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Sky and Silver and Stars / I Remember

—Lazuli—

I'm all nerves. In just a few hours I'll finally be meeting all of my housemates, and my roommate finally. It's been a good time just on my own (with Dexy and Serge of course) but I'm happy to finally be seeing the people I'll be spending the term with. Little nervous about my roommate but I… am trying to be optimistic. I mean these two have already been so good to me, I hope that's not just them being ungenuine. New Yorkers are assholes, but that's the culture, and in Oregon it's… I remember the guy who gave out joke books on the corner near the bookstore… what a weirdly specific memory…. Serge and Dexy have been genuine, I'm sure of it. Well… maybe Serge more so.

“Ye alright there lad?" asks Serge. I feel my face heat a little bit. I went with him to buy drinks and stuff for the mixer and if he's been talking to me at all since noon, I haven't heard a word of it. “Worried about the new'uns?"

“Ah… yeah, honestly." He lets out one of his earthshaking laughs.

“Don't be! Everyoner'll love ye!" I feel a smile creep across my face. That's all I need to think about right now: I'm about to make a bunch of new friends and learn new things and it's going to be great, and the best part is it's all mine, no one can take this from me. The rest of the early afternoon is filled with Dexy making sure everything is ready for the mixer (including yelling at Serge for trying to eat the food before anyone gets here). At around 4pm the first of the housemates arrives. The lad is about half a head shorter than me and seems like a spitfire (he's just got that look, you know?). Short honey-blonde hair (longer on top, buzzed on the sides), an angular face with rounded ears flanking wide, blue eyes and a thin smile. He's wearing a blue button-down shirt, collar peeking out of a grey Briar Rose pullover hoodie (I should probably get one of those, if the weather here is like it is in New York it'll be getting cold soon), and navy-blue slacks. Red Chuck Taylors with white laces make a good contrast against the rest of his wardrobe. His parents seem very… well they're very well-dressed. The dad's in a semi-casual black suit, canary shirt and matching tie, his deep gold hair quaffed to one side with deep amber eyes peering from behind trendy frameless glasses. His mother is in a tight-fitting black skirt, a short-sleeved blouse with a black collar and matching scarf hanging down the front. She has a very warm smile, dark blonde hair that falls over one shoulder, and sky-blue eyes.

“Hey! Welcome! Get yerselves in, make yer way over to th' lounge and make yerselves comfy. Th' other chaps'll be arrivin' shortly." I'm sitting on one of the couches when they all walk in but stand up to introduce myself. I open my mouth and stick out my hand, ready to say “hi" when he is on me.

“Ehup, I'm Puck! Nice to meet ya!" He slaps his hand into mine and pulls me into a one-armed hug. Quite strong for a smaller guy, and a deeper voice than I was expecting. Good to see my instincts about him being a spitfire were right. I laugh.

“Ah! Hey, Lazuli, and same!" His parents migrate over towards the refreshments (where Serge has been standing vigil just waiting for an opportunity), when the second arrives. This guy is about my height, a mop of rust-coloured hair atop a soft face that looks almost cherry from freckles, and an intense jawline, almost like he's jutting out his chin (or maybe it's just his beard making it look that way?). His eyes are blue, almost silvery, and he's got two small gauges in his earlobes. His outfit reminds me of something from an old film from the 50's: tight white shirt, equally tight dark-blue jeans, an off-black leather-ish looking jacket, and brown Doc Marten boots. He's stocky, not as large as Serge, but thicker than I am I'd say. When he pulls his hands out of his pockets to shake Serge's hand I can see that his nails are painted black, but it's faded, a bit like his jacket. I wouldn't say it's a bad style, but it's definitely not one I was expecting to see. Almost immediately behind him is the third (how many of us are meant to be here? Six? So half here already).

This guy looks like someone I went to high school with. A couple inches shorter than me, dark skin, buzzed hair with very clean angular lines, and a very serious face. He's got brown eyes and a kind of preppy style: a blue, almost black, sweater-vest over a white button-down with khakis and spotless dark brown dress shoes. Everything fits him perfectly. Standing behind him are his parents: father dressed almost exactly the same but with hair and clothing a bit more faded and sporting some frameless glasses and a goatee, mother also very similar with the short-cropped hair and a dress in turquoise with seafoam trim. All very professional and strait-laced, like I'm looking at a Christmas card from my dad. I give my head a firm shake, no space for these kinds of thoughts, not today. Besides, I haven't even met my potential roommate yet. I wonder who he's gonna be? The newest lad is immediately in, super congenial, he's pulling Serge into a handshake-hug and working the room like… someone who has 'famous' parents and has to work extra hard to make their own voice heard. Yeah, I recognise that. The other guy who came in just before is looking a little restless, standing alone staring out the window into the back yard. I should go introduce myself.

“Ah, hey," I say, approaching. He turns to look at me, face really intense. “I'm Lazuli, nice to meet you." Nervously I extend my hand.

