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Loona slept lightly. Always had. It was how she’d stayed alive so long. She listened, even in her sleep, and when she heard something, she woke up. The clink of a bottle, the arrhythmic footsteps of a drunkard, the shouts of some random toxic couple up the road. Better to avoid them all, so she learned to listen and pretend she wasn't.
When the door to her room burst open, she shot upright like she’d been electrocuted. Heather stumbled in drunkenly and flopped onto the second bed. Loona rolled over and tried to plug her ears against the immediate onslaught of snores her roommate emitted. Didn’t work. Fuck, Heather sucked. So, with sleep officially off the table, Loona rolled out of bed with a growl, slid on her shoes, and shuffled drearily outside.
A cold breeze brushed her cheek before giving way to the dense heat and salty smog. Her skin nearly glowed from how pale it was as she dug in her pocket for a lighter and half-crumpled pack of cigarettes.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
Loona flinched at the nasal voice deeper in the shadows. The familiar glow of a lit smoke caught her eye first before landing on the bored profile of one of the staff. Tan, not quite as tall as her, golden brown eyes. She watched him push back his auburn hair and sigh as he flicked away some ash.
“Go ahead. Light up,” he mumbled. “I’m no fucking snitch.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
“Fuck no. My job is cleaning toilets until some bitch-ass judge decides I’ve learned my lesson,” Old Man snorted.
Loona blinked and said, “Well, shit. Cool.”
She flipped her own ash-brown hair to the side and lit her own cigarette. As the nicotine sank in, Old Man cleared his throat.
“So. What brings you to this shit-hole?”
“Is that really a fucking question?” she asked back.
“Well, there are two options. You either got dropped here, or you rolled up yourself. I’m just curious which one,” he explained.
She growled softly and said, “I’m here ‘cause I wanna be.”
“Rolled up yourself then,” he said, nodding. “How's that treating you?”
“Fuck off, old man. I don't owe you my life story.”
“Guess not." He thought for a moment, then said, “At least tell me what's got you up and out?”
Loona raised a brow. Guy asked a lot of questions.
“Ugh. Fine” she scoffed. “My bitch of a roommate dodged curfew and just got back. She smells like piss and vom, and I needed a breather.”
“What's her name?”
“Thought you weren’t a snitch.”
Old Man shrugged, saying, “I’m not. But I’m also not a guy who lets fuckers walk all over me. You’ve got, what, a year left in this fuckfest?”
“Two months,” Loona said, tapping a foot. “They’re tossing me out in two months.”
“Well, fuck. Got your plan together?”
“Yeah, ‘don’t die.’”
He laughed, “Fuck, honey, that’s not a plan. That’s a sentiment. You wanna spend the rest of your life leeching off the government like a coke whore sucking dick?”
Loona grimaced. Old Man shook his head and tossed his spent cigarette to the pavement. Then he tucked his arms behind his head.
“Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do, bitch: first, you’re gonna invest in yourself. Figure out what you’re good at and get better at it. Then find someone who wants that skill and exploit the hell out of it.”
“That’s a business plan, dickhead,” said Loona.
“Might be. If business is what you’re good at.”
“If you’ve got this all figured out, what are you so good at?”
“Fuckin’, but that’s not the most legal way to make bank. Half decent with a camera, though.”
“Like photography or-?”
“Yeah, been thinking of opening a studio. Doing headshots for people.”
Loona snorted. Old Man just stared back.
“I mean… I guess,” she said slowly, “I’m kinda good with makeup and styling hair and shit.”
“That’d be good to-.”
The door between them slammed open. Loona flinched, but the man with her didn’t even blink.
“Break’s over, Bucko,” said whoever. “Ten minutes ago.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. And you know my fucking name, asshole. I’ve told you, what, a hundred times?”
Old Man stretched, spine cracking audibly. In the light from the doorway, Loona could finally see the entirety of his face. The pale skin smattered around his eye gave off vitiligo vibes, but he also lacked an eyebrow on that side. His lip also pulled up slightly into a perpetual smirk.
“Look,” he told the woman in the doorway, “give me five more minutes. I'll stay fifteen late, and we call it square. Deal?”
“Whatever you say, Bucko.”
Old Man snarled but said nothing as his coworker - manager? - retreated inside again. Instead, he released the frustration in a huff. Loona stopped watching him, focusing instead on finishing her own cigarette.
"Heather," she finally said. "My roommate is Heather."
"See?" Old Man chuckled. "That wasn't so hard."
“Anyway,” she said, flicking the butt away, “thanks for the advice, old man.”
“Wait,” Blitz said. “Take this.”
Producing a marker and napkin from his pocket, he wrote something down. Then he held the napkin out to her.
“If you ever need a place to stay,” he said, tone suddenly soft and low, “or just… want time alone. Your own room. Gimme a call.”
“I don't fuck old guys.”
“And I don't fuck kids,” Old Man spat back. “I'm being real here. Giving you a chance I… Seriously. And if I ever get that studio up, I'd love an in-house stylist.”
Loona cocked an eyebrow and said, “Like an investment?”
“Yeah, you got it. Or you can throw it out, if you want. It’s not like I give a fuck.”
She held onto it for a few weeks. And, sometimes, she joined Old Man for a late-night cigarette and a smuggled chocolate bar.
Loona slept lightly. Turning 18 hadn't changed that. It hadn't changed much at all, really. The bed was still shitty, just with more blankets. The space was still tiny, but it was hers; her clothes still threadbare and torn but clean.
Okay, so maybe a lot had changed, but she still didn't sleep well with her keenly-tuned ears. Not when her host stayed up late loudly arguing with himself or drinking or watching stupid pastel horse cartoons… or any of the other myriad of reasons Blitzø (“the Ø is silent”) stayed up until dawn before passing out on the sofa. Or the bathtub, if he'd been drinking.
When the soft murmur of her name made her ear twitch, though, she paused for a moment.
Slowly, Loona rose to her feet, extracting herself from the thin blankets Blitzø had given her when she arrived. The mostly bare walls were starting to fill with magazine posters and articles she’d ripped out and taped up. The space really was becoming her own, not that Blitzø ever threatened that. He knocked every time and made sure she had the only key to the space and knew it.
That didn’t stop her from locking the door when she entered or left the room. So she unlocked it and poked her head into the living room.
To her surprise, Blitzø was already curled up on the couch, burritoed in his stained horse blanket and twitching. And muttering. Loona crept towards him to hear more.
“...leave me. Mnh, no. Can’t leave me… N’again. Don’ wanna be alone… Loona… Take care of you…”
Loona flinched. That… wasn’t something she was prepared for. Like, shit, what did that even mean? She glanced around for a bottle to blame but didn’t see one. She didn’t smell booze, either. That… was a first. Was this what Blitzø slept like sober?
“Please stay, Loona… Someone…”
Loona sat down next to the couch and sighed.
“I’ll be here, Blitzø. Promise,” she whispered back.