I stared at the growing flame for a half-second longer than I should have, my mind caught between panic and disbelief. The fire leapt up the wall, devouring the cheap curtain fabric with a ferocity that made my chest tighten.

Nicolai, shockingly calm—or maybe just numb—grabbed a fire extinguisher from near the closet, yanking the pin and blasting the blaze in a flurry of white chemical foam. The flames hissed and sputtered out, leaving behind blackened walls, curling plastic, and the suffocating haze of charred wood and smoke.

"Well," he coughed into his elbow, his voice rasping from the acrid smell. "Guess we can call this an open-concept remodel now."

I didn't even bother with a glare this time. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Shut up, my jokes are a coping mechanism," he shot back defensively.

"Who cares? We need to move before we're charcoal," I snapped.

We stumbled into the hallway as the fire alarm blared, a metallic scream that set my teeth on edge.

Doors flew open, and tenants spilled out, their faces a mix of confusion and barely contained anger as smoke snaked into the air.

By the time the fire department arrived, Nicolai's apartment was little more than a disaster zone. The walls were blackened like the inside of a smoker, water pooled on the floor, and the air was thick with the chemical tang of extinguishers and melted plastic.

One of the firefighters gave him the bad news in a tone as grim as the scene. "The wiring's shot through the whole unit. Whoever patched this up before didn't know a circuit from a salad fork. Repairs? Minimum, a month. Could be longer."

Nicolai nodded, his expression unreadable.

I stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk.

His face was too still—jaw tight, shoulders rigid beneath the soot-streaked fabric of his shirt. If it were anyone else, I might've called it shaken.

Not Nicolai. Nicolai didn't do shaken.

When he finally walked over, the faint smirk I expected wasn't there. His voice was quieter now, like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him.

"They're shutting down my place until it's safe," he muttered.

"Smart move," I said, tilting my head toward the scorched doorway. "So, hotel or a sleeping bag on the sidewalk?"

His face was grim, his eyes not crinkling at the corners the way they usually did. "Yeah, about that..."

My stomach dropped, dread prickling the back of my neck. "No."

"I haven't even asked yet," he protested.

"You don't have to. I know exactly what you're going to say, and the answer is no."

Nicolai exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. "The hotels nearby are booked solid because of that stupid downtown festival. Trust me, I've already checked. And I can't exactly sleep in a pile of ashes."

I turned away sharply. "Figure something out—a friend, a couch, anywhere but here. We can't live together. We're opposites, a disaster waiting to happen. And don't forget—we hate each other."

"Paxton, come on," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "Do you really think I have a Rolodex of people I can call for this?"

"Not my problem," I bit out.

"Okay, fine." He threw his hands up. "I get it. You don't want me around. Believe me, I don't want to be around you either. But I don't have options here, man. It's you, or I'm sleeping on a park bench."

"Great. Sounds like you've got a plan," I shot back.

"Don't be such a—" Nicolai cut himself off, visibly biting down whatever insult was clawing its way out of his throat. Then, he shifted tactics, his voice softening, almost...pleading. "Alright, fine. How about this—two-thirds of the rent for however long I stay. One month, two months, whatever it takes. I'll pay upfront."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You're going to pay to live in my spare room?"

"I don't exactly have better options right now," he admitted, quieter. "And I'd rather not feel like I owe you anything."

I didn't answer right away, studying him. His words sounded practical, even casual, but I could tell this wasn't easy for him. And, honestly? I needed the extra cash. My student loans weren't going to pay themselves.

"Please," Nicolai added, quieter this time. The word hung in the air like a dare, like he wasn't used to saying it.

I let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through my hair. "You'll pay two-thirds?"

"Two-thirds," he confirmed, meeting my gaze with something close to quiet determination.

"And you'll stay out of my way?" I pressed.

"Scout's honor. So... are we roommates now?" he asked, though the faint smirk that followed undercut whatever sincerity he was trying to sell.

"You're so annoying," I muttered, already regretting my decision as we started toward the elevator.

We didn't speak again, but when he glanced back at the charred remains of his apartment, his steps faltered. For a split second, his expression crumpled—just enough for me to catch it.

"Come on," I said gruffly, keeping my gaze forward. I didn't wait for him to respond, but I didn't snap when he fell into step beside me, either.

God help me if I regret this, I thought as the elevator doors closed behind us.

A/N

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