Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining— pouring, actually. Gray skies, depression, the works. Inside a particular second-floor apartment, however, things were anything but; Marina and Levi’s off-campus apartment was as cozy and warm as things could be granted the weather. It seemed every miserable aspect of the storm was countered by something nice: the overhead lights were off, just a warm floor lamp glowing in the corner, enough to throw light across the tiny living room. The walls hummed faintly with radiator heat, hissing in an uneven, overworked way commonplace of old building mechanics.

Marina was curled in her usual spot on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, hoodie bunched around her elbows, fingers tapping speedily at her laptop’s keyboard. Code scrolled across her screen like occult incantations. She’d been like that for almost an hour now, earbuds in but only one side actually playing music, the other just there to discourage conversation. Her socks were mismatched again (stars on one, blank on the other) and there was a forgotten mug of tea steaming on the coffee table in front of her. It was still half-full and starting to skin over given the amount of cream (a fuckton) and sugar she put into it.

Levi was an arm’s reach away, slouched on the carpet with a worn textbook cracked open across his lap. He occasionally hummed in agreement when he underlined something he absolutely didn’t understand. Every few minutes, he'd reach up to adjust the Bluetooth speaker behind him, fiddling with the volume so the “lo-fi beats playlist” hit just right. They’d been looping the same playlist for two days. Neither of them cared.

It was cozy as it was perfect.

Then a knock came at 10:42 PM. Three times. Then again, faster. Then once more, followed by a wet thud like someone had leaned on the door too hard and possibly collapsed.

Levi glanced up first. “Expecting someone?”

Marina popped out her earbuds. “No.” She then pushed herself to her feet with a huff, carefully stepped over two tangled charging cables, and unlocked the door.

And there he was.

Henryk. Sopping wet. Hair plastered to his forehead much like a taxidermy project. One shoe missing. He had a garbage bag slung over one shoulder. He looked like someone who had just survived a bus crash after escaping a dentention center.

He grinned. “Hey! I brought soup!”

Marina looked back at Levi with widened eyes. Levi gave her the same look before he got up and tried to look somewhat like a bodyguard for his girlfriend.

“Um…”

Henryk blinked a couple times. “What’s wrong?”

The two students gave each other a painfully cringed look. Marina was the first to break the ice: “So, um, remind us who you are again? I mean, you look familiar— from the train, right?”

Henryk's face didn’t wince what-so-ever. He kept his posture, soaked like a wet cat who’d convinced himself he was a lion, and beamed. “Yeah! Yeah, the train! And  the soup— remember? When we got stuck and I cooked for everyone? I did the thing with the aioli? You said it was ‘edible’.” He nodded enthusiastically while pointing to Marina, water dripping off the tip of his nose. “Also, I loaned Levi a phone charger at that student union meetup with the free sushi. You remember, right, Levi?”

Levi hesitated just a second too long. “...Sure. Yeah. Totally.” Pause. “Wait, that was you? ”

Henryk didn’t seem to notice the whiplash. “And now, here we are! Serendipity, right? Life has a weird way of circling back. I was in the neighborhood. Kinda. Ish. My housing situation’s gone a little sideways— long story, honestly, it involves kombucha and a restraining order I think  is technically expired— whatever, I figured I’d crash with you guys for a night or two. Just until I dry off. Whichever comes first. We’re friends, right?”

Marina blinked. Twice. Thrice. “So. You got on a bus. In a storm. With soup. And just came over to our address?”

“Exactly.” 

“...”

“...”

“Don’t worry— I’m super low-maintenance. Couch is fine. Floor is fine. I once slept on a pile of printer paper.”

Levi glanced over at his girlfriend. “Maybe we could let him—”

“You’re dripping on our rug ,” she deadpanned, and it came out so flat Levi had to cough to keep from laughing. He stepped forward, slipping into peacemaker mode before the moment caught fire.

“Uh. Marina, babe— maybe we should just talk for a second?” he murmured, putting a gentle hand on her elbow.

Marina didn’t take her eyes off Henryk, who had now removed his (only) shoe before examining it for structural damage. “Oh, yeah,” she muttered. “We’re absolutely  going to talk.”

She turned, hand tightening on Levi’s wrist, and yanked him down the hallway toward the bedroom, muttering a sharp, “Excuse us,” over her shoulder.

