Sanders showers for a pretty long time, but after his morning prayer, he hears water running. The bathroom is already occupied.

Gritting his teeth, he slams open the door. "Man, come on!"

Maxon slides the curtain back to peek his head out. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and he's grinning, eyes shining with humor. "Good morning, Rush."

"I shower at this time."

The soccer player's eyes widen. "Oh, shit, man. I'm sorry. I didn't know. My training starts earlier than you guys because we have more laps to run."

Sanders groans loudly. "You're messing up fucking everything!" His hands go to his hair, and his fingers itch to pull the strands out. Before he can do so, he catches sight of Maxon's briefs on the floor, and his head throbs with irritation. "Don't leave your briefs around, too. I know we're both guys, but toss it in the hamper or some shit. Becks comes in here sometimes if the hot water's not running in the other bathroom."

To his surprise, Maxon grins wider. "Cal won't care. I'm pretty sure she wears the same thing. But, ah, noted on that, it's unhygienic, sorry."

Sanders blinks. "I'm sorry, what—"

Maxon looks apologetic. "I'll be done in five, I promise. Sorry, man. I won't take your shower hour anymore."

Sanders is—he's being childish. He's being childish and stupid, and his roommate is trying. He's—he's trying. Sanders sighs. "No, it's fine. You can shower before me, you said you have an earlier training time. I'll, uh, wait for you to finish."

He leaves the bathroom and lies back down on his bed, face on his pillow. He screams at it.

When Sanders comes back from his run, Becks is already sitting up on her bed, frowning at him. She has sleep in her eyes, and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. There's drool on her chin, and Sanders, despite his shitty morning, manages a small smile. Her curls are all over her face. "Huh. That's weird. You're late."

Sanders sighs and pulls his hood down, making a beeline to her, handing her the opened almond milk. "I know. Some asshole took my shower hour."

"Thanks for this." Becks takes a sip and pulls her knees up to her chest. "You're angry at Maxon?" she asks quietly, shaking the hair out of her eyes.

Sanders hangs his head and stands up. "No. No, it's nothing. Come on, wash your face and let's eat, I bought breakfast—"

He spares a glance around her room.

Her hand wraps are gone. The gloves are gone, too. The jump ropes, punch mitts, head gear. They're nowhere in sight.

"Oh, I cleaned up a bit," Becks says, standing up and sliding her eyeglasses on.

"It looks empty," Sanders says. "You put them inside your closet?"

"Yeah." She shrugs. "Figured it would be neater to keep all my equipment in one place. Wait for me, okay? I'm going to wash up and we can eat."

Sanders barely manages a nod.

He looks around the room one more time. It's bare. Empty.

He closes the door with a clenched jaw and heads to the kitchen.

"Hey!" Maxon beams at him. He turns off the stove. "I cooked breakfast. It's an apology for taking your shower time this morning."

It smells like eggs. Sanders didn't even notice he was in the kitchen when he came back from his run, too flustered and annoyed to care.

"Oh, thanks." Sanders tosses the macaroni he bought in the refrigerator and sits down. "And it's fine," he grumbles. "It's fine, you can take it. You need to shower before training."

Maxon slides him a plate and grins. He's already in his jersey and shorts, and he smells great. Damn it. "Thanks, bro. Eat up. There's coffee in the pot, too. Is Cal awake?"

"Here," she says softly, appearing in the hallway. Her hoodie's gone. She's in a shirt with a pocket and gym shorts. Her hair is combed. Straightened. She sits beside Sanders. "Good morning. That smells...edible."

"I know you love my cooking, Cal, don't deny it." Maxon smiles at her, flicking her forehead, and sets a plate down in front of her. "I used to make you food when you were sick and I forced you to eat the vegetables, too, but you said it was delicious. Give me a hand, will you?" He hands her a bottle of juice.

Sanders eats his egg. Stabs his fork in it, disassembles the onions.

Becks clicks her tongue, like she's annoyed, but she's already reaching for it. "You always make me do this—"

She stops suddenly. Her hand is in the air, and she blinks, like she's dazed, and Becks looks down at her hands—the gashes on her knuckles, the redness of them. The callouses on her palms, their roughness.

Maxon is staring at her, confused. "Cal?"

Becks retracts her hand slowly, fiddling with her fingers on her lap.

Sanders takes the bottle with force and opens it. He sets it down in front of him with a loud sound. "Here," Sanders snaps. To Becks, he nudges her and says, "Babe, eat up so you can take a shower. We'll go to school together."

"Yeah," Becks mumbles, focusing on her plate. "Yeah, okay."

"Thanks," Maxon tells Sanders, taking a sip of his juice. He smiles at them. "By the way, guys, my girlfriend is coming to visit on Friday. Is that okay? I'm not really sure what the rules are about visitors in this place, but I wanted to let you know."

Sanders shrugs. "Yeah, no problem. You can bring visitors, just let us know beforehand. You want us to clear out?"

