“Good.Top-floor walk-up, heat included, utilities extra.I cleaned the carpets yesterday, so take your shoes off.”
We climbed narrow stairs that creaked like honest admissions.
Inside, the place smelled of damp shampoo and fresh paint.Living room: twelve by fourteen.Kitchen: galley style.Bedrooms identical.It was empty, echoing, and waiting.
Austen did one last sweep.He opened every cabinet door, tested the water pressure in the kitchen sink, and checked the window locks.
“Upper bound acceptable,” he concluded, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Meaning?”Nora asked, squinting at him.
“It means the structural integrity passes his baseline tolerances,” I translated.“And the bedroom walls share no direct line with the bathroom pipes.He hates midnight plumbing noises.”
Nora looked at me.“He’s thorough.”
“He’s got math brain; I’ve got goalie ears.We’re a high-maintenance pair.”
I walked to the living room window.A maple tree scratched the glass.There was space for my stickhandling mat and his desk.Beige walls, beige carpet—nothing special.Yet the thought that this space was ours—paid for with our savings, signed for with our names.
Nora spread the paperwork out on the laminate counter.“Standard twelve-month lease.Sign at the X, initial at the bottom.Since the unit is vacant, pro-rated rent starts today.”
We signed.The scratching of the pen sounded louder than anything I’d heard in days.
I pulled the envelope from my pocket and handed over the check.Deposit plus first month.It was a decent chunk of change, but I didn’t feel the loss.I felt the gain.
Nora checked the amount, nodded, and dropped two silver keys into my palm.The metal was cold and heavy.
“Welcome home,” she said.“The place is yours.You can start moving in right now if you want.”
Austen looked at the keys in my hand, then at the empty room.
“Variable secured,” he said, a small, genuine smile breaking through.“I’ll go get the bags from the truck.”
Back at Stony Creek Hall, the adrenaline faded into a quiet, steady hum.Austen spread our carbon copy of the lease on the communal table, highlighters fanned out like surgical tools.
Even though he’d read it and reread it and we’d signed it an hour ago—he was now categorizing it.
“Rent schedule is codified,” he said, capping a neon yellow pen.“I’ve set up a shared calendar alert for the twenty-eighth of every month.”
“We good on the utilities?”I asked, leaning against the desk.
“Projected costs are within variance.I will pick up extra TA hours in April to cover the internet installation.And I’ve made it clear I’m available all summer.”
“I’ve got backup fund money,” I reminded him.“Since I’m not spending it on a one-way flight to St.Paul anymore, it’s going into the rent fund.And I was asked to help with the hockey campus run on campus this summer, so I’ll be bringing in cash there, too.”
He hesitated, looking at the spreadsheet he was building, then nodded.“Acceptable.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the second silver key Nora had given me.
“Here,” I said.“Yours.”
I held it out.It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it felt heavier than a championship ring.
Austen didn’t just take it.He closed his fingers over mine, pressing the jagged metal into my palm for a second before sliding it free.
“Access granted,” he whispered.
We both exhaled, the tension of the last week finally unspooling.