Levi let out a tiny squeak as she yanked him into the bedroom. Her fingers felt like handcuffs around his forearm. The door shut with a very audible click (not quite a slam, but not far off either). Outside, they could hear Henryk shifting and groaning like a walrus settling into a beanbag chair.

Marina paced once in a circle, then stopped. Planted both hands on her hips.

“Levi.”

“Um, yeah?”

“I’m going to ask a question, and I’d like your answer to it.”

“...Okay.”

“Are you ready for my question?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, here’s my question: What the fuck?”

Levi flinched. “I— it’s just— he sounded really down and— I mean… he brought soup.”

Marina stared at him with a deadpan look.

“ Soup .”

Levi winced again. He rubbed the back of his neck, the classic Levi maneuver when his brain tried to stall for time. “I mean, I get it,” he said, holding up his hands like that might shield him. “It’s weird. It’s very  weird. But… he’s having a hard time, Marina. You saw him.”

“That’s not a reason to let him into our home. ” She huffed. “We barely know the guy and you’re ready to take him in like a stray dog!”

Fuck. Levi knew this tone. This was gonna be tricky. He moved toward her like she was a live wire. “I know. I know . But we’ve both had shitty nights, haven’t we?” He paused. “He looks like that.”

Marina squinted at him. “Did you just say ‘we’ve all been there’ about a man who showed up uninvited to our home during a storm with soup and one shoe? ”

Levi hesitated. “...Yes.”

She groaned and flopped backwards onto the bed like gravity had finally claimed her. “Levi. This is how horror movies start. I swear to God we’re gonna wake up and he’ll duct-taped the fridge to the ceiling.”

Levi sat gently beside her with his hands folded. “It’s just for one night,” he said, quietly. “Just tonight. Let him dry off, sleep on the couch, and tomorrow I’ll personally make sure he leaves.”

Marina rolled her head toward him with a brow raised. 

“I’m just saying,” Levi said, shrugging helplessly, “he might be annoying, but he’s harmless! Remember when he commented on Abella’s butt and got shit for it? He stopped after that!”

She stared at him. Just long enough for him to start worrying.

“We’ve only known him for six hours collectively.”

Levi gave her the puppy dog look.

Marina kept the stare, but then dropped it: “If he steals my oat milk, I will  break his thumbs.”

Levi exhaled with visible relief. “Noted. Thumb protection detail, engaged.”

Marina got up instantly and started walking toward their new guest. She did so in such a quick manner, Levi barely had time to catch up. By the time she reached the blonde, Levi was right behind her.

“ One night.” She pointed to his chest. “Couch only. You breathe weird near my desk, I will sacrifice you to the Old Gods.”

Henryk beamed. “That’s fair.” He didn’t know who the Old Gods were, but it was probably better not to ask. “I’ll be here just for the night. You won’t even notice I’m here!”

That was three and a half months ago. And yes, they noticed him.

Chapter Text

Marina barely had the key turned in the lock before the first wave hit her— 100% trans fat in the air. Holy fuck. 

She stepped in and kicked the door shut behind her, one hand juggling her laptop bag and an empty Tupperware container still warm from the homemade soup (thanks to Henryk— it was actually very good!) she'd scarfed in between classes. Her part-time shift had ended late, and the building had always smelled like radiator heat and stale air (even during a drizzly day like today) so she hadn't been expecting a warm welcome. 

But this?

Henryk sat on the couch (his bed), hunched at the coffee table. His shirt was inside out, his eyes were glassy, and there was a half-eaten burger slumped out of its foil in front of him. Around him, wrappers littered the floor like some kind of edible graveyard. A true crime scene of sodium and grease. On the other side of him (on the goddamn kitchen counter) was an actual mountain of still-wrapped burgers. Double stacks. Singles. Chicken sandwiches. At least two MkRibs if her eyes weren’t lying.

“…Do,” she started slowly, already regretting it, “Do I want to know?” She dropped her stuff next to the entrance in case she needed to run.

Henryk raised a limp hand and gestured vaguely toward the mess.

“I’m trying to give myself cancer.”

“...”

“...”

“... What the actual fuck ?”

“Tell me about it,” he groaned, rubbing his stomach in a circular motion like a pregnant man going through morning sickness. “I can only microwave and eat so much junk food at once—”

“No, dumbass!” she snapped, pointing at him much like a furious courtroom lawyer would. “I meant why the fuck would you try to give yourself cancer on purpose?!”

“Oh, because chicks love terminally ill guys.”

Silence.