“'Ello, I'm Toby, nice to meet ya," he says, much kinder than I imagined from his presence. He grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake before returning his to his jacket pocket. It's a bit before he says anything else. “Sorreh, ain't quite sure 'bout what to do at parties, mate."

“Yeah I get that, no worries. I mean… we'll all be living together for the year, right? It should be a fun way to get to know each other." He nods but doesn't say anything else. Not sure if I should offer to grab us some drinks or just let him be. I head back towards the couches when the fourth arrives. I don't even think Dexy or Serge went to let him in, he's just standing there at the doorway of the lounge. He is tall, like a foot up on me maybe, and skinny, medium black hair on a very serious face. He's wearing a plum-coloured button-down shirt and a crimson tie tucked into a very stylish black vest with matching trousers and mirror-finish black wingtip shoes. He looks like he's ready for church rather than school, but maybe this is just how he dresses; I've known more than one eccentric dresser (one guy in my high school wore a cape all of freshman year). He looks good, I guess, just I'm getting a very intense energy from him. Almost like a hawk Dexy is on top of him, shaking his hand, trying to direct him into the party. His face doesn't change at all, but he seems more than happy to mingle. I guess he just has one of those faces. Honestly, I'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed, but it is a party, and I can't be a hypocrite for what I said to the guy with the gauges.

I walk over to the bar where the refreshments have been laid out and grab a cup of punch, taking a sip. Not bad, weird blend of fruits and, like, Sprite, but I mostly taste pineapple (I don't even remember getting pineapple juice with Serge today). Whatever, I grab a second cup and bring it over to Toby who's moved from the windows to slightly nearer to the foosball table.

“Hey, thought you might like a drink," I say, handing the cup to him. He takes it but is still kinda stoic. “I get what you were saying about parties. I never went to a lot of them at school 'cause I was always working when I wasn't… in school. But I'm hoping I can do new things now I'm here." He gives a single, solitary nod and takes a sip of the punch. We stand in silence for a moment. Might as well take a shot.

“So what do you make of the guys so far?" I ask, taking a look around at the room. Definitely seems like there will be a few characters. The spitfire lad, the guy who looks like someone I went to high school with, the guy in formal clothes, and the one I'm talking to even. I'm sure I'm not coming across my best yet at least. Plus there's the last guy who hasn't shown up yet.

“Well so far yer the only one I've 'ad a chat with, and you seem pretty alright," he says, chuckling a bit. It's deep, like Serge's, but doesn't quite vibrate the room.

“Give it time, they'll come around." That seems to make him smile a little bit.

“Where ya from? I can't quite pin down yer accent."

“Oh! I grew up in New York in the States, but I spent a lot of my childhood in the Pacific Northwest too."

“Oh, right. I don't know much 'bout American accents, 'part from that Texas one." I can't help but laugh.

“Yeah I guess that would be the one that's in videos a lot, the stereotypical Southern drawl. I'm sure you've got your own version here, I just don't know what it is."

“Yorkshire," he says without missing a beat. “I've met loads of lovely folks from there, but if you fancy that accent 'ere, that's where you'll find it. A bit like Dexter, but 'is ain't all that strong." All I can really do is nod.

“Heya!" comes Puck from just behind me, throwing an arm over each of our shoulders. Toby seems to flinch a little. “What are you chattin about way out here? Come into the party! Blake over there's trying to figure out what the punch is, should be a laugh." He slinks away, hand trailing down my back. I glance over at Toby and I can see him set in stone for a moment.

“Don't worry about him," I say, but I don't know if that's good enough. Toby gives a solitary nod, continuing to stare out the window. The guy who looks like someone I went to high school with comes over.

“Hey mate, nice to meet ya! Carter," he says slapping his hand into mine and beaming at me and Toby.

“Lazuli," I say, laughing a bit. Toby doesn't say anything at first.

“Toby, likewise." He takes a sip of his drink.

“That's what I'm talking about!" He is super congenial, like almost oppressively so, but I get it. Sometimes the foot in the door approach works.

“You lads play?" he asks, motioning to the foosball table. I might be imagining it, but Toby's eyes seem to sparkle just slightly.

“Yeah man, I'll give it a go," he says, setting his drink down. I head off with Puck to the bar area where Blake (I guess? the tall guy) is sipping punch like a sommelier to an audience of Serge and now us.

“Ma'am, I assure you, I am fully qualified," I hear over my shoulder. Dexy seems to be being cornered by Carter's mom about something. Part of me wants to move in to help him. A very large part of Serge wants to go in to help, I can see it in his eyes. His face is stone (which is already a concern), but I can feel a kind of rage bubbling just below. There's a knock at the door, surprised I even heard it this time. Serge frowns and then pulls himself off to the foyer to answer it.

