Get ready for work

I rinsed the mug, grabbed my lunchbox and keys, and was lacing up my boots by the front door when I heard her coming down the stairs.

Veronica appeared in the hallway wearing the full uniform again — oversized black hoodie that swallowed her small frame and grey track pants that hid everything. The curves I’d seen so clearly that morning in the thin t-shirt were completely camouflaged now, but knowing what was underneath made the baggy clothes feel different. Like a secret we were both pretending wasn’t there.

She looked more awake, hair still damp from the shower, and when she saw me her face lit up with that same easy smile.

“Hey, heading out?” she asked, padding closer on bare feet. “Have a good day at work, yeah? Don’t let them work you too hard.”

It was such a normal, casual thing to say. Housemate small talk. But after the coffee she’d left me, after the way she’d smiled at me half-asleep and braless in the hallway, it hit somewhere deeper. Like she actually cared how my day went.

“Thanks,” I said, voice rougher than I meant. “And… thanks again for the coffee this morning. That was decent of you.”

She waved it off, but her smile got a little wider, a little softer. “Anytime, Tom. Seriously. See you when you get back.”

I nodded, stepped out into the cool morning air, and pulled the door shut behind me. 8:30 on the dot. The Corolla coughed to life on the third try and I headed toward the warehouse, the terrace house — and her — shrinking in the rear-view mirror.

The shift was pure Friday brutality. Nine to nine, non-stop. Pallets that never ended, the forklift beeping like a migraine, the supervisor on everyone’s arse because weekly targets were due. My back was screaming by smoko, my hands raw even through the gloves, and the dust got everywhere — in my hair, my teeth, the creases of my eyes. But for once my head wasn’t only on the grind or the second-job hunt.

It kept drifting back to the house. To the way she’d left the coffee exactly how I liked it without being asked. To that thin faded t-shirt and the soft press of her nipples against the fabric when she stood in the hallway, happy to see me even after being up half the night. To how she’d come down later fully armoured in the hoodie and track pants again, wished me a good day like it mattered.

And then there was the gaming.

Fridays after work, me and the boys usually jumped on Discord, fired up whatever co-op shooter we were into that month, and talked shit until late. It was the one reliable social thing I had left — the mates who hadn’t moved away or got too serious with girlfriends yet. I looked forward to it. The banter, the laughs, the way it made the long day feel like it had a point.

But today, as I stacked another pallet and wiped sweat out of my eyes, I caught myself wondering what Veronica was doing right now. If she was already streaming. If her chat was being its usual unhinged self. If maybe… I don’t know. If I should mention the gaming night when I got home. See if she wanted to jump in the Discord for a bit or play something together. She was into games. It could be easy. Casual. A way to hang out without making it a thing.

Or maybe that was the exact kind of complication I’d been telling myself to avoid.

By the time the shift finally ended at nine, I was wrecked. Back throbbing in that deep, familiar way, eyes gritty, smelling like cardboard and diesel and twelve hours of hard yakka. The drive home was automatic. But when I pulled up outside the terrace, the lights were still on in the living room and I could hear her voice carrying faintly through the open window — that bright, teasing streamer tone, laughing at something on screen.

I sat in the car for a minute with the engine off, just listening.

Friday night. Mates waiting on Discord. A brutal day behind me. And her in there, probably curled up in her hoodie and track pants, doing her thing.

I had choices to make about how the rest of this night was going to go.