“Then Abella—”

“Nope. Nope.” She grabbed a burger off the stack behind him and chucked it at his head. It bounced pathetically off his temple and landed with a squish on the floor. “I’m stopping you right the fuck there. This is too stupid, even for you.”

Henryk looked at the fallen burger, then back up at Marina.

“Okay. Maybe just cancer adjacent . Like, IBS or something tragic-sounding but manageable—”

“Henryk, if you don’t throw this crap out in the next ten minutes, I’m going to break your kneecaps so you can never even attempt to do something this stupid again.”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, picking up a stock cheeseburger and began to unwrap it, “it’s a strategy. If Abella thinks I’m dying—”

“She’ll what? Pity-date you into remission? Holy shit, Henryk, grow up !”

“It’s a long con!”

Marina stormed over and snatched another burger out of the pile. “This isn’t a con , it’s a coronary waiting to happen! You’re literally marinating in trans fats!”

He reached for the burger in her hand and they struggled, arms smacking into the coffee table, stepping on wrappers like banana peels in a cartoon brawl. Henryk yanked it free triumphantly only for Marina to grab the next one in line.

“I swear to God, you’re like a raccoon in a vending machine.”

“You don’t understand romance!” He then shielded the growing burger hoard behind him with both arms like a linebacker protecting a baby.

“ You don’t understand that no woman wants to make out with a man who smells like French fries!”

“That's your opinion!”

~~~\\\---///~~~

Somewhere, far away from the war crimes currently unfolding in a certain apartment, was a dimly lit bistro, hosting quite a memorable date. Daan, freshly shaven, wore a dark blazer over a nice gray shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to make it casual but still sharp. His hand rested near Karin’s, two fingers lightly grazing hers between bites. There was some smooth jazz playing in the background with candlelight flickering against the deep red wine in their glasses. You know, fancy-ass shit that neither you or I can afford.

“So,” Karin drawled as she put down her wine glass, “tell me, what kind of fancy-pants cuisine are you subjecting me to this week?”

“Checkered. And you make it sound like it’s torture.” Daan glanced at her without lifting his head. He had that super tiny smile that only Karin knew. “It’s Italian. You like Italian.”

“Yeah, when it’s spaghetti and meatballs, not ‘sous vide truffle-infused marrow ravioli’ flown in from the Vatican.” She snorted. “I didn’t even make that up— that’s literally a thing on the menu.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing—”

“—I’m not a spoiled brat—”

“—I didn’t say you were.” Daan rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb a little faster. “I just like spoiling you.”

She snorted again. “At some point, you’re gonna have to admit you just like making me say pretentious shit to waiters.”

“Maybe I just like watching you suffer.”

Karin picked up her butter knife and swiped a quick slab of (fancy) butter onto her bread. She then pointed the butter knife at him. “Don’t think the black card makes you bulletproof. It’s not sexy.”

“You like the fancy food. You just don’t like admitting you like the fancy food.”

“That’s not true.”

Daan leaned in slightly. “Then the only alternative is that you like me .” He threw in a wink.

Her cheeks flushed. Instead, she clicked her tongue and leaned back, waving her hand to ease his accusation. “Congratulations on figuring that one out, Sherlock.”

He chuckled. She chuckled back. It was nice.

Until…

“Hey, uh… you did arrange for the babysitter, right?”

Daan blinked. “The babysitter?”

She gave him a look like he was growing a second head. “You know. Marina.”

He frowned slightly, setting his glass down. “We paid Marina to check on Henryk , not the other way around.”

Karin leaned forward. “Yeah, I know. I’m not worried about Henryk. I’m worried about her . The guy’s profoundly retarded, Daan. Profoundly. ”

Daan tipped his head back in a sigh. His fingers tapped the rim of his wine glass absent-mindedly. “It’s probably fine.”

"Yeah, and ‘probably’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting there."

“...I’ll text her just to be safe.”

~~~\\\---///~~~

Marina had resorted to drastic measures.

She clung to Henryk’s back, arms locked around his neck in a makeshift chokehold as he staggered around the living room like a drunk bear trying to shake off a raccoon. Wrappers crunched and slid under their feet, the half-eaten burger casualties slipping across the floor like greasy landmines.

"Get off me, you little goblin!" Henryk barked, trying to jerk her loose by thrashing side to side like he was at a rodeo.

