Damn Good Friends (Put you in a song)

My bags are packed

He arrives in his apartment unscathed. Or as unscathed as someone with a broken heart can possibly be. He leans on the nearest wall and breathes in and out. Catching his breath. He isn't that out of breath. Instead, his legs are complaining at him for making them run that long, his head pounding from the morning sun, and his clothes are drenched with sweat. He's sore, he's sweaty, and he's heartbroken.

But he's got no time to waste. He needs to get to his room ASAP and get everything he needs before- before.

He goes to the elevator, thankful for it for the first time since he got here. Team doesn't think he can go through six flights of stairs without his knees buckling down on him. He ran for like an hour straight. He goes in and sighs of relief at the wafts of cool air. He can feel the pumping of his blood, and the pounding of pressure in his head. And he plucks on his shirt to relieve the heat and the sweat.

He places his backpack in front of him to look for his door keys. This time he made sure to bring it with him because he can't risk anyone getting into his room. He usually hides it in a very secure location (under his mat. The slot between the door and the mat to be precise. And it was just a spare key so he isn't that worried)

He pats the front pocket, not there.

He opens the big zipper, and rummages through the books and clothes, and the scattered revisions, and then there. The key.

He takes it out, and the jingling of the keys in the air makes him anxious, so he clutches the whole bunch and selects out the key to his room so he can just directly put it in and unlock the door.

When the elevator dings his flight instincts kicks in, and he hurriedly unlocks his door. But when he twisted the knob, it wasn't locked. It was closed all the way, but it wasn't locked.

Was he being robbed? In broad daylight?!

But the knob wasn't damaged. Wait, maybe he forgot to bring his spare keys after all.

He slowly walks in, listening in for any movement or any commotion. It was low, indistinguishable, but he hears a patter of steps. And what sounds like his bedsheets. He approaches his bed, and he sees a person's back, dressed in all black rummaging his bed. Probably looking for any hidden money under the bed so Team-

"Gotcha!" Team exclaims.

But instead of seeing a person dressed in all black with a covering on their face to hide their identity, with malice and evil intent, he sees his Papa. Looking like he has been rooted in his place by the bed. Hands fly to his chest.

"Team! Oh my god, you scared me!" In exclaims, falling on the bed from shock.

"Papa! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I thought you were a burglar," Team says. Hurrying to his bed to assist his Papa.

Team holds his Papa's arms to assist him up from the bed and directs him towards the couch. He lets go of his Papa when he glares at him from under his lashes.

"I'm sorry Papa. When did you get here? I thought you won't be here for another couple more days. And how did you get in?"

"Why? You don't want me here, Luuk?"

"It's not that Papa. If I knew, I could've prepared my room for your arrival."

"It's exactly why I didn't tell you. I wanted to know how you're doing here on your own. Well, it's not messy, but it's obvious you haven't been here for at least a week. And I brought your dad's copy of your keys. I wasn't sure you still hide your spare keys under the rug, between the slot of the rug and the door. And I was right. You didn't keep it there anymore. Good thing I brought a copy. How are you doing, Luuk?"