“So where are you from? I don't know your accent!" asks Puck, sitting on the couch.

“Yeah, I'm from the States, I guess I'm kinda rare here." I smile and laugh. “Bit different I guess, but I'm sure I'll fit in fine."

“Nah stress from me," says Puck. “And sweet ink! You can get that?"

“Oh yeah, well… so I had a friend pretend to be my dad to give them permission." My face is singed, but I'm genuinely smiling. It's just… a lot, all at once. And then the last guy walks in. He's tall, about the same as Blake, and skinny too. He's got long silver hair that hangs down past his shoulders and wild eyes, those must be contacts. My ex-girlfriend had “jade" eyes but it turned out she just didn't want me to see her without her contacts in. Think she got them from somewhere in Mexico? This must be the same kind of thing because eyes that blue do not exist, like the sky and silver and stars all mixed up. He's wearing a kind of grey sleeveless shirt with some red text over one side and khaki shorts with sandals that have too many straps. At least he's not wearing socks with them.

Serge goes to rescue Dexy from the tiger mom and he moves up to the front of the room, winding himself up for the presentation.

“Pardon me! Could I get yer attention please!" he belts. He's looking calm and composed but I can feel the heat from him, and I know Serge can too. But the best thing for us both is to let him do his job. He knows we are here, and Serge has been for a lot longer than I have. Never thought I'd feel so… devoted? to a new friend, but I guess I do kind of put myself last in every situation, so why wouldn't I? Why am I thinking about this now? This isn't important, I'm meeting my housemates and my roommate! FUCKING FOCUS!!

The tour goes about the same as he did with me, with some comedy breaks for the parents (honestly, not a bad idea I guess). And then finally, here I get to learn who my roommate is.

“Room one'll be Carter and Puck," he says once we're back in the lounge. “Room two'll be fer Blake and Toby, an' room three is fer Lazuli and Raphael. I've got yer keys here, big one is fer th' outer door and th' smaller one is fer your room door. Please come collect them." The five of them head up to get their keys, I hang back and try and get a feeling about Raphael. I guess I don't really know any of them yet, and I haven't even talked to him. He takes a seat on one of the couches but as I'm about to go up to talk to him Dexy taps his shoulder and they go off together. Not sure what that's about, but I guess it's just more time to spend with the rest of my housemates. I guess I haven't talked to Blake yet.

He seems to have resumed his vigil near the refreshments, cup in hand, observing everyone like some kind of wildlife photographer or something. I walk up and pour another cup for myself.

“Ah, eh, hey, I… liked what you were saying about being productive and all, but I hope you make some time for your friends and to have some fun too." He looks at me like I've just shit in his cereal. I can feel... I can hear my heart pounding in my ears like I've committed some heinous crime.

“Yeah, me too," he says, but it's like his face hasn't moved at all. “A new start, a chance to be new myself. You're Lazuli, right? It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He sticks out his hand, it's stiff, but I… want to feel a warmth in it, so I do. I give his hand a firm squeeze and him a sly smile. Somewhere under there, under that granite, is a solid friend, I'm sure.

“So, what do you make of the rest of the guys so far?" He considers deeply.

“The little one is a bit much." I can see his eyes trained on Puck on the opposite side of the room, being doted upon by his parents and he's blushing and hating it. He can't wait to start his life here, I'm sure. I feel that.

“Yeah, a spitfire that one," I say, chuckling. “My impression is… his folks have always been, like, hovering over him 'cause he's their baby boy. He just wants to be himself. Carter I get the same vibe from. Successful parents, always needing things to be perfect, and he lives in their shadow."

“Is that what you feel like?"

I don't know how to respond. How could he know? Lucky guess.

“Yeah," I eventually settle on. “Something like that." I can feel my energy draining a bit so I gulp down the rest of my punch and head up the stairs to the bathroom. Just to get a breath, right? I've been living in this house for a few weeks and while I knew this was coming it still feels overwhelming. I don't know why I'm suddenly so nervous. I take a look at my reflection, splash some water on my face, take a deep, deep breath. In, and out. And another, in, and out. I picture the water dripping off my face and that is my stress leaving me…. Does this ever actually work for anyone? I grab a paper towel from the dispenser by the sink and dry my face, forcing a few more breaths before I head back down, hoping my face isn't red or anything. I see Raphael, at the front windows, cup in hand. I take a breath, swallow my heart back into my chest.

“Hey," I say, and he leaps out of his skin. “Oh! Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to come and really introduce myself, seeing as how we'll be roommates and all." Up close he's even more intimidating even though he shouldn't be, y'know? Like I'm studier than him, I'm shorter than him, sure, but I look up into those crazy eyes, that silver hair, and I just don't know how to parse it.

“Oh yeah, it's fine, I was just thinking is all," he says, sticking out his hand. “Raphael, nice to meet you."