"Not until you stop trying to deep-fry your internal organs, dumbass!" Marina snarled, tightening her grip with a savage little yank. “Fucking cancer! What the fuck are you thinking?!”

“You wouldn’t understand!”

“ No one would understand!”

Henryk stumbled sideways, slammed into the couch, and with one last buck, launched her off his back. Marina hit the cushions with a wheezy grunt, sprawling sideways similar to a cat tossed off a countertop. Before she could fully recover, Henryk staggered into the kitchen. She watched, wide-eyed, as he yanked open a drawer, grabbed a steak knife, and held it aloft with the manic energy of a man who had not thought this through.

"Let me get cancer, dammit!" he roared, pointing the knife at no one in particular.

Marina pushed herself up with a disgusted grunt, brushing ketchup off her jeans. "Put that down before you hurt yourself."

"No!" Henryk stabbed the air for emphasis, nearly losing his grip on the knife handle and sending Marina ducking instinctively.

She straightened up. Eyes narrowed. Frown in full. She was pissed.

"...Okay. Put it down before I hurt you ."

Henryk squinted at her, the knife wavering a little. Marina took one step forward. Henryk took one step back— heel immediately slipping on a loose wrapper and sending him skidding into the counter. He fell, back to the ground. And the knife? The knife flew into the ceiling way over near the front door, just hanging there.

"God hates me," he muttered.

"God's got bigger problems." Marina now towered over him. All 158cm of her.

It was right then that Marina's phone, still half-buried in her pocket, vibrated violently. She fished it out one-handed and thumbed it open. A text from Daan.

Daan: “Everything okay?”

Marina responded by snapping a semi-blurry photo of Henryk on the floor surrounded by at least 200 euros of fast food.

“They seriously need to pay me more.”

“What?” Henryk tried to get up, but then slipped again. “Ouch!— They pay you?”

“Yeah, so you don’t harass them.”

“But—”

Then Levi opened the front door and entered the warzone.

“W-what the hell? What’s with all the burgers—?”

Then the knife fell.

Chapter Text

“Good morning.”

It was a polite, albeit somewhat murmured, greeting from Henryk.

Indeed, he wandered into the kitchen just after waking up, shirt wrinkled, hair sticking out partially, and socks mismatched as usual. Yes, he at least brushed his teeth before greeting Marina, but it was only 1 PM. He rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand, yawned, and even gave a cute wave of the hand as he passed Marina on his way to the cabinet.

Marina blinked in disbelief and dropped her half-eaten sandwich back onto the plate.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Henryk paused mid-reach with his hand hovering near the cereal box. “What?”

“One, you greeted me in a totally normal manner—”

“—Fine, eat a bag of wenises—”

“—and two, you’re going for the normal cereal? The normal cereal. We still have the Super Duper Happy-Go-Lucky Extra Sugarbombs in the top drawer— which, by the way, fuck you for putting it at the top.”

Henryk shrugged, pulling down the plain box semi-casually. “I’m just watching out for your health.”

Marina scoffed and leaned forward in her chair with her arms crossed tightly… probably to hold herself back from committing a misdemeanor. “Right, ’cause my health is the worry here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

She waved a hand haphazardly. “Never mind that— what’s going on, Henny? I’m actually slightly concerned. You’re not even gonna pour the usual cup-full of powdered sugar and chocolate syrup on top?”

“I ran out of syrup, okay?”

Marina sighed. “Henny, c’mon—”

“No, seriously,” Henryk mumbled, pouring the plain flakes into a bowl, “I was gonna go to the store yesterday, but then I— uh, well, I started watching that docuseries on haunted cruise ships and then Abella posted this story where I think she was at a jazz club, and then I thought maybe I should take up the saxophone—”

“There.” Marina pointed her finger at him. “That. That’s the thing.”

He frowned. “What thing?”

“The spiraling. You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Okay, maybe I am. Maybe a little, but it’s fine. Totally fine.” He grabbed the milk and sloshed it in like he was trying to drown the plain flakes. “Just a normal day. Just a normal, stupid, lonely, Abella-won’t-text-me-back day. And you’re making it worse with your therapist routine and your eyes that look like they’re permanently judging me.”

“That’s because my eyes are permanently judging you.” She muttered, wiping her hands on a napkin and nudging her sandwich away. “And the judgment is not limited to your love-life. Reminder: you’re the guy who once deep-fried marshmallows in pancake batter and called it a balanced breakfast. ”

“It was balanced,” he stabbed his cereal with the spoon. “There was fruit filling inside the marshmallows.”

