But I do not care about impressions right now.
I do not care about anything right now except one singular, all-consuming need.
Coffee.
I need coffee like I need oxygen. Like I need my next heartbeat. Like I need the universe to stop personally victimizing me for just one goddamn day. Coffee is not a want at this point. It is a biological necessity. A survival requirement. The difference between functioning as a member of society and collapsing into a heap on the floor.
I reach the kitchen counter and stop, staring at the empty space where a coffee machine should be.
Should be.
But is not.
Where is the coffee machine?
I blink at the counter, my sleep-deprived brain trying to process this information. There is a toaster, silver and shiny and completely useless to me right now. There is a microwave, digital display glowing with numbers that might as well behieroglyphics. There is a fancy blender that looks like it has never been used, still gleaming with factory-new promise.
But there is no small coffee maker with dregs of leftover espresso waiting for me to claim.
It is always there. At the community lounge at my old place. There are always scraps of coffee left for me to at least get a taste. Cold, usually. Sometimes burnt so badly it tastes like ash. But coffee nonetheless.
My roommates at the old place felt pity for the loner Omega who came from a supposedly well-off family and got discarded to figure out life on her own because she was a late bloomer. Pity meant free espresso shots. Pity meant survival. Pity meant someone would leave a few ounces at the bottom of the pot because they knew I needed it.
But here there is none.
Why?
What have I done to deserve this?
"Damn."
Rafe's voice cuts through my fog from somewhere behind me, sharp and mocking even at this early hour.
"Did our Omega roommate die overnight and turn into a zombie? Because she looks like she just crawled out of a grave. I have seen corpses with better posture."
There is a yawn from another direction before Cal responds, his voice thick with exhaustion and morning gravel.
"It is too fucking early to care about anything. I hate waking up this early. Mornings should be illegal. Like, actually against the law. Punishable by fines." A pause, followed by the sound of him shifting in his seat. "Hey, MaeBells, can you like put only five snooze alarms and not ten? That shit gave me a damn headache. I could hear it through the wall. Every single beep felt like a drill going into my skull."
I do not respond.
I cannot respond.
I am still staring at the empty counter, trying to comprehend where the mini coffee machine went. Trying to figure out what I must have done to piss off the coffee gods so thoroughly that they would abandon me in my hour of greatest need. Trying to compute how I am supposed to survive this day without caffeine.
This cannot be happening. This absolutely cannot be happening. I cannot start my first real day at this school without coffee. That is a recipe for disaster. That is a guarantee that everything will go wrong. Every bad day in my recent memory has started without coffee. It is a pattern. It is science.
A hand waves in front of my face, cutting through my spiral.
I blink, slowly registering that someone is standing directly in front of me. Pretty eyes. Storm-blue and framed by dark lashes that should be illegal at this hour. Concerned expression creasing a forehead that looks unfairly attractive. Messy curls falling across his face in that effortlessly disheveled way that would take me three hours and seventeen products to achieve.
"Mae? Are you sleepwalking or something? Because you have been staring at the counter for about three minutes straight without moving."
I do not answer at first.
My brain is struggling to identify this person through the fog of sleep deprivation. Who are they? Why are they so close? Why do they smell like evergreens and old books and safety? Why is my hindbrain purring instead of screaming?
I blink a few more times, forcing my eyes to focus, and he comes into full view.
