I live here

Dr. Hammond’s lab meetings started at ten on Monday mornings, and by 9:58, every seat around the conference table was full.

Word had gotten around. For six months, I’d been the postdoc in the corner who never came to happy hour and stayed until the cleaning crew kicked her out, the one who’d booked the soldering station every weekend since March. Today I’d promised to show them why. Twelve people, coffees in hand, laptops closed. Priya from the Anderson lab had come over from the next floor. Even Marcus, who usually spent lab meetings answering emails under the table, had put his phone face down.

I walked them through all of it. The theory. The signal modeling. The circuit layout. The self-trials, the Krebs cycle backward in eleven seconds, the Portuguese vocabulary retained at a hundred percent after twelve hours. I’d practiced it so many times I didn’t need my notes, and I could feel the room leaning in. Somewhere around slide fourteen, Dr. Hammond took his reading glasses off and started chewing on the earpiece, which, according to Marcus, meant he was impressed.

Slide twenty-two said LIVE DEMONSTRATION in forty-point font.

I’d known it was coming. I’d been dreading it since Sunday night. I’d told myself I’d think of something on the way in, and then I hadn’t, and now here it was, filling the screen behind me.

“So,” I said. “About the demonstration.”

Twelve faces looked at me.

“There’s been a... small setback. With the prototype.”

Dr. Hammond put his glasses back on. “What kind of setback?”

“It’s... temporarily misplaced.”

“Misplaced.”

“I know exactly where it is. Approximately. It’s in my apartment. Somewhere in my apartment. I’m confident it hasn’t left the apartment.”

“Then go get it,” Marcus said helpfully. “It’s, what, a twenty-minute ride?”

“I don’t... know where in the apartment.”

Somebody’s chair creaked.

“Rachel,” Dr. Hammond said slowly, “where is the prototype?”

I’d prepared for this. I’d planned to say in a secure location pending recalibration, which was technically true if you considered the inside of a cat’s secret hoard a secure location. I opened my mouth to say it.

“My cat took it,” I said instead.

The silence was total. I could hear the projector fan. I could hear the air conditioning. I could hear Priya, very quietly, trying not to laugh into her coffee and making a small wet sound in her throat.

“Your cat,” Dr. Hammond said.

“He likes small shiny things,” I said. “He has a whole... collection. We found an AirPod behind the fridge once. After three weeks. So it’s probably just—”

Marcus put his hand over his mouth.

“—it’s probably just somewhere he hasn’t been yet. I mean, I haven’t been. Where he’s been. I’ve checked behind the fridge already. And the litter box.”

Someone at the end of the table actually did laugh, then turned it into a cough.

“Have you checked under the couch?” Priya asked, completely straight-faced.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. I have.”

Dr. Hammond let me finish the presentation. I don’t really remember the last eight slides. When everyone filed out, nobody looked at me, which was worse than if they had.

He called me into his office afterward and shut the door. He took his glasses off again, folded them, and set them on the desk, and he didn’t raise his voice even once.

“Rachel,” he said. “This is not high school. You cannot walk into my lab and tell me your cat ate your homework, and expect us to be fine with you losing tens of thousands of dollars of research materials. That prototype was built with lab equipment and grant funding. It is the property of this lab.” He folded his hands. “I need it on my desk by Friday. If it isn’t, I will be speaking with HR and the grant committee about your judgment.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” He put his glasses back on. “A cat, Rachel.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon at my desk, staring at my screen and making a list.

Places Garlic could have hidden it (unchecked). Inside the dryer. In the toe of one of Olivia’s winter boots. Under the bathroom radiator, if I took the cover off. Inside the box spring of Olivia’s bed, where there was a tear in the fabric he liked to crawl into. I’d ask Olivia to help. She’d been so sweet yesterday, holding the flashlight while I lay on my stomach checking under things. Tonight we’d do it properly. Room by room. Grid search. If I had to follow that cat around the apartment on my hands and knees until midnight, I would.

I texted her from the lab bathroom before I left: it went really bad. need your help tonight. please help me search!

She didn’t answer.