“Oh holy shit— just— tell me about the damn jazz club.”

He perked up a little. “You saw the story too?”

“No, I just listened to you vomit your internal monologue all over my kitchen.” She sighed. 

“Well, technically it’s also Levi’s kitchen, right?”

“...”

“...Sorry.”

“Just… what’s the plan?”

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan.” She picked up her sandwich again, “No way you haven’t thought of anything with this level of spiraling.”

“How rude!”

“It’s Abella-tier spiraling and it’s been over eight hours. There’s no way you haven’t cooked up a plan.”

“...I’m, uh… trying to lose weight.”

Marina stopped mid-chew. Her jaw froze for a moment before she swallowed hard and set the sandwich down again, this time very deliberately. “There it is,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair much like how a detective would close a case. “The ghost has a name. The cursed amulet has a backstory. Henryk wants to see his feet again.”

He winced. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“Relax,” she said, grabbing her coffee and taking a sip. “I’m not judging you for the goal. I’m judging you for the execution. Plain cereal? Cold turkey on the syrup and chocolate sauce? That’s how people get aneurysms.”

“I figured I’d, uh, ease into it.”

“That’s not easing into it.”

“It’s—” Henryk sighed and tapped his spoon against the bowl. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling… gross. Out of breath going up stairs, pants are tighter… I thought maybe if I changed something, I’d feel a little better. Plus she’s got the body, so I gotta at least get somewhat close.”

Marina didn’t fire off a snarky response right away this time. She just sat there for a moment, watching him with something that almost looked like empathy. It passed quickly, of course. But it was there. “Alright.” Her tone was softer than usual, but she straightened her shoulders enough. “You wanna lose weight? Fine. Cool. I’ll help. We’re gonna make this suck less.”

“W-what? You’ll… you’ll help me?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Because if I have to listen to you spiral into Abella-jazz-club-saxophone-diet-panic every week, I’ll kill you. Then I’ll kill myself. Not even in that order.”

Henryk grinned. Slow, sheepish, stupid. “You really do care.”

“Don’t ruin it.” She crossed her arms. “There’s one big condition.”

“...What’s the condition.”

“We have to make you lose weight via montage.”

It began in the living room (like eight minutes later), where Henryk showed up in gym shorts two sizes too small (gross) and a tank top emblazoned with a wolf howling at a dumbbell. A crooked sweatband clung to his forehead. His socks reached halfway up his calves. Determination flickered behind his eyes. Well, flickered like his sex life, so just flickered and died out. Somewhere in the background, the faint whirr of a knockoff 80s beat played like it had been recorded in a garage next to a printer. And then came a guitar solo.

Cue the montage!

HENRYK: SHRED TO SURVIVE! would’ve looked great in sparkly neon across the screen— if this were a movie.

CRUNCHES:
“98… 99… 100! Holy shit! One hundred! One hundred, Marina! Can you believe it?!” Henryk flopped onto Marina’s old yoga mat like a dying fish; he wheezed as he spoke, barely able to lift his head. 

She didn’t even glance up from her laptop. “Impressive. Now this time, let’s step it up and start from 97 this time.”

DUMBBELL CURLS:
He grabbed two mismatched soup cans (one was cream of mushroom and the other was something unlabeled) and began curling them. “Feel the burn, baby! Henryk’s House of Pain!” One can slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor almost immediately. 

“Gross.” Marina murmured from the kitchen.

“That’s muscle confusion. Look it up.”

“No it’s not. And never say ‘baby’ again.”

JUMPING JACKS:
He flailed wildly, limbs completely out of sync with the beat that existed in his head. God, his stomach…

“Can’t stop staring at me, can you?”

The scene cut to Marina on the couch, holding up a piece of notebook paper. 5.5/10.

“I’m just surprised you haven’t slipped yet.”

And then he slipped.

8/10.

THE BLENDER SHAKE:
He dumped four raw eggs, a handful of spinach, a single gummy worm, and something else (unidentifiable) into the blender. One sip in and he gagged hard enough to hiccup.

Marina passed through the kitchen behind him. “You’re gonna need a tetanus shot after that.”

SHADOWBOXING:
He threw punches in the bathroom mirror, shirt off, breathing like a backup extra from one of Marcoh’s fight nights.  “C’mon! Who’s the champ?! Who’s the—” His elbow slammed into the towel rack. The towel rack won, funny bone style.

