Ruby was peacefully doing her laundry when the machine next to hers suddenly beeped like it was dying. She ignored it. Not her problem.

Then she heard a familiar voice:

“…Ruby?”

She closed her eyes. Not him. Not here.

But when she turned, there he was — Riki — kneeling in front of the washing machine with the most confused expression she’d ever seen on a human being.

He looked up at her with wide eyes. “Help,” he said dramatically. “It’s eating my clothes.”

Ruby crossed her arms. “It’s a washing machine, not a monster.”

“This one’s different,” he insisted. “It growled at me.” “It beeped.” “Same thing.” She walked over and looked inside.

Riki’s hoodie string was tangled around the center spindle. Ruby sighed. “How did you even—”

“I don’t know!” he groaned. “I put it in and it attacked me.”

She tugged at the string, then at the hoodie, then glared at him. “You broke it.” “I didn’t break it. It broke me.” “Oh my god.”

They spent ten minutes fighting with the machine until Ruby finally freed the hoodie. The string was mangled beyond repair.

When she handed it to him, he gasped dramatically. “MY CHILD!” “It’s a hoodie, Riki.” “My favorite hoodie! And now it’s deformed!” “You can still wear it.” “I can’t wear ugly things. People have expectations.”

Ruby stared. “Who? Who has expectations? Who told you this?”

He smirked. “You.” “I— WHAT? No I didn’t!”

“When you look at me, your standards get higher. She threw the hoodie at him. He caught it, laughing, then leaned against the machine beside her.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “For saving my hoodie. And, you know… my life.”

“It wasn’t your life.” “It felt like it.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and picked up her laundry basket, but Riki followed her like an obedient puppy as she walked toward the elevator. “Stop following me,” she said.

“No.” “Riki—”

“What if the hallway attacks me next? You need to protect me.” Ruby gave him the blankest stare she possessed. “From a hallway.”

“Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “You can’t leave me. I’m fragile.”

“You’re six feet tall and annoyingly athletic.”

“Emotionally fragile.” She groaned and pressed the elevator button

And one night she heard the loud knock on her door at 11 p.m.

She froze with her cup of tea halfway to her mouth.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three fast knocks — the kind she already recognized.

She opened the door a crack.

Riki stood there in pajamas, barefoot, hair a total fluffy mess. And holding… a mixing bowl?

Ruby stared. “What now.” “I need sugar,” he said. “It’s eleven.” “I need sugar now.” Ruby rubbed her face. “Riki, who bakes at eleven—” “I do,” he said proudly. “I was making cookies. Then I realized I ran out. Tragic, really.” “You woke me up for sugar?” “You weren’t sleeping.” She glared. “How would you know?” He smirked. “Your lights were on.”

She hated that he noticed such things. She also hated the butterflies that came with the realization. With a dramatic sigh, she handed him a small bag of sugar. He took it, then paused. “Ruby.” “What.” “I don’t know how to bake.” She blinked. “Then why did you say you were making cookies?” “I thought I could wing it.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Riki—”

“So…” he continued, stepping closer, voice hopeful, “can you help me?”

“No.” “Please?” “No.” “I’ll clean your balcony.” “No.” “I’ll stop bothering you for a whole day.” She hesitated.

He gasped dramatically. “Wow. That almost worked.” She shoved his shoulder. “Ugh—fine. Move.” They went to his apartment, which looked like a kitchen crime scene. Flour everywhere. Eggshells on the counter. A spoon stuck to the stove for some reason.

Instead, after making cookies she started cleaning. While she wiped flour off the counter, Riki leaned against it, watching her with a soft, stupid smile. “What,” she snapped without looking at him. “You look good in my kitchen,” he said

Ruby dropped the cloth. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t say things like that.” “But they’re true.” She swallowed hard and turned away.

They ended up baking together—well, she baked and he got in the way. A lot. (next>>>)