"Absolutely not."
Emily's voice cuts through the stale air of my apartment hallway. The flickering overhead light casts harsh shadows across her face as she takes in the crumbling plaster and water stains.
After our night at the hotel, Emily insisted on driving me home. I tried to decline, old habits of keeping my worlds separate die hard, but she fixed me with those blue eyes and said, "No boyfriend of mine is walking home at this hour." The word 'boyfriend' still echoes in my head like a song I can't stop humming.
Now I'm watching her perfectly manicured hand grip the rusted stair railing like she's afraid it might give tetanus through skin contact alone.
"It's not that bad," I mutter, fumbling with my keys. The lock sticks, requiring the special jiggle technique I've perfected over months of tenancy.
When the door finally swings open, Emily's expression shifts from disgust to something closer to horror. Her eyes scan the single room that serves as my bedroom, living room, and kitchenette all at once.
"Dan," she breathes, stepping cautiously inside as if the floor might collapse beneath her designer boots. "No chance in hell can you keep living here."