POSE-OFF FINALE:
The final shot was him flexing shirtless in the mirror, stomach still present, but glistening with—

“If you’re done oiling your nipples, get to it: the floor’s not gonna mop itself.”  Marina appeared behind him holding a mop.

“Marina!” He whined, “I’m busy flexing!”

“You can flex while you mop.”

Somewhere, the music slowed into a sentimental guitar solo/outro. Cut to black (metaphorically). If life had a title card, it would’ve read in neon pink:

“The real gains were the friendship along the way.”

Henryk strutted into the kitchen shirtless, towel draped over his shoulders like he’d just returned from climbing a mountain instead of… whatever he did. He struck a pose in the doorway. A bicep flex. A stomach suck-in. “Well, well,” he said, admiring himself in the toaster reflection. “Look at that. Definition. Glow. Maybe even an ab, I dare say? Marina. Marina, say it. Say the glow-up is real.”

Marina didn’t even blink. She stirred her coffee again with the kind of disinterest usually reserved for watching paint dry on a wall. “Not bad for an ultra-light five-minute workout.”

“What?”

“Five minutes,” she said, taking another sip of her coffee (which was now cold). “Half of which was you hurting yourself. Didn’t think you’d need a girl half your size to be your spotter.”

“You’re just jelly.” He sauntered toward the kitchen cabinet with the delusional confidence of a man who’d just been knighted by his own reflection. “Maybe if you dragged your lardass around the apartment every now and then, you could look like me too.” He called over his shoulder.

Marina looked up slowly and with dead eyes, but before she could throw something (and she was visibly deciding which object), Henryk had already yanked open the top cabinet and triumphantly pulled down the garish: a blindingly bright box of Super Duper Happy-Go-Lucky Extra Sugarbombs.

“Victory cereal.” And just like that, he poured a towering, irresponsible bowl. No milk yet. “Balance,” he said smugly, pouring a ribbon of chocolate syrup across the top. “It’s about balance.”

“You’re going to die before thirty.”

“Hot and shredded,” he said, mouth already full. “Best way to go.”

“Wait— where did you get the syrup? I thought you said you ran out!”

“I lied.”

“Henryk!”

Chapter Text

A tiny girl’s (18+) voice squeaked again: “But… but I poop from there…”
A man's (old and hairy, no doubt) voice came in low and gravelly: “Heh, not right now you don’t.” 

Henryk sighed as he continued to beat his meat in front of the laptop. “For fuck’s sake. I hate it when they show the guy.” Of course, there was never ‘normal’ masturbation when it came to Henryk.

The door creaked open just to the right of him. Marina stepped in with her keys still swinging on the lanyard looped around one finger, her boots clunking twice on the entry mat before she looked up. Her gaze locked instantly on the profile of his sweaty face and the half-lit screen in front of him.

“Oh hi, Marina.”

“Hey.”

Yes, this was a normal thing. Marina coming home from classes and Henryk jerking it in the living room. Levi (being stuck at the military base) wasn’t too happy when he first heard about it from his girlfriend, but after so many weeks, the two college students just gave up. No harm, no foul, right?

Well, speaking of fouls…

“Make sure you don’t get any on the couch this time,” Marina called out as she made her way to the kitchen, yanked open the cupboard, and started rummaging one-handed through a sea of instant noodle cups. Her other hand was already on a family-size bag of Doritos.

Henryk slowed down. Of course, he didn’t stop. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve practically coated the entire fucking apartment floor—”

“What?! That’s bull—”

“I can see my reflection on the hardwood, which is expensive, by the way,” she cut in, kicking the fridge door shut behind her as she leaned against it with the chips. “A few more weeks and we can go ice-skating. Invite the neighbors.”

He groaned, half from pleasure, half from… uh— “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

Marina popped a chip into her mouth and chewed loudly while walking over and peeking at Henryk’s choice of the day. “Dude, she’s taking it in the ass . What a champ!”

“Call of Booty: Modern Rearfare 2. It was on sale.”

“You actually buy porn?”

“You have an 0nlyfans!”

“I only show feet in that!” A pink blush dusted her cheeks.

“And you also do anal—”

“Henryk!”

“What? You were literally screaming it the other night when Levi was allowed back home or whatever— I don’t know how military stuff works.”