"No, no." Maxon grins. "It'll be cooler if you guys were here. She wants to meet you. But if you're busy, it's all good, no worries."

Sanders shrugs. "I'm free. Becks?"

"I'm free too," she says.

"We usually eat out for dinner after training, but we can do it here with your girlfriend. Is that okay?"

"Perfect. I'll let her know." He stands up and checks his watch, hurriedly bringing his plate to the sink. "I have to go. Bye, Cal! Bye, Rush!"

"Bye," Sanders says.

"Bye. Thanks for breakfast," Becks says, stabbing her egg and scarfing the rest of it down.

Sanders watches her, his gaze dropping to her hands on her lap, fisting the bottom of her shirt.

It's not the hands of a girl. Of what should belong to a girl, but Sanders doesn't mind. Fuck that. They're strong, and they're warm, and they're shaking, like they need to be held, and Sanders takes her left hand and squeezes. His butterflies come alive. His brain is shutting down.

They don't fit. Becks's hand is too large, her fingers are bony, and long, and Sanders can feel every trace of her palm, but he thinks he can feel the world rushing through his veins. Each of his fingers are coming alive, like they've been ready to hold. Like they're hugging Becks's fingers.

Sanders is vibrating. He's helpless.

Becks smiles at him. The universe is kind enough to give him a smile. He thanks it with a silent prayer. "You know I can punch you with this."

"You know you're doing that thing. That thing that's making me happy," Sanders says.

She blinks at him. "What? Breathing? Smiling?"

"Yes. Exactly. Both. Perfect. Ten over ten. Do it more."

Becks laughs. She laughs. It's the high-pitched one, the wheezing, the raspy. It makes Sanders laugh, too.

*

Maxon takes Sanders's shower time. He takes pretty long showers.

It's making Sanders late. He thinks he should do it after his run, but going for runs without showering first is—no, Sanders can't do it. He can't.

So he...well, he uses Becks's bathroom.

And he knows, he's aware—they can't use the two showers at the same time or else the hot water will run out, and no one can use it for two days maximum.

He thought it'd be fine.

It's not.

Maxon is yelling. "Fucking hell, that's cold!"

Sanders winces. He's standing in the hallway, a towel around his waist, hair dripping on his bare skin. He shouldn't have used Becks's shower. Shit.

Becks's door opens. She comes out, pushing her glasses up to her nose, and squints at Sanders. "What's happening? Why is Maxon yelling?"

Sanders shuts his eyes. "I—uh, I did something stupid."

Becks raises an eyebrow. "Please elaborate."

The water shuts off. A few moments later, Maxon steps out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, hair dripping wet, too. He's shivering, eyes wide, and his gaze travels to Sanders's body. "Dude," he whispers. "Dude, you used the shower?"

Becks groans. "No. No, Sanders."

"I'm sorry!" Sanders's face heats. "Fuck, I'm sorry. My routine was messed up, and I thought it'd be fine, that Lucianna fixed it or something—"

"Why would Lucianna fix our damn shower!" Becks yells, hitting him on the shoulder. It's a pretty powerful hit, and Sanders stumbles back a little. "Sanders, it's September! We are going to freeze!"

"Forever?" Maxon whispers incredulously, eyes wide.

"For two days," Sanders says, wincing. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Becks sighs and looks at Maxon. "What are we going to do? I can't—it's too cold."

Sanders—flustered as he is—catches that. He catches how Becks is looking at Maxon, and he wishes he didn't.

She—she always looks at Sanders first. When there's a problem, and they need answers, Becks will look at Sanders and groan, "What are we going to do?"

Sanders has always taken care of Becks. No matter who's in the wrong. If it's Sanders's fault, Sanders will fix it. If it's Becks's fault, and she doesn't know what to do, or she's too panicked and distressed, Sanders will fix it. He's always...he's never...he—

"We can take showers at the locker rooms," Maxon tries, rubbing the nape of his neck. The floor is wet. "There's hot water in the mornings and at nights. We can...we can eat breakfast here, do our shit, and then shower there. Just bring extra clothes or something. I can try to talk to Lucianna, too. See if there's anything we can do to get it fixed."

"I'll talk to Lucianna," Sanders cuts in icily, taking a deep breath. It's his fault. He should fix it. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Maxon nods and puts a hand on his shoulder. Sanders has half a mind to shrug it off, but he doesn't. "It's fine, man. I'm sorry for taking your shower time."

"No, don't—I said it was fine," Sanders says, hanging his head. "I don't—I don't know. I'm sorry. It was fine, but I thought—" he pauses, glancing at his best friend. She's staring back at him, and Sanders—Sanders can't read her face. "Sorry, I don't know what I thought."

"It's okay!" Maxon says cheerily, clapping him on the back. "Good thing I didn't have shampoo in my hair, anymore. Cal, will you be fine showering in school?"

Becks nods. "Not like I have a choice. It'll be fine. You guys dress up. I'll dress up, too. Do we have breakfast?"

Sanders doesn't even have the almond milk. He swallows hard and says, "We can drop by McDonald's."

