Two lives.

30. stranger in the kitchen

May 31st
10:53 AM

I woke up feeling like I’d been asleep for a decade. My body was heavy, my head groggy, and my throat dry. Rolling over in bed, I squinted at the faint morning light filtering through the blinds. My eyes darted to the nightstand, hoping to find some water, but of course, there wasn’t any.

Letting out a groan, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and shuffled to my door. My crocs, conveniently half-kicked under the bed, slipped on easily as I padded out into the hallway and headed for the kitchen.

As I turned the corner, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I froze.

There, leaning casually against the counter, was a guy I didn’t recognize—well, not entirely. Actually, I had seen him before. It was when I first got here. I’d been sitting in the office, waiting awkwardly for someone to call my name, when a ridiculously tall guy had strolled past, smirking. He’d called me a “noobie” or something like that, then disappeared before I could even react.

And now, here he was, standing in the kitchen like he owned the place.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, too focused on whatever he was scrolling through on his phone. Up close, I realized just how tall he really was—easily six foot seven, maybe more. His broad shoulders and lean frame made him look like he belonged on the cover of a sports magazine. He was wearing black sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a gray t-shirt that was just a size away from being too small, hugging his arms and chest like it had no other choice.

A clip-on backpack hung loosely over one shoulder, the straps framing his torso. His buzzed hair caught the sunlight, looking almost golden blonde.

It took a moment, but then it clicked.

I had seen him before. Back when I first arrived here, sitting awkwardly in the office, waiting for someone to call my name. He’d walked by with a confident swagger, barely glancing at me before muttering something under his breath. “Noobie,” he’d said, his accent giving the word a sharp edge. I remembered hating him instantly back then.

As I watched him, snippets of Ekko’s stories came flooding back. Twitch had grown up in Russia, spending most of his life there. Ekko told me he’d gotten the nickname after an incident with his old crew. They’d been smoking together, and someone laced the blunt with fentanyl without telling him. He’d overdosed right there in front of them. They’d given him Narcan to save his life, but he’d had a violent allergic reaction to it. He survived, but the reaction had left him with an involuntary twitch in his body.

I stood there for a second, awkwardly frozen, trying to decide if I should say something or just grab my water and go. The silence stretched on, feeling heavier with every second. Finally, I cleared my throat.

“Uh... hey?”

The guy looked up from his phone, his piercing blue-gray eyes locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze caught me off guard, like he was sizing me up and deciding if I was worth his time. For a moment, he said nothing, just stood there with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Morning, noobie,” he said casually, his voice low and tinged with a Russian accent.

I blinked, caught between confusion and mild irritation. “Noobie? Really? You’re still going with that?”

He chuckled, the sound short and sharp, like he didn’t give laughs out freely. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “You’ve been here, what, a month? Still counts in my book."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t completely fight the grin creeping onto my face. “Pretty sure I’ve graduated from noobie status by now. And you are…?”