Summer Month: 2 
Night 
Earthquake Moon: 
Beaudan Beckett | 24 | M (He/Him) | M: Mara (ind) Janelle (ind)
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Beaudan stepped into the house, running a hand through his soft hair, exhaustion radiating from every part of him. The flight from the East Coast had been an ordeal—delayed twice with no hope of an earlier option—and he’d spent over thirteen grueling hours at Newark Airport. The ceaseless announcements and bustling crowds had tested his patience, leaving him eager to be anywhere else. Now, as he crossed the threshold of the house, he finally felt the prospect of rest within reach.
Or so he hoped.
His arms strained under the weight of the bags he dragged behind him, the evidence of his cross-country trek. Unpacking wasn’t optional—it was necessary—and he couldn’t ignore the looming task ahead. Adding to his fatigue was the question of who among his childhood friends had already arrived. It was ironic, really. Years ago, they’d made an impulsive promise: *If we all make it, we’ll live together.* Back then, it sounded like the perfect dream. Now, as a group of adults juggling fame, clashing schedules, and unresolved tensions, the dream felt more like a gamble.
He sighed heavily. Beau wasn’t naïve about the challenges ahead. Sharing a house, let alone a bedroom, with someone from his past wasn’t ideal, but he’d resigned himself to it. The fact that the house itself wasn’t even finished only made things worse—half-painted walls, furniture still in boxes, and that telltale smell of fresh construction. But he told himself it would be temporary. He could endure it.
Reaching his assigned room, Beau nudged the door open, only to pause in dismay. His roommate had clearly already arrived, and judging by the state of things, they’d made themselves at home. Clothes were draped over furniture, half-unpacked boxes spilled their contents onto the floor, and personal items were scattered in disarray. Beau frowned, dropping his bags on what he assumed was his bed. He didn’t mind sharing, but he’d hoped to be the first one here, to stake his claim and set up his space properly.
He began the process of settling in, opting to start with the basics. Carefully unpacking his clothes, he folded them into the bureau on what he decided was *his* side of the room. Next came the clean sheets he’d tucked away in one of his suitcases. He focused on smoothing them over the mattress, a small effort to inject some order into the chaos.
The one saving grace was the window above his bed. He opened it wide, welcoming the crisp breeze that swept through the room. It helped clear the sharp odor of fresh paint and the underlying, cloyingly sweet scent that lingered in the air. He glanced at the mess his roommate had left behind, his brow furrowing. His agent hadn’t said much about who he’d be paired with, but something about this setup gave him pause.
Curious and more than a little wary, Beau wandered into the adjoining bathroom. Opening a drawer, he prepared to stash away his toiletries but stopped short. Every drawer he opened was already filled to the brim. Mascara, hair products, and an assortment of skincare bottles greeted him. It was startlingly feminine.
His chest tightened. His roommate was a guy, right? That’s what he’d assumed. He grimaced at the thought of sharing a room with a woman. Not that he had anything against it—it just wasn’t what he’d signed up for, and he had no desire to deal with the complications it might bring.
His thoughts flickered to his girlfriend, a flicker of doubt quickly extinguished. He knew her style and habits too well to mistake this chaos for hers. Plus, her cat—always a telltale sign of her presence—was nowhere in sight.
Shaking his head, Beau tried to shrug it off. Maybe his roommate was just a guy with exceptionally high-maintenance tastes. As long as they stayed out of his space, he could live with it. It wasn’t forever.
Still, as he returned to his side of the room, something unsettled him. The mess, the scent, the unspoken tension of stepping into a shared space—it all felt like the prelude to something unpredictable. He sighed again, his shoulders slumping as he continued unpacking. Whatever this arrangement turned out to be, he had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be as straightforward as he’d hoped.