Page 4 of Twisted Needs

I snort quietly while shrugging out of my coat. “I did not.”

“It was Bish’s birthday,” I explain. “Went out for drinks.”

Anders wrinkles his nose immediately. “That man is a walking STD.”

“Right,” I mutter, tossing my keys onto the counter.

He grins sleepily before pushing himself upright from the couch. “Hey, don’t be mad at me, but I killed one of your white tees in the wash.”

“Seriously?” I groan. “I’m about to kick you out.”

“You can’t do that. I’m unemployed.”

“You’re freeloading.”

“What? I’m a very agreeable person to live with. I switched your laundry for you!”

I busy myself by walking into the kitchen, suddenly recoiling when a cold wind brushes past me. The air conditioner clicks on a second later. “Did you touch the thermostat again?” I call casually over my shoulder. “It’s freezing.”

He answers by not answering. Typical guilty response coming from him.

I open the fridge and immediately pause, staring at it for a long moment before exhaling sharply. The entire top shelf has been reorganized again.

“Where the hell did my beer go?”

“Left side drawer,” Anders says easily, moving around the kitchen like he owns the place. “You keep putting it in random spots and it ruins the system.”

“Don’t start⁠—”

“Oh my god, Petchka.” Anders gives me a conceited look. “There’s always a system.”

I shake my head and mutter how annoying he can be under my breath, but I’m smiling unwittingly because I do secretly enjoy this. His personality is just so contagious, and his little quirks entertain the hell out of me.

He brushes past me to reach into the freezer, close enough that his shoulder knocks lightly against my chest. The contact is only brief, but I feel it linger after he steps away.

Anders pulls out a pint of ice cream before hopping up onto the counter.

“Pretty sure Ben and Jerry’s has microplastics,” I tease.

“It’s too late to worry about microplastics.”

“Ah. Of course it is.” It’s such an Anders thing to say. He’s been on this microplastics kick for months now. Even made me replace all my plastic Tupperware with glass ones.

He digs the spoon into the pint, shamelessly taking a bite straight from the container. When he catches me watching him, he lifts the pint toward me lazily.

“C’mere.”

“Don’t tempt me. You know I’m on a strict diet.”

“Come hereee,” he sings horribly, dropping his voice an octave. “Pet’kaaa.”

I take a step closer and shake my head incredulously. “You’re a horrible singer.”

“Shut up.” Anders rolls his eyes. “The sun is down,” he whispers solemnly. “It’s time to lose yourself.”

I stare at him for a second, then I take the spoon from his hand. “Lose myself…” I echo.

His eyes flick down to my mouth. “Yeah.”