“Lazuli, and same." I grab his hand giving it a firm shake. “I guess if we wanted to be quirky it could be 'Rafe and Laz.'" I laugh, knowing immediately that was a mistake. Why did I say that? That was so, so cringe-inducing.

“Not sure about that," he says, chuckling along. I just want to die; this was a horrible first impression to make. I just go over to the punch bowl and pour myself a new cup. How can I save this? I'm still thinking about it when he says:

“So who won at table football?" What? Oh! The foosball game from before, right? And then the actual words find their way to my lips.

“What? Oh! Yeah, Puck is super good, and Toby was really trying his best." I don't know what else to say after that, still trying to will myself back to life fully. I take a sip of punch, not sure what to make of him honestly, but I know I'm not coming off great either.

“I hear you got here earlier than the rest of us?" Where did you hear that? That must have been when Dexy wanted to talk to him. Didn't think it would have been about me, and I don't really know how to feel about that.

“Oh, yeah, I did already decorate our room a bit, but if any of it's too much I can take it down no worries."

“I…" he starts, and stalls, looking down at my shirt, like he's just trying to find something to talk about. “What's the band on your shirt?" Well at least this I can say something about.

“This? Oh, thanks, I know a little bit about screen printing, so I made it myself." Literally not what he asked. “It's Passion Pit, kind of an indie band from the States, but they've been getting more popular and I'm excited for it! I think they even might be doing an international tour soon! I'd love to go if they're nearby," (reign it in, you idiot), “but, well I've got other things to focus on right now."

“Oh cool," he says, and I don't know if he's being genuine or just polite. “I'll have to give them a listen sometime."

“I've got their CD if you wanna listen!" It's almost a new decade people don't listen to CDs anymore, right? Fuck it. “I'm… kinda old school I guess…." I can feel an uncomfortable burning at the back of my neck, that familiar pain of cringe and embarrassment and what are you saying stop talking. I can't tell what he's thinking at all. He doesn't look disgusted, but he doesn't look interested either. He just looks… amazing….

“There's nothing wrong with being old school," he says after what feels like an eternity. “Sometimes it's more about the experience than the quality." I suddenly remember listening to the 45's and 78's on the stereo in the basement of my old family home before… just… before….

“Yeah," I finally manage. Desperate to change the subject now. “I brought my old PS2 with me. Had a hard time finding a TV for it, and a harder time bringing it back to the house on the train. Like, I know I could get an HDMI converter and just plug it into my laptop, but it's about the experience." And now I'm just rambling. “Do you play video games? Or… what kinda stuff are you into for fun?" I can't tell consciously, not yet with him, but I have a sense of a shot of panic.

“I… mostly just work really, this whole university thing is…"

“Kinda terrifying?" I don't know why but it felt like a good rescue. I exhale a rough half-laugh. What am I feeling? “Tell me about it. I guess at least you have the advantage of living here." He is stone silent. Like, not just saying nothing, but he's stopped breathing, his eyes are glass, he's gone somewhere I could never know. How could I have said something so wrong? My own breathing: one breath, two breaths, three breaths, fo….

“Ah, yeah, I guess," he finally says. I've done something, I don't know what though.

“You okay? You seem kinda… stressed?"

“Yeah!" he says instantly. “Totally fine, I was just… well I don't get out must I guess so I probably don't know the city as well as you think." That wasn't it, not by a long shot, but I'm not going to press on it. I want him to like me still, we do still have to be roommates, and I've just been… terrible so far. I shouldn't have said that stupid ship name, that was too much, way too much for a guy I don't even know yet really. And I don't… know how I feel about him yet. My mind is fucking spinning with the entirety of my past relationships: friends, family, romantic, what does any of it fucking mean?! NO! STOP!! GET YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER, JUST… just… just…. Introduction to Ethics first thing once the term starts, I think my schedule said… with Professor Baird… Serge seemed to like him.

“Oh, that's fine, Serge and Dexy have shown me a lot since I've been here." Look who found his voice again. I feel fucking exhausted suddenly. “I just hope we'll be good roommates is all I guess, and hopefully friends." If I put absolutely any thought behind any of those words, I will fucking explode.

“So… tell be about the tattoo. Does it have any significance?" Almost reactively I hold up my left arm, looking with a fond smile at the azure ink, interwoven diamonds. Those guys back at the restaurant, and Liam…. It feels like my chest has caved in, just for a moment.

“Oh yeah, so I used to work in a restaurant when I was 16 and one of the chefs there was kinda like a father-figure to me. He had this same kind of tattoo, so I got this to… honour him? I guess?"

“Well it looks really nice." I'm not listening, not really.

“Yeah, it was a real… time of self-discovery I think. Still learning about myself today too, but it started around then I think."

