as if they were a pain in the ass, but her twinkling eyes told another story entirely.

“They sound really cool, Ada,” Romy said, trying to sound as genuinely as possible.

“They’re Satan’s spawn is what they are, mate,” Alfie added and placed a mug before both women. Then he sat back down with the third. The red one, Romy noticed. 

“Thank you,” she said to him and he just nodded, clearing his throat. 

“Alfie’s not a fan,” Ada explained, a bit amused. “He doesn’t celebrate Christmas but I make him come with me just to witness the crazy. It’s great fun!”

“I’d just like to mention, right, since you obviously share the Shelby devil genom, that last year your fuckin’ brother gave me a dildo.”

“Like I said,” Ada grinned at Romy. “Fun!”

“Wasn’t even my size, mate.”

Romy snorted at that.

“Oh, come on!” Ada exclaimed. “We’re loud and we fight a lot but we have each other’s back.”

“Or stab each other in it, either one will do.”

“Oi!”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Romy asked Alfie then, seeing their argument escalating a bit.

“Nah, Jewish,” he said, a bit calmer now.

“And proud!” Ada chirped and Alfie rolled his eyes at her. He was still smiling, though.

“Aye, all them Shelbys drink too much and have way too much money to be entirely sane, yeah,” Alfie grumbled. “Except Pol, she’s a fuckin’ saint for raising you lot.”

Raised by the aunt, then? Interesting.

“Don’t get high and mighty at me, mister!” Ada huffed. “I know bloody well you love Tommy, it’s incredible he hasn’t fucked you yet!”

“I’m a faster runner than him.”

Romy looked at Alfie then, suddenly wondering about it. Was Alfie gay? Perhaps. As a bisexual disaster herself, though, she had absolutely no intuition about these things. 

Ada huffed. “I’d prefer you as my brother-in-law than that bitchy wife of his, though.”

Alfie barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Your brother doesn’t deserve me and you know it, sweetie.”

“True.”

“He’s straight and that’s torture enough, innit.”

“But you’re coming with me for her birthday party!”

“Have to check my calendar.”

“Alfie!”

“I’m a busy man, luv, aren’t I?”

Ada looked at Romy then and added:

“She’s a Libra.”

“Ouch,” Romy winced. 

“Alfie’s a Scorpio, the evil genius.”

Romy chuckled at that. Jesus. She thought she had them both figured out at least three times already. They were both so unpredictable. And… actually fun. She managed to forget her day for a minute there and that would very rarely have happened before.

“And you?” Romy asked Ada. 

“Oh, Sagittarius Sun, Pisces Moon and Scorpio ascending,” she recited easily. 

“That’s such a fuckin’ word salad, innit, I have no idea what any of that shit means.”

“That’s exactly what a Scorpio would say,” Romy murmured, with a little smirk. Ada laughed and nodded. 

“Oh, wait! But you are...?” Ada took out her phone, undoubtedly to put Romy in her astrology app. Yep, sure enough, she noticed the little crescent moon icon on Ada’s main screen.

“Cancer,” Romy said.

Ada looked at her then and smirked a little with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Yeah, right, can we go back to the part where Ada begs me to be her handsome date?”

“Oh, fuck off, Alf! You just want to insult Grace’s cooking and rile Tommy up.”

“I mean, I have no life, I could probably be a decent date if Alfie’s too busy,” Romy said softly, pretending to be pensive. 

Ada laughed again. Alfie just looked at Romy, pretending to be offended. 

“Oh, Alf!” Ada groaned, seeing his face. “Come on, she was joking! You know you’re the only one for me!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“My Moon and my stars!”

“Get outta here.”

“My disaster husband!”

“Ada!”

“My idiot in crime!”

Romy was laughing out loud now and her both roommates looked identically pleased with themselves seeing that. Finally, Alfie grunted and got up to get more tea:

“Don’t worry, Ada, I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon, I’m all yours,” Alfie poured the tea for everyone again. “That is, if Romy’ll share. I think we’re growing on her.”

“As a local bisexual disaster, I must say that you are,” Romy murmured. She felt like such a cliche. Why did she want Alfie to know she was into men, too?

Oh, God. She knew exactly why. The man was nice to her and made her pasta. 

Bloody hell. 

“Oh my God, BISEXUAL DISASTERS AND A LESBIAN!” Ada exclaimed loudly, gesturing wildly between all three.

“Oh wow, Alfie’s a lesbian?!” Romy said, faking surprise.

Ada shrieked with laughter at that while Alfie gave Romy a slight nudge. All of this was… unexpected. But nice. Romy didn’t have that many LGBT friends so it was cool to know that she just broadened her circles with two. Both Alfie and Ada definitely seemed safer to her now. Pack solidarity , she supposed.

“Fine, go with her,” Alfie groaned at Ada, stretching his back a bit. “Leave me. Abandon me, why dontcha…”

“Well,” Romy pretended to think about it. “I’m flattered but I’m afraid my heart belongs to another.”

She decided to spin this another way because if all of them kept semi-flirting like that at each other, then honestly it will get very weird, very soon.

“Oooh, spill! Who is he? She? They?” Ada moved her chair closer to Romy. She took out her phone and showed Ada her wallpaper. It was a black-and-white picture of Marlowe. 

“Marlowe,” Romy said and couldn’t keep her voice from sounding a bit emotional. “He’s my baby.”

Alfie leaned in closer from the other side and let out a bizarre sound.

“Oh boy,” Ada sighed, now in turn rolling her eyes at him. “Here we go…”

“Ada.” Alfie took the phone from Romy and shoved the screen right at her unexpecting face. “ADA!”

“Oh, fuck!” Ada giggled and shook her head, pushing him away. “Forget it, now he’ll never shut up about the dog.”

“Oh, he lives with my mom in Luton,” Romy added quickly, entirely used to people judging Marlowe based on the urban legends surrounding the breed. “I wouldn’t assume you’d let me have him here, I mean—”

“ADA!”

“Forget it, Alfie! Polly would flip her shit!”

“Look at his tiny dog face! Look! He’s SMILING!”

“She’d murder us so fuckin’ fast—”

“ADA!”

Oh. Definitely a dog lover, then, Romy thought. Suddenly, the big scary guy turned into an adorable mess.

“He’s a sweet dog, really, he’s a little shy,” Romy continued and pointed towards her phone. Alfie was still looking at the picture, beaming. “I took him from the shelter after they rescued him from the dog fighting dens—”

“Oh what the fuck!” Ada exclaimed then. “Here? In London?”

“Yeah…”

“People still do that? It’s sick!”

“It is…” Romy admitted. Alfie still wouldn’t give her the phone back and so she unlocked it for him and showed him the gallery. Nearly all pictures were of Marlowe. After viewing every other one, Alfie systematically shoved the phone at Ada’s face, with pleading eyes. 

“Oh, fuck’s sake, you have no idea what you’ve done, Romy,” Ada grumbled, though not really irritated. She looked at Alfie with fondness, entirely accepting of his weirdness.

“You’re welcome to meet him, if you want,” Romy offered to Alfie, now a little more convinced he wasn’t as scary as he looked. Perhaps like Marlowe, after all. “I’m visiting him this weekend, if you’d—”

“I’ll drive ya.”