Kiss it better (karamel AU)

4

Winn was right; Eve is the best person Mon-El could've asked for help finding a new apartment. He spends a few days checking out various places she's picked and sent him links to, another few trying to decide which one would work better for him, but three weeks later, he's already signed a lease and started moving in. The building is only a ten-minute walk away from the hospital, has a functional elevator (opposed to the previous one where he lived) and it's fairly quiet, which is a blessing when he has to move his sleeping schedule to fit around his late shifts and ends up going to bed when the rest of the world is getting out of it.

Using the subway during the morning rush is generally not something Mon-El is inclined to. But after sixteen hours of working, it sounds even more appalling. Never mind the fact he's practically dead on his feet, he still won't put himself through that. So he decides to walk home instead, like he does more often than not nowadays, and even stops by a coffee shop on his way, when he sees that it's not overly crowded.

It's barely past eight by the time he's reached his floor, and despite the new dose of caffeine running in his veins, he isn't sure he's got enough energy to spare for a shower. Nonetheless, as he's stepping out of the elevator, he contemplates whether he can squeeze a quick breakfast in those ten minutes of awareness he has left as well — go big or go home (or something).

A hand is weaving through his hair, eyes distracted by a text on his phone, and naturally, Mon-El is not paying attention to where he's going. Thus just as naturally, he bumps into someone, who probably wasn't looking where they were going either.

"Hey! Watch it!" a female voice yells at him and he lifts his gaze to see a pair of – very familiar – blue eyes glaring at him, angry and icy and sharp.

He recognizes her immediately — how could he not? "Sorry," he mutters, "I was just," he begins to explain, an instant apology already on its way out, but the last bit of his sentence fades away along with her frustration.

Kara's stance relaxes, her tensed jaw easing into a barely-there smile. "Matthews," she greets, surprise echoing through her tone. "I didn't expect to see you here. I'm more used to seeing you in hospital rooms."

"I could say the same about you."

She nods, because he's right and they both know it, and takes a good look at him. "Do you live here or...?" she motions at the keys in his hand.

"I do," he tells her, eyes darting to the door of his apartment, which is only a few feet away. "4B," he points at it, "that's me."

The agent glances behind her, mindlessly following his lead. "You're kidding."

"No," he chuckles at her disbelief. "I moved here about a week ago."

"Ah. The new neighbor. Right. I heard about that."

"What? Am I, like, the talk of the floor?" he perks up a bit, the expected arrogance shining through.

"More like the talk of the whole damn building," the blonde scoffs. "Apparently, you're a mystery everyone wants to know more about."

"A mystery? Why?"

"Nobody's seen you since you moved. There have been speculations going around," she says and a thoughtful expression dawns on her face. "Right now, Christina from 2B is the frontrunner, I think. She said you're a drug dealer." She responds to his raised brow with a shrug of her shoulder and continues: "Three days ago you were a bartender. And before that, an army guy or something."

"Where did those even come from? A drug dealer? Seriously?"

"Don't look at me," Kara's hands raise in an innocent gesture. "I wasn't the one who said it. In fact, I bet against it. My money's on the bartender theory."

"Yeah. 'Cause that makes more sense," Mon-El scorns. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, his weariness not dulled by the surprising presence of his company.

"You work nights and nobody's properly met you, yet. It makes sense just fine."

"Well, you've met me now, haven't you? What do you think?" he motions at himself, "do I look like a drug dealer or a bartender?"

She eyes him thoroughly, pretending to contemplate her answer. There's a barely withheld smile across her lips, which owns his attention effortlessly. "You don't. You look like crap, though."

Mon-El winces at that, as if the words physically hurt him. "Thanks, Danvers," he pretends to be upset, but he knows she sees right through him.

"I didn't mean it like that," she hits his shoulder gently. "I meant that you look tired."

"Tired," he repeats, "yeah, definitely," and agrees with a loud exhale.

Kara offers him a sympathetic look. "You just came back from work?"

A nod is given in response. "And you're going to work," he says, a questioning tilt in his voice.

"Yep. Which reminds me," she glances at her phone, "I'm running late. I gotta go. It was nice seeing you, though."

"You too," he replies, watching her start to walk away.

"Get some sleep!" she throws behind her shoulder, before turning the corner and disappearing out of sight. "Zombies aren't supposed to be out before Halloween!"

And with that, Kara steps into the elevator while Mon-El remains stuck on the spot for a few more moments. His head shakes slightly, his chest trembles with a soft laugh and he finally moves too. His mind is a little too foggy to fully register what just happened, but he's still stunned and pleasantly surprised. And even though he's pretty sure the blonde didn't tell him where she lives, he knows she lives somewhere in the same building as him.

Isn't that just the best coincidence? Mon-El definitely thinks it is.

~~~

The sky is darkening by the time Mon-El wakes up, hungry and disoriented and reluctant to get out of bed. He needs to make something for dinner, but he hasn't gone grocery shopping since he moved in, so there's nothing in the kitchen. And going out is out of the question at the moment — he spent long enough just to convince himself to leave his bedroom.

He stumbles into the living room with dripping hair and no shirt, blindly searching for his phone. It probably would've been wiser to turn the lights on, but his eyes are having a hard time staying open as it is, thus he dismisses the thought at first. After the third failed attempt to locate the device and bumping on the coffee table as well as the couch, however, he knows he won't find it in the dark.

He switches the lights on and finds the phone, but it takes some more time for his gaze to wander toward the door. There's a piece of paper on the floor there, just a few inches inside, and he can't remember carrying any papers when he came home earlier. So it can't be something he dropped and didn't notice.

He goes to pick it up, eyeing it curiously, and reads it out loud. "Hey, neighbor. I knocked but you didn't answer, so you must still be sleeping. I don't know if you're working again tonight, but if not, come over for dinner. I'm ordering pizza. Danvers," it says, and a little lower, as if she'd forgotten about it and only remembered to include it at the last minute, she's written a time and the number of her apartment: 8pm. 4A.

Mon-El checks the time and immediately sprints back to his bedroom. It's ten minutes past eight, so he gets dressed quickly, runs a hand through his still-wet hair and is out the door in less than five minutes. He doesn't allow himself to overthink the invitation, doesn't know if it's as simple as it sounds or hinting at something more. It doesn't matter either way. Because now he knows he'll get his chance at some point, given the fact Kara lives right across from him.

That's the only thing he focuses on and the edges of his mouth lift into a smile. With a deep breath, Mon-El knocks on Kara's door and waits for her to answer.

***