---

I walked the last few blocks home in the fog with my hands jammed in my hoodie pocket, running the list over and over in my head. The dryer. The boots. The radiator. The box spring. If it wasn’t in any of those, maybe I’d have to think about the possibility that he’d taken it out somehow, through the window or under the door. Maybe I should knock on Mrs. Patterson’s door and ask if she’d seen anything in the hall. Maybe I should...

I could smell dinner in the stairwell. Butter and garlic and something roasting. Olivia must have seen my text and started cooking. She did that on bad days.

My eyes stung again, the good kind.

I let myself in, still half in my head, shrugging my bag off my shoulder, toeing off one shoe.

I looked up.

Derek was on my couch.

He was sitting dead center, knees spread wide, one arm slung along the back cushions like it was his couch and his apartment and I was the one who'd wandered in. A backward cap. A white tank top with a Nike swoosh. His bare feet propped on our coffee table, next to an open bag of tortilla chips. Garlic was curled up against his thigh, purring like a tiny orange traitor.

For several seconds, I just stared.

Then Derek noticed me.

"Hey, Kimchi. Welcome home."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

He glanced at me, then back at the television.

"Watching TV."

"I can fucking see that, Derek! What are you doing in my apartment?"

He looked at me again, his eyebrows drawing together in exaggerated confusion.

"Uh. I live here?"

I laughed.

Not because anything was funny. Because after the day I'd had, after being publicly humiliated in front of twelve colleagues and privately threatened with professional ruin, I had apparently come home to discover that the universe had decided to play another practical joke on me.

"That's hilarious. Really. Now get the fuck out."

Derek picked up another tortilla chip.

"Jesus, Kimchi. Rough day?"

"Do not call me that."

"Okay, Kimchi."

I dropped my bag onto the floor.

"Where's Olivia?"

"Bedroom, probably."

"And she let you in?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't ask her."

"Then how did you get inside?"

"With my key, dumbass."

He reached into his pocket, withdrew a familiar silver key with a little blue plastic cover, and held it up between two fingers.

I recognized it immediately.

It was one of our apartment keys.

My stomach dropped.

"Where did you get that?"

Derek looked at the key, then at me, and something unpleasantly amused passed across his face.

"Rachel. I live here."

"No, you fucking don't."

He smirked, reached into his other pocket, and pulled something out.

It was small and black. A slim, matte little cylinder, about the length of a lipstick tube. He pressed one end of it into the soft spot under his jaw.

I knew it.

For one second, I knew exactly what it was. The shape. The flat contact pad on the end. The way he held it to the hollow of his throat, the way I'd held it, the way I'd designed it to be held.

And then I didn't.

Because Derek didn't have MUSE. That was simply a fact. I'd watched him leave with nothing but a cardboard box. MUSE was somewhere in this apartment, in Garlic's hoard, behind something or under something. So the thing in Derek's hand had to be something else, and when I looked at it again, of course it was. A vape. One of those sleek black ones all the guys at the gym had. They all looked basically the same.

He lowered his hand to his throat. He was going to use the device on himself to vape.

"I've lived here for two weeks, Rachel. You invited me to move in the day Olivia dumped me. You know that," he said. "Try not to be such a bitch."

I already had my phone out. My thumb was on the screen. I was ready to call 911 right in front of him, and when they picked up, I was going to tell them a man had broken into my apartment and I'd walked in and immediately started being a bitch about it.

My thumb stopped.

That wasn't right. I was the problem in this situation, not him. I was the one who was being a bitch.

It was hard to accept. But it was true, wasn’t it?

Something clicked.

Of course Derek lived here.

He'd moved in two weeks ago, right after Olivia broke up with him. I'd invited him myself.

I remembered helping him carry an enormous television up the stairs. I remembered him complaining that our internet was too slow. I remembered the argument we'd had about where to put his stupid fucking gaming chair.

And the key.

Of course he had a key.

I'd given it to him when he moved in.

I blinked.

What the hell had I been so angry about?

I'd invited the guy to live here, and now I was threatening to call the police because he'd had the audacity to sit on our couch?

Jesus Christ.

Maybe I really was being a bitch.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Then why the fuck are your feet on the coffee table?"

Derek's grin widened.

"What?"

"Your feet. On the table. We've talked about this."

He looked down at his feet.

"These feet?"

"Yes, Derek. Those fucking feet."