“...If you ever repeat anything you hear through these paper-thin walls again, I will sew your asshole shut and force-feed you your fucking foot until you understand what ‘foot up your ass’ really means . ”

“Damn. The mood swings on you lately…”

Marina turned around to walk over to her chair, just a couple of meters away. “It’s not mood swings. It’s a kill list. You’re on it.”

“And yet you’re planning on sitting next to me.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m still hard.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m still jerking it.”

“Yes.”

“So… you wanna—”

“No!” Marina slumped into her gaming chair like her bones had given out, swiveling lazily with the momentum of someone who’d been on their feet all day. She didn’t even look at him as she flipped on her computer monitor, one hand already navigating her spooky little server folder like muscle memory. “As much joy as it brings me to know you’ll be working toward your daily blast, Batwing Biters 6 is gonna have to wait—”

“—It’s actually Call of Booty—”

“—because I’m dead tired and I’m not gonna hold off on my movie for half a goddamn hour for you to clean your screen, let alone nut.”

Henryk, still half-sitting on the couch, shorts tangled mid-thigh, lifted his head just enough to make eye contact. “I’ll be quiet!” he hissed. “Ninja mode! I’m so close!”

“Well, do Ninja mode in the bathroom like a normal person. Go.”

She finally turned around in her chair, the eerie intro to her horror movie of the week ( Sun People Don't Blink) starting to play its theme on the speakers—

—and Henryk let out a barely-contained grunt.

A sudden, wet thwip.

Her cheek twitched.

She blinked.

Henryk blinked too.

“…Oops. Uh, don’t worry, Marina! Nothing you’re not used to!”

Chapter Text

Levi had her wrists pinned gently against the sheets, an uncommon display of dominance that was very much welcomed; as much as Marina enjoyed being in charge, the change in pace within the bedroom (however rare it was) was something she looked forward to. Mind you, this wasn’t a celestial phenomenon, but rather a balancing act— sometimes she didn’t feel submissive, sometimes she did. And Levi always played accordingly. 

Their foreheads were nearly touching, their breaths practically syncing in a rhythm that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with love. His messy hair brushed her cheek, and she smiled into the newest kiss even as it deepened as her thighs clenched around his hips. The world narrowed down to just them.

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

Their bodies moved like a tidal wave. Slow, endless, and with purpose. A movie still played in the background of the living room, long forgotten with its end credits humming low. The dishes from dinner were still in the sink, rinsed, but neither of them had made the effort go beyond that. Because right now, this was far more importa—

CRUANCH

Levi’s eyes shot toward the noise, and Marina instinctively pulled the sheets up over herself with a hiss of breath in place of an otherwise ear-shattering scream, turning toward the corner of the room.

Guess who it was. Go ahead. Take a wild fucking guess.

Henryk. 

And holding a massive bowl of popcorn to boot. He was halfway through chewing a mouthful with a look that was far too casual for someone who just walked in on his roommates having sacred-level sex.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he muttered, eyes still locked on them like he was watching a slow-burn indie film. “This is way better than the usual stuff online.”

Levi nearly choked. “What—”

“Henryk!” Marina shrieked, “What— When— Why?!”

“Don’t forget who and where. Oh, and how. I always miss that one.” He casually crunched another handful, “I mean, honestly? I didn’t think you had it in you, Levi. Marina always seemed like the ‘I’ll step on you’ type, but you? Look at you. All grown up. Like a horny lion. Rawr.”

Levi made a strangled sound something between a protest and a plea for death. His hands had retreated somewhere under the blankets in a frantic attempt to salvage dignity, though it was far too late for that.

Marina growled. “I swear to Gro-goroth, if you don’t leave in the next three seconds, I will hex your ass so hard your balls ring every time you sit down. And then I’ll burn you alive. Maybe not even in that order.”

Henryk shrugged. “You say that, but the tension here? Absolute Cinema.” He then raised his hands up in a very meme-like fashion before lowering them back to the bowl. “It’s like watching enemies-to-lovers in real time. Or lovers-to-enemies. Oh shit, what about lovers-to-lovers ? Honestly, the genre’s still developing—”

“We talked about this, you fucking gooner!” she snapped, yanking the sheet tighter around her chest, cheeks blotchy with fury and embarrassment homicide. “I told you to stop watching porn! No peeping! No perving! No being a creep! No anything related !”

“I did stop watching porn. This isn’t porn. I’m just observing . This is art. This is love. Look at all the eye contact.”

“GET. OUT.”