Page 9 of Key of Kink

I bit back a smile. It was a phrase we heard on a daily basis.

I went into the kitchen that was way too small for four people. It led into the conservatory where the dining table was its usual chaotic state: textbooks, glasses, notebooks, and several opened bags of crisps or other snacks.

Maya was chopping vegetables and Jess leaned against the fridge scrolling on her phone, radiating mild judgment.

My life, I thought with a smile. Three postgrads. One shared house. Endless opinions.

I poured myself a glass of water.

“Eating in half an hour,” Maya said without turning around. “One of you make some space on the table. Seeing as it’s your mess, not mine.”

“Yes, Mum,” Jess said with a smirk, her focus still on her phone. “What are you doing tonight, Quinn?”

“Out later.” I left it at that.

The grilling would come over dinner. We existed comfortably in parallel—shared space, separate lives, mutual respect for closed doors—but that didn’t stop any of them from asking questions.

I had no secrets from them, and they were fine with that.

I retreated to my room in the attic. It was the biggest bedroom in the house, and came with its own shower room. The other three shared the first floor and one bathroom.

I loved the space. One of them could have grabbed this room when the last guy moved out. The fact that they hadn’t indicated one of two possible motives. Either they thought they’d be more likely to find a new body to share with if they let the attic room, or none of them possessed the energy or the inclination to pack up all their stuff and move it up the narrow stairs.

My money was on the latter.

The room was tidy because that was the only way I could function. Books were stacked carefully, clothes folded, and everything was where I expected it to be.

I glanced at my phone and realised I hadn’t called Mum for a week.

Better to get in first before she calls at an awkward time.

She answered on the third ring. “Hi. So you are alive.”

I smiled. “Hi, Mum.” I could hear the television in the background, turned down too low to follow properly. She always did that when she was half-listening.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ve just got home.” I sat on the edge of my bed, my jacket still on.

“How’s work?” she asked.

“Fine. Quiet. I shelved an alarming number of gardening books this week.”

She laughed. “Your father would have liked that.”

The mention landed gently, like stepping around furniture that had been moved but not removed.

“And the house?” she asked. “Everyone behaving themselves?”

“Yes. Maya cooked something experimental last night, but we survived.”

“Is she the one studying something in Public Health?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“I’m glad you’ve got people,” Mum said, and there it was, the thing she worried at without ever quite touching. “It’s a long way to be on your own.”

“I’m not on my own.” I wasn’t being defensive, just factual.