He lifted one, inspected the sole, and placed it back down.

"Looks fine to me."

"You're disgusting."

"Love you too, Kimchi."

I flipped him off, then felt immediately guilty for being a bitch.

He laughed and returned his attention to the television.

I stood there for another moment, annoyed beyond words, before bending down to untie my remaining shoe.

Something about that conversation bothered me.

Not the usual things. Derek was an inconsiderate asshole. That wasn't news. He'd been an inconsiderate asshole for as long as I'd known him.

But I'd genuinely thought he wasn't supposed to be here.

Which was ridiculous.

Derek lived here.

---

Olivia's bedroom door was closed.

That wasn't unusual by itself. Olivia liked her privacy, and after the breakup she'd been spending a lot more time in there, playing Stardew Valley and watching old episodes of Buffy.

What was unusual was that she hadn't come out to greet me.

Normally, she'd have heard the front door and emerged within thirty seconds to ask how my presentation went. Especially today.

I knocked.

"Liv?"

Nothing.

"Olivia? It's me."

"I know."

Her voice was flat.

I frowned.

"Can I come in?"

A pause.

"Sure."

I opened the door.

Olivia was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop balanced on her knees. She wore an oversized green sweater and a pair of gray pajama shorts, her copper hair pulled into a messy bun. Her glasses had slipped halfway down her nose.

She looked up when I entered.

"Hey."

"Hey."

I waited.

Usually, there would have been a question. A smile. At the very least, some acknowledgment that I'd just survived what was potentially the worst professional experience of my life.

Instead, she looked back at her laptop.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Fine."

"That's good."

"Mm-hmm."

I stood awkwardly in the doorway.

What the fuck?

"Mine was terrible, thanks for asking."

She glanced up.

"Sorry. How was your presentation?"

"Catastrophic. Hammond basically threatened to fire me if I don't find MUSE by Friday."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"What do you want me to say, Rachel?"

That stopped me.

Olivia wasn't being sarcastic. She sounded genuinely tired.

"I don't know. Something? Anything? You knew how important today was."

"I know."

"Then what's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Liv."

She sighed.

"Rachel, I'm really not in the mood."

"Did I do something?"

Olivia closed her laptop.

There it was.

The look.

I'd known Olivia since second grade. I'd seen that expression on her face approximately a thousand times, usually when she was trying very hard not to say something that would start an argument.

"Seriously?" she asked.

"Yes, seriously."

She stared at me.

"You're asking me if you did something?"

"That's generally what that question means."

"Jesus Christ."

"Okay, what the fuck is happening?"

Olivia set her laptop aside.

"Do you have short term memory loss, or something?"

"Liv, you're scaring me. What the fuck is going on?"

She gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Rachel. You invited my ex-boyfriend to live with us."

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because that was...

Well.

That was true.

I'd invited Derek to move in two weeks ago.

I remembered the conversation. Derek standing in our kitchen with a duffel bag, explaining that he needed somewhere to stay. Olivia sitting at the table, her eyes red from crying. And me, apparently deciding that letting her newly ex-boyfriend move into our apartment was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

And now she was stuck living in the same apartment as him.

Because I'd invited him.

"Oh," I said.

Olivia stared at me.

"Oh?"

"Okay, hang on."

"No. No, don't 'hang on' me. Do you have any idea how awful this has been? You make me live with my abusive ex, just because you like, have a crush on him or something."

"I know it's been difficult-- wait, a crush?"

"Don't try to hide it Rachel. It couldn't be more obvious if you tried."

My stomach tightened.

"What? Olivia, are you fucking serious?"

"Don't."

"Don't what? You genuinely think I invited Derek to move in because I have a crush on him?"

"Why else would you do it, Rachel?"

"I don't--"

"Exactly."

I didn't have an answer.

Because I'd invited Derek to move in. That was a fact. I'd done it knowing exactly what he'd put Olivia through.

But why?

Surely there had been a reason. A good reason. Something that explained why I'd done something so completely fucking unlike me.

Just not that reason.

Christ. Anything but that.

She snatched her laptop off the bed, opened it, and started typing.

"Liv, come on. You know me. You know what I think of that asshole."

"Apparently not."

That hurt.

"Olivia--"

"You promised me he wouldn't get through that door."