I remember Jackie, golden hair, green eyes… well…. I remember 9th grade and her saying I was her boyfriend now because I was the strongest boy in our class. I didn't think that was true, but I didn't have the wherewithal to disagree. I remember 10th grade, talking with my friend all during lunch every day and some random girl asked me if I was gay because I was spending time with my friend more than my 'girlfriend'. I remember being so mad about that, but I didn't know why… because being gay was bad. I remember my friends saying 'that's gay' about any trifling inconvenience, so I didn't tell them. Then mom went to rehab. Dad wasn't there. I remember 11th grade when I… first saw Liam…. He was so tall and beautiful and magnificent. I didn't care that I would be a dishwasher at some local place in Eugene I just… needed to be around him. His hair was long and dark, so I started to wear mine long. Every muscle on his arms shone in sweat when he worked the knives and the crimson and black flames on his right arm danced, oh how they danced when he would cook, mixing with the flames from the stove.

That's a big commitment, and he wasn't wrong, but I needed something, anything, to tie me to him, to this feeling. So, we lied, and I cried, and I passed out more than once I think, but eventually the azure diamonds were done, a brother to his black and crimson flame. Dad didn't even notice when I started wearing only long-sleeved shirts at home. I guess we… both mourned in our own way about mom's death. He went into work, and so did I. And then….

I'm so proud of you! You're going to do great in England! Go learn some shit, be better than all of us! He had meant it, when I got off the phone with Liam. He had me on speaker with the whole back-of-house crew, I even remember a few of the other voices but his… his…. It had been months since… well I'd been back in New York, finishing up my senior year (dad thought it'd be better for me to be back 'home', but I think he just wanted me gone) and I didn't know what I was doing at all. Everything felt so split: my life in New York, my life in Eugene, my… whatever Jackie had been and long forgotten, and whatever Liam had been and… it burned so bright, and I almost wanted to tell him I'd refused and was going to be going back west but… I needed to do this, for me. To get away from everything, to figure out who I was when I wasn't…. And here I am, half a world apart, and doing it again. His eyes are just so blue…. Swimming in the Flood….

“Eh, you said you work a lot, where do you work?

“For the British Museum," he says after a moment. “I assist one of the researchers there."

“Wow! That sounds really cool!" Legit, that sounds impressive. “What kind of stuff do you get to do? I like museums, just never get to really go to them a lot. I've been to the Met maybe once." It was a school trip; he doesn't need to know that.

“Oh, mostly I'm just bringing things in, it's not exciting."

“Oh okay, still cool though." My brain is reeling a bit, trying to think of anything just to get to know him a little bit better while everyone else is still around. “Um… do you wanna play foosball?" I motion over my shoulder at the now empty table.

“What? Oh! Yeah, sure. I've never played so you'll have to teach me."

“Really? These things must be more popular in the States." My heart pounds in my ears as we cross the room. “It's pretty easy, so there's the ball and…" I'm drawing a blank… “you need to use the handles on your side to kick the ball into my goal." Why can't I remember how to play suddenly? “Eh, that would be the one on your right." I take the far side, red. He takes the near side, blue… blue…. He spins the handles around a few times, like we all always do. It's cute.

“Are you ready?"

“Uh huh," he says, eyes steeled on the table. I drop the ball in, and he gives it the gentlest of taps towards my goal. I… don't know how easy I should go. Casual, surely? I adjust my left hand to the backline. But… not too casual, right? Don't want him thinking I'm being a dick 'cause he's new, right? My wrist snaps around almost beyond my control and the ball launches towards his goal, bounding off the back wall. He grabs his goalie handle in a panic but it's already rolled back in beyond the reach. With his other hand he grabs his midfielders but instead of kicking it forward he just knocks it sideways into the side of the table. I grab my midfielder handle and send it back towards his goal but I miss. Should I…? I grab the frontline and kick it into his goal. I… feel pretty good about it, but he's never played, and I can see how pissed he is. I don't know if it was a good play or not.

“I don't really know if this game is for me," he says, visibly frustrated. Shit.

“You said it was your first time playing, right? You're not going to be perfect at it right away." That isn't helping, I can tell. Puck, he beat me when we were playing before, where is he? There, by the windows, thankfully looking in my direction. I throw my hand up and wave him over, and he is looking so smug.

“Ya want me to give ya anther thrashin'?" he exhales with a laugh. He doesn't mean it, not seriously. At least I don't think he does.

“Nah." I laugh too. All friends, right? “I'm trying to teach Raphael how to play and since you're better than me you can probably help him out more." I'm not lying, he is better than I am… but maybe I'm just off today given… everything.

“Ah, right, like! So ne'er had a go at it, eh? Don't fash yerself about it, man. They way I see it, it's a game of reaction. Ya can't really set up shots like in proper footie, gotta just watch where the ball goes an' go from there." I think I understood maybe every other word, hopefully Raphael has an easier time of it. I'm only just beginning to understand Serge and Dexy's accents. Puck slips himself under Raphael's arm, running his fingers down the back of his forearms until they connect on the table handles. There's a spark of red in my chest, but I don't know what it is.