"Okay." Becks smiles at him before turning around.

Maxon grins at Sanders. "I'd love McDonald's. Can I come?"

Sanders nods. He owes the guy. "Yeah, 'course. Dude, I'm sorry. Again."

"Nah." The soccer player claps him on the back again. He's offering him a genuine smile, and...and Sanders feels like shit. "S'all good, man. Let's get dressed so we can get grease, I'm starving."

Instead of her usual training clothes, Becks opts for a jersey shirt and leggings. Her hair is tied, and her contacts are in place. Sanders furrows his eyebrows. "Gloves?"

"In here." She taps her bag. It's bulky, and it looks heavy. "Come on. I'm hungry. Where's Maxon?"

Becks has sprayed an insane amount of perfume on her body. It's...it's a good smell, it's what she uses after training, but it's too much, and it makes Sanders choke.

They're in line. Sanders leans in to say, "Are you...really that worried? Because you couldn't shower?"

"Sanders, I'd smell worse if I didn't put on perfume," she says irritably, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'd rather not have people talk about my body odor. What are you getting?"

Becks didn't care before. They lost their hot water once and dropped by McDonald's to get breakfast. Becks wasn't wearing perfume. She said she didn't care. (Sanders showered at Rosen's place. Becks showered at Adan's.)

Maxon appears next to them just as Becks is paying and grabs her tray. "I think I'll have this," he says, teasing, stretching his arm above his head while Becks jumps up to take it back. "Good to know you're eating well, Cal. You didn't eat this much in high school. I had to sneak in crackers in your bag."

Sanders slaps his bill on the counter and pays for his food.

"Maxon, give it back."

"This close, you're so ugly."

"Give it back," Becks says, in her low, threatening voice. She doesn't sound annoyed. In fact, she sounds...flustered. "And you're uglier, what are you talking about?"

Maxon flicks her forehead and leaves the line, heading straight to their table. Becks follows after him.

Sanders eats his breakfast in silence. Becks's perfume fills his nose.

*

Lucianna said she wasn't going to fix their shower. She doesn't have the money to, and three college kids scraping up their savings together only adds up to a pack of instant noodles. Maybe two.

Sanders showered at Rosen's. Becks is showering in the locker room—she said she was too shy to ask Adan again, but Sanders thinks it's more of taking Maxon's suggestion than being shy.

Sanders kicks an invisible stone and leans against the wall, waiting outside the locker room.

When she comes out, in a ratty shirt and orange joggers, she's drying her hair with a towel. She's barefoot. "I'm hungry," she says.

Sanders takes the few steps towards her, fighting the urge to smile. When he's close enough, he leans down and levels his face to hers. Becks doesn't even move, not fazed by their proximity. Sanders snickers. "You look like a hamster."

"Thanks," Becks says flatly.

"An angry one." He tilts his head to the side, scrunching his nose. His eyes travel from hers, to her nose, to her cheeks. "Wow," he mutters, drawing his eyebrows together. "For someone so ugly, you have great skin."

"What is it with men having an opinion about the way I look?" Becks demands, raising one eyebrow. "Actually, what is it with men having opinions at all?"

Sanders smiles and stands up straight, glancing at her feet. "You're walking home barefoot?"

"Oh." She scrunches her nose. "I lost a match."

Sanders raises an eyebrow. "You rarely do."

"It was against Jordan."

"Oh, I see. Are you hurt?"

Becks shakes her head. "No. My body's sore, nothing new. I need you to carry me home."

"Yeah, about that..."

She glares at him.

He chuckles. "So where are the shoes?"

"I'll have them back tomorrow." She huffs again, impatient, pulling his arm. "Come on, we have that dinner with Maxon and Kaitlyn."

Sanders blinks at her. "You know her?"

"'Course." Becks snorts, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Maxon didn't shut up about her."

Sanders kicks off his shoes. "Wear those. I'm worried about your feet. It's cold."

"No way." She kicks them back to his direction, shaking her head. "You're going to walk in socks."

"Better than being barefoot." Sanders shrugs. "I'll carry you if you don't wear them."

Becks glares at him. Sanders grins. She looks like an angry hamster with wet hair. "Come here, your hair's still wet." He takes her towel and pulls her to him, rubbing it over her hair. Becks's eyes close, and her face scrunches, head bobbing side to side. "Can you just wear the damn shoes? You're so stubborn."

Becks huffs. "I'm stubborn?"

Sanders throws the towel in her face when he's done. He turns around and starts walking. "Come on, babe. We'll do half the way."

"Fine," Becks grumbles, catching up to him in his shoes. They're big on her feet, and it looks like she's waddling, like a penguin, and Sanders smiles.

It's cold, but Sanders doesn't mind. At least Becks isn't.

*

Kaitlyn is a sweetheart. She and Maxon are great together.

(She admits she was worried about Maxon living with a girl at first. Maxon laughs and says, "Don't worry, babe. S'not like Cal is a girl.")

(Becks's face is red, but she laughs, too.)