I stopped.

Fuck.

She was right.

I'd promised her that. I'd looked my best friend in the eye and sworn that Derek would never be welcome in our apartment again.

And then I'd invited him to move in the same fucking day.

What the hell had I been thinking?

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Liv, please--"

"Get out, Rachel."

I stared at her.

She hadn't raised her voice. Somehow that made it worse.

"Can we at least talk about--"

"Get. Out."

I left.

The door slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the picture hanging in the hallway.

For a moment, I stood there staring at it, feeling like somebody had punched me in the stomach.

Olivia had never spoken to me like that.

Not once in twenty years.

And the worst part was that she had every right to be angry.

I'd invited her abusive ex-boyfriend into our home, despite knowing what he'd put her through. What kind of friend did that?

Apparently, me.

But the other thing she'd said...

A crush?

On Derek?

Jesus Christ. As if my day couldn't get any fucking weirder.

I stood outside Olivia's bedroom for another minute, staring at the closed door.

Twenty years of friendship, and she'd just told me to get out.

Fuck.

I needed to lie down.

Preferably for about fourteen hours, although I'd settle for twenty minutes and a good cry into my pillow.

I walked down the hallway, pushed open my bedroom door, and stopped.

What the fuck?

There was a gigantic black duffel bag on my floor.

A pair of men's sneakers sat beside my dresser. Somebody had dumped a stack of gym clothes onto my reading chair, and a half-empty shaker bottle occupied the little bedside table where I kept my glasses.

My bed was unmade.

And there, sprawled across my favorite pillow, was a gray hoodie with the words ALPHA GRINDSET printed across the front.

Derek's.

I stared at it.

Then at the duffel bag.

Then at the fucking shaker bottle.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

I turned around and marched back toward the living room.

Derek hadn't moved. He was still watching television, with Garlic curled comfortably against his thigh.

"Derek!"

He glanced up.

"What?"

"Why is all your shit in my bedroom?"

He blinked.

"Because that's my bedroom."

"Excuse me?"

"My room. Where I sleep. You know, with the bed?"

"I know what a fucking bedroom is, Derek!"

"Then why'd you ask?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, and rubbed both hands over my face.

"Why are you sleeping in my bedroom?"

He looked genuinely amused.

"Kimchi, you gave me the room when I moved in."

"What?"

That stupid black vape was out again. I was going to speak, don't fucking vape when I'm talking to you, but he spoke first.

"You offered me your bedroom when I moved in, Rachel. You've been sleeping on the couch ever since."

And I did.

Of course I did.

I'd given Derek my bedroom.

Two weeks ago, when I'd invited him to move in, we'd needed to figure out the sleeping arrangements. There were only two bedrooms, and Olivia obviously wasn't going to share hers with her newly ex-boyfriend.

So I'd offered Derek mine.

I remembered telling him that I didn't mind sleeping on the couch until we sorted something out. I remembered him accepting. I remembered carrying my pillow into the living room.

And now here I was, giving him shit again. Being a bitch.

Jesus Christ.

What had possessed me?

"Right," I muttered. "Sorry."

I folded my arms.

"Well, can you at least keep your disgusting gym clothes off my reading chair?"

"Sure."

"And stop leaving those shaker bottles everywhere. They smell like fucking sewage."

"Whatever you say, Kimchi."

I stood there, looking at him.

Derek turned his attention back to the television.

"Anything else?"

I almost said no.

But then I remembered the accusation Olivia had thrown at me.

And despite everything, the sheer ridiculousness of it made me laugh.

"Actually, you want to hear something completely fucking insane?"

He looked over.

"Always."

"Olivia thinks I have a crush on you."

Derek's eyebrows rose.

"Seriously?"

"Yes! Apparently, that's why I invited you to move in. Not because I was being an idiot. Not because I felt sorry for you. No, apparently I'm secretly in love with Derek fucking Hale."

I laughed again.

"Can you imagine?"

He wasn't laughing.

He was smiling.

That same unpleasantly satisfied little smile he'd been wearing ever since I came home.

Then his hand slipped into his pocket.

"Uh, Kimchi."

He withdrew the slim black vape and pressed it against his throat.

"You do have a crush on me."