DING-DONG!
Just when they’re about to enjoy a good ti together. The doorbell rang at ten-thirty.
Mike heard the doorbell from upstairs, which in this house ant he heard it clearly since the ho was small and the walls were thin, typical of places built when acoustic insulation was an afterthought.
’Fuck...! I got fucking cockblocked by that stupid doorbell, and I probably know it is...’
Mike glanced at the clock, which read ten-thirty. Stanley had ntioned arriving around nine or ten.
Neither of them moved for a mont.
’Aww... I was about to give my virginity to Mike, but why did Stanley co ho...?’ Ellie thought with disappointnt.
The sound lingered in the room like unexpected noises do when they co at the wrong mont—not alarming, just present, bearing the weight of sothing that cannot be unheard.
"That’s—" Ellie started.
"I know," Mike said.
She exhaled through her nose, making a sound that was neither a laugh nor a sign of frustration, but rather sothing that occupied the space between them.
"Of course," she said quietly.
"He’s never early," Mike said. "We’ve known that since we were kids trying to hang out."
"Well yeah, he’s not early," she said. "He said nine or ten, but he had to co exactly at the hour when we’re about to give in to our own desire."
"It’s ten-thirty," Mike said. "And yes, it’s fucking weird that he had to be ho when I was so close."
"That’s within the range." She sat up. "I said nine or ten."
"You said nine or ten hoping for ten," Mike said. "You hoped for ten, hoping it would beco eleven."
She stared at him for half a second. "Yes," she said. "Obviously yes."
She was already moving. "Don’t look at like that."
"Like what?" Mike said.
"Like you find this funny," she said, already across the room.
"I don’t find it funny," Mike said.
"You find it interesting," she said. "Which is worse."
She was moving with the focused efficiency of soone who had one clear objective. "The hair. Check the hair."
He was already dressed by the ti she finished, which was faster than she expected based on the look she gave him.
"How are you already—" She stopped. "Never mind..."
"Of course you are." She approached the mirror, quickly styled her hair, and assessed her reflection.
"Good enough?" she said.
"Good enough," he said.
She turned to face him, her expression complex—neither regretful nor relieved, but still grappling with what it truly was.
"We’re going to continue where we left off, right?" she said. "I really wanted to give all of to you right now, but ugh, he had to co back at so point."
"I know," Mike said. "We still have a lot of ti, and I’m not going to leave this country."
"You have to promise that it’s going to be today," she said. "We’re going to do it if there’s a slight opportunity!"
"Whenever you’re ready," Mike said.
"That’s not the sa as whenever it’s convenient for you," she said.
"I know the difference," Mike said.
[DESIRE LEVEL: ELLIE HARPER — 50/100]
[NOTE: SYSTEM GAVE YOU THE ROOM. YOU’RE WELCO.]
’Holy shit... that’s fucking fast."
She held his gaze for one more second before stepping out the door and down the stairs. Mike followed at a pace that suggested he had provided her with the information she needed and was now adjusting to the mood that the next part of the evening required.
Old friend. Comfortable. They spent the evening catching up, with nothing that required further explanation.
He was good at registers.
He ca down the stairs just as Ellie was pulling the front door open.
Stanley Ford entered as he typically did—quietly attentive and with no wasted motion. He appeared worn in a clean way, like soone who had been dedicated to a cause he cared about. When his gaze fell on Mike at the base of the stairs, his expression matched Mike’s expectations: uncomplicated warmth, genuine and imdiate.
"Welco back, Stanley~!" Ellie said with her usual outgoing, energetic energy. "You must be hungry right now."
Stanley nodded and then looked at Mike. "Ohh...?"
"Mike," he said. "You actually ca."
"Ellie showed the terrace," Mike said. "There was pasta involved."
"The terrace was already shown," Stanley said to Ellie. "You only show people the terrace when you decide they should stay."
"He was going to keep walking," Ellie said, and the hyperactive energy had settled back to its normal register with the practiced speed of eleven years. "I made an executive decision."
"Good one," Stanley said.
He set his bag by the door at the spot where the floor had a slight wear pattern and looked at Mike with the sa directness he’d had at twelve. "I told Ellie you’d just appear one day."
"No announcent."
"He said that," Ellie confird, from the kitchen.
"Was I wrong?" Stanley said to Mike.
"You weren’t wrong," Mike said.
"You were always like that." Stanley moved toward the kitchen. "You’d be in the middle of sothing and you’d just beco part of it and nobody could rember exactly when."
"He ended up at my cousin’s birthday party for four hours when he was twelve," Ellie said. "And turns out... he didn’t know my cousin."
"He had good cake," Mike said. "So it’s reasonable for to co."
"The cake was my aunt’s," Ellie said. "She made it. And she still talks about you."
"She said you were the most polite uninvited guest she’d ever had."
"At least I helped her with the dishes," Mike said.
Ellie pointed at him. "He helped her with the dishes," she said to Stanley, as if this were relevant evidence.
"Of course he did," Stanley said. "He always helped whoever was doing whatever needed doing."
He looked at Mike. "Do you rember the school fair? When we were eleven?"
"The one with the broken tent?" Mike said. "Pretty much, yeah."
"The one with the broken tent," Stanley confird. "Three teachers were standing around it looking at each other, and Mike just fixed it."
"I still don’t know how you knew how to do that."
"I’d seen one fixed before," Mike said. "I just rembered the order."
"Nobody else even tried," Stanley said. "They all stood around waiting for soone who knew what they were doing."
"And you just—" He made a gesture that encompassed the action.
"Did the thing," Ellie said.
"Did the thing, yeah," Stanley agreed.
...
They sat at the kitchen table. Ellie set out bread and cheese and so leftover vegetables from dinner, arranged with the efficient generosity of soone who had been feeding people at late hours for a while.
She poured Stanley wine. She didn’t pour herself more, which Mike noted.
"How was the review?" she asked Stanley.
"Long," Stanley said. "Brennan’s project needed significant revision, and he needed forty-five minutes to accept that before we could actually get to the revision."
"The one who argues every note?" Ellie said.
"Every single one," Stanley said. "Not because he thinks he’s right."
"It’s because he needs ti to adjust to being wrong, and arguing buys him the ti." He looked at Mike. "Do you have people like that in your cohort?"
"One or two," Mike said. "The economics version argues the thodology rather than the conclusion."
"Sa chanism," Stanley said. "Different vocabulary."
"Exactly," Mike said.
"You two were always like this," Ellie said.
"Like what?" Stanley said.
"You’d start talking about sothing, and it would be about ten other things by the end, and I’d arrive in the middle and have no idea where it started."
"You usually arrived in the middle and imdiately had opinions," Mike said.
"I had good opinions," Ellie said.
"You did," Mike said.
She looked at him sideways. Stanley was looking at his wine.
"The house," Mike said, directing it at both of them. "I ant to say when I ca in."
"It seems like you really live here, and honestly, this is the most peaceful house I’ve ever seen. You know what I an, right?"
"It’s really comfortable, and it’s not too far from the city either."
"That’s generally the goal," Stanley said.
"You’d be surprised how often that’s not the case," Mike said. "Most places where people live feel like they’re just waiting for sothing."
"This one feels like it has just arrived."
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