“So, the ball's in play," he says, looking at me expectantly. Snapping out of it, I drop the ball into the basket that rolls it onto the table centre. “Once ya get used to the feel of the spacing of the handles it'll get easier, like. Fer now we just want to get the ball over to the right side of the pitch, ya know?" With a surprising force they move their left hands to kick the ball towards my goal, slipping my midfielders entirely. Swift as I can I adjust my hand on the defensive line, blocking and knocking it back towards Raphael's goal, but probably more gently than I should have given who I'm now playing against. Spitfire indeed.

“Right, here it comes, how do ya react?" They pull their left arms in, stopping the dribble and kicking it back towards my goal, their right hands twist in behind the ball, knocking it into my goal. “Ayy! You got it!" Puck releases Raphael's hands and grabs his waist in celebration. Crimson in my chest again. Raphael looks so legitimately happy though, and the crimson dulls to saffron.

“Not bad," I say forcing a smile, barely able to find my voice. “Ready to go again?"

“Yeah, I…" he trails off, hand moving to his shorts pocket. “Er hang on, sorry." He pulls his buzzing phone out, frowning as he looks at the screen. “Erm, it's work." He moves out the door to the back yard.

“Thanks for helping out Puck," I say, still with the smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

“Anytime! Wanna rematch?" I laugh half-heartedly.

“Nah, think I've had enough of a beating for now." Every part of me feels like it's burning up, from whatever that was in my chest earlier, to I think just the stress of so many people all at once in what had very recently just been mine and Dexy and Serge's. I peel off towards the foyer, think I need some air. From behind me it sounds like Puck's parents are making plans about going out to dinner with their son on his first night in the house. Sounds nice. I walk up the stairs, the old wood creaking slightly under my feet as I fish the key to my (our, our) room out of my pocket. It glides into the lock like a magnet, ready to bring me the sweet relief of personal space. I push the door closed, leaning against it. Deep breaths.

I look over at my bed, my space in the room and smile. It really does feel good to have it. I look at what is about to be Raphael's space and I don't know what to feel. Nervous, I guess? I still don't really feel like I know him yet, but I guess that's the experience. It'll come eventually. I walk over to my desk, dropping the keys in a little wooden bowl to swim along with some spare change I've accumulated over the weeks since I've been here (eventually I'll start learning them by feel, right?) I sit at my desk. I move to my bed. I stand by the window that opens onto the balcony. Yeah, outside, definitely outside. I open the window and go out onto the balcony, taking a seat in the same chair I did when I saw Serge's… everything… and we had a talk about what Dexy had wanted this house to be. Like brothers, he had said. I close my eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees around the house; the dull chatter still coming from inside, formless and muted. The distant sounds of shoes on sandy dirt. The people in the park barely register anymore, like it really is its own place away from everything despite it being in the middle of the city. I wonder… I never got to Central Park much… did anywhere there feel like this? Somehow I doubt it. There was one spot I remember in Oregon, heading east out of Eugene towards South Sister. Everything was so green. Probably my second favourite memory of Oregon. Nothing they have here is going to match the national parks. There's a scraping noise behind me, the door to my (our) room opening and closing. I give it a moment, finding another breath or two before standing and heading back in through the window.

“Oh, hey there!" I say, trying to just be super normal. No stress here, no sir. He jumps a bit, probably didn't realise there was the opening to the balcony here. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, I was just taking a break from the crowd." I sit back down at my desk, shoving the papers with my class schedule and other stuff to the side for no real reason other than to do something with my hand. I swivel in the seat, looking at him, and I can't help but smile just a little bit. “I hope it's not too much, what I've decorated." I look back over my shoulders at the posters, the lights, feeling the home here.

“Uh no, it's fine. Nice actually, I don't know what I was expecting," he says, stepping in, the door swinging its lazy arc closed behind him. I don't actually think it's supposed to do that, but it's just heavy enough to close the latch when it does, so I've taken to propping it open with my shoe when I've gone to take a shower. He takes a seat on his bare bed, looking at my side of the room, eyes darting over the walls behind me.

“So…" he says finally, “those posters. One of those is the same band as your shirt, right? Who is the other one?" Right, the Manners one and then the one from the Utada United 2006 tour. Found it on Ebay and spent way too much on it but it felt important.

“Ah yeah, the one is Passion Pit, the other is Utada, she's a Japanese pop singer. It's from one of her tours a few years ago. Didn't get to see it live, obviously, but I have the DVD and I've watched it maybe a dozen times. I…" again, reign it in, “tend to get really into music I guess." He nods but I don't think he even realised he did it. “What kind of music do you like?"

