The apartment they snagged in the midst of New Jersey's chaotic traffic was like a modest oasis. It boasted freshly painted walls that stood out against sturdy bricks, the exterior just as spruced up as the newly renovated interior. Contemporary artworks hung against once-vacant walls that made their home theirs. That front mat they set outside welcomed anyone who wished to enter the glamourous, but simplistic way of life.

Parents? Sporadic visitors. They swung by occasionaly, armed with grand gifts and home-cooked meals laden with the secret ingredient of love, only on holidays, of course. Friends? Well, their apartment had seen enough wild antics and memorable moments to practically recognize the sound of their footsteps.

But even with the façade of the lavished attention to the fixes and little nuances, it seemed like a cursed cavern. A magnet that attracted unwanted friends seeking for cover.

No, not intruders—

"Fucking rats!"

Furry visitors.

Van, at the speed of a race car, zoomed to the room where unholy amounts of fucks, shits, oh gods, and a blood-curling scream filled the air. An all too familiar call for help.

Urgent hands clutched at the robust doorway, halting Van's speedy steps. "What's going on?"

And there, she found you—a trembling figure fully leaped to the protective height of the couch's plush. Eyes wide as saucers, searching for that little freeloader. Heart threateningly drumming to burst through your ribs.

That's what you looked about now, like a lost child stuck in a claustrophobic space at a mall. God, you're adorable, even in sheer panic.

"Van!" Her smirk wipes off.

Right. Rat.

Coming to your aid, your plain-shirted, cargo-clad white knight extended her arms, ready to swoop you up in a graceful rescue.

"Relax," she coaxed, trying to suppress the urge to chuckle at your terrified expression. "It's just a little visitor, after all. I'll take care of it."

"But for now, I'll carry you to safety, okay?" she offered, ready to carry her girlfriend bridal-style.