“I don't know really, I guess I haven't thought about it much," he says, and surely that can't be right. Everyone loves music… right? I'm about to clarify when I hear a buzzing in the quiet room, his phone again. He thumbs the screen briefly. “Oh, sorry, my stuff's just got here, I should go down and bring it in." Two thoughts run through my head simultaneously: I want to argue about music, and I was a dick about that stupid nickname thing before and he's just gotten here and I've been here for a bit and I should really try to be more helpful. Yeah, I think that's the one that's going to win.

“Oh cool, I can help if you want?" I don't care what he says, I need to try and… what? Fix something? You're being creepy, you need to chill out. My body won't listen, already latched into 'he's new and I need to help' like a fucking tick. I'm on the floor of the foyer in record time and there's a (very attractive) lad there with three boxes and one of those bulky delivery tablet things.

“Hi!" I say, putting on my most honeyed voice. “Are those for Raphael? I can sign for them." He takes one look at me, one excruciatingly long look, especially staring at my eyes.

“Are you Raphael?" he asks eventually.

“Well, no."

“I'm sorry, sir, I can only release these Items to their designated recipient."

“I know, but he's my roommate, are you sure you can't just" (let me do this one thing for him) I'm interrupted.

“Lazuli, it's fine, thank you," he says stepping off the stairs. I feel like I'm burning up again. Why can't I do anything right today? He signs the tablet.

“Have a good rest of your day, sir." He gives a weird… something, a weird look and a twitch before leaving. Don't know what that was, but I'm sure it wasn't important. Raphael closes the front door and looks at the boxes that were left for him.

“Erm… well I guess since you're offering, would you mind taking one of these up to our room?" Our room. Ours, no longer mine, ours.

“Yeah, no problem." I grab the box nearest to me, doesn't look anything special, and head back up, my head spinning a bit. Why can't I make sense of anything today? Even this morning it's been all… swimmy… like something has been trying to… to what? I feel raw and unfocused and I don't like it. I was so sure of myself before, and then I wasn't, and then I was again…. You're gonna be better than all of us! I can hear Liam's voice echoing in my head. I'm sure. Not for him, for me. Everything I had to do to get here, always only for me. This is mine! But… he needs help. I can see it; I can feel it. We're the same age but I can feel him shaking like a scared child, like I used to be before I was forced to grow up too fast. Mom was dead, dad was gone, and I was 15 on my own. And then I was 16 with Jackie, with Liam. 17, questioning everything. 18, making a choice, to leave everything behind and figure out who I was. It was always so clear, why did it keep slipping away today? Too much stress, too many people. Once it's just us it'll be fine again… even if there are more of us.

I head back down the stairs, passing Raphael on the way up with a box marked 'fragile' and grab the last box. It's tall, says 'wardrobe' on it with some upwards arrows, so I guess these are his clothes. Not sure why that would be important thinking on it…. I hoist it up, yeah, kinda heavy. Shirts don't weight this much, right? Unless he has a lot of them or, like, a suit of armour or something. I laugh to myself. When I get back up to the room he's torn open the box I'd brought up before, some clothes, what looks like a fresh set of sheets, and a box of really expensive looking shoes open in his lap, shiny and black.

“Oh those are sharp!" I don't even know where that came from, the words just left my mouth. I set the wardrobe box down nearby.

“Ah, yeah, thanks," he stammers. “Formal occasions only." He closes the box and pushes it away with a… disgusted(?) look on his face. I head back over to my side of the room, opening my laptop to at least pretend to look like I'm not watching him. He opens up the wardrobe box next, a bunch of button-down shirts in various colours but similar styles, an odd polo or two, and then two full fucking suits that are way beyond what I was expecting. They look like some cosplay bullshit with how fancy they are. One in blue and one in black with a bunch of fancy silver piping around every edge and I can't help but feel like I've seen it before, but I cannot remember where.

“Oh wow, those are really nice!" Again, my voice betrays me. “What are those for? The blue one looks familiar, but I don't know why." Hrm… … … … … no, not coming to me. I need to get out of here, let him have some space. I'm sure I probably stink like anxiety. “Eh, I'm gonna grab a shower, let you sort all this out in peace." I walk over to my wardrobe, lacing my fingers into the plain black hairband holding my bun up (such a hipster hairstyle, I know, but I think it looks really good on me) and feel as it rolls onto my wrist, hair falling down to my shoulders. I peel my shirt off (should I be nervous about this? Surely there's no issue with changing in front of my roomie, right?) and grab a towel from my wardrobe, the tote from on top with my washcloth, pouf, bodywash, and bottle of Mane 'n Tail (my cousin swears by it, and she was right). I toe off my sneakers and stick one in the doorway as I head out to the hallway, passing the open rooms of the other guys, milling about, chatting, sorting out their own clothes and decorations, looks like Blake is shifting his bed around for some reason. Carter and Puck's rooms are crowded with both their folks in and from the brief fragment of conversation I catch before ducking into the bathroom next door it sounds like their plans to go out to dinner have merged. Again, sounds nice, but all the same it leaves a slightly bitter taste in my mouth.

I flick the light and vent fan on, locking the door behind. Guess need to be more mindful of the other guys now, so I can't stay in forever. Still, I just want the ritual of washing the day off I guess. I turn on the hot water. As I peel my socks off I catch a glimpse in the mirror over the sink. Yeah, doesn't look bad. Arms and chest still look good. I unbutton my jeans and pull them down with my boxers. Legs could be better maybe. And I could do with a little trim down there. The water is hot and I step into it, a cleansing spring raining on my face, damping my hair, and carrying away with it all the stress of the day as it goes down the drain. Then, everything rotates at a 45-degree angle. I slam my hand into the wall to catch myself but the feeling is gone instantly, replaced with the pain and redness in my palm. Ooookay… yeah, I think I'm definitely stressed out and need to try to relax. Slowly I remove my hand from the wall, but the room is the right way up still, so that's good at least, right?

Better to not tempt it too much. I squirt some bodywash in my hand, very quickly rubbing it over my torso, my balls, my dick, my ass, just trying to quickly clean. Not even going to bother with my hair right now. Once the last bubble goes down the drain I swap the water to cold (heard it's better for your pores that way, don't know if it's true though), and then off, grabbing my towel from the bar by the shower door. I dry off, wrapping the towel around my waist and grab my clothes and shower tote and head back to my (our) room. The door is closed and basically everyone is standing in the foyer and suddenly I feel very exposed. I give it a quick knock. Did I forget to prop it open? Raphael probably doesn't know it has a tendency to close on its own and I obviously don't have my key since I left it on my desk. The door opens.

“Sorry I guess I forgot my… oh!" Dexy is the one who's opened it from inside, and Raphael is looking… panicked? “Dexy! Hi! Could I just… sneak past your real quick?" I gently shoulder my way past the RA and into the room. Yeah, definitely a weird vibe in here, but I don't know why. Dexy's been nothing but great to me and while I don't know Raphael very well yet I definitely didn't get the impression that there would be anything weird with him. I head over to my bed and set my shower caddy down. “Everything alright?"

“No worries lad," says Dexy. “I was just checkin' in, makin' sure all his things got here safe and sound." Nothing about him sounds off. “I'll leave ya lads to it then." He backs out the door, closing it behind him. Whatever. I open the doors of my wardrobe, pulling open the drawers below and looking at my clothes. I wonder if I should get some, like, proper pyjamas or something. I hear the door open and see the back of Raphael as he leaves with the broken-down cardboard boxes, so I've got a minute or so right? I pull of my towel, taking it back to my hair trying to dry it off more. I remember how much easier it was when it was shorter, but I like it like this, even if it is a pain. I hear the door close behind me, the sound of footsteps, and feel the panic running up my spine. The grey lounge pants, good enough, I grab them and quickly slip them on, trying not to give any clue that my heart is in my throat and beating like an 808. There's a clicking sound behind me. Very carefully I turn around, but Raphael's back is to me, he's looking at something on his bed. I peek over, looks like a… drone?

“Oh cool, is that a drone?" Again! Why can't I control myself?! He doesn't look up, just staring down in the hard plastic case.

“Ah! Oh yeah, well a few. There are five total in this kit, it's part of what I use for work… to take recordings of things like… cultural sites… and concerts." Giving it a closer look, yeah, there's one larger drone, and four tiny ones, not much bigger than a GoPro with rotors. Wait…

“For your work with the museum? I thought you said you were just a go-fer? That's really cool!" Why would he say his job was so boring when he gets cool toys like these to use? I head back over to my wardrobe, catching a glimpse of what looks like everyone else heading down the footpath away from the house, so probably just the four of us here (where is Serge? I haven't seen him in forever). I brush my hair with my fingers and pick up my phone from my desk.

“Hey, uh… not sure where everyone else went but I was thinking about just ordering in dinner. Did you want something? My treat!" He doesn't say anything at first, instead shuffling around the clothes in his wardrobe.

“You don't have to do that." He doesn't look at me, suddenly very interested in the sleeves of one of his shirts. I don't think he's trying to be mean I think he's just….

“I know but…," I guess nothing better than the truth, right? “Well just I know my first day here was stressful, and I didn't have anyone but Serge and Dexy here to help me, so I just… guess I wanted to do that for you… I guess…. Carter and Puck had their folks here. Blake and Toby… well I don't know about them but seeing as it's just us here now I… wanted to make the offer." Deep breath. “I feel like we got a weird start earlier, so I guess maybe this is my way of saying 'sorry' if I made you feel awkward." And now the ball is in his court, so to speak. The silence extends…. I take a seat on my bed.

“I…" he starts, turning around. I can tell he's stressed, but it seems to be finally at the point of release. I see him swallow thickly. “I would appreciate that, very much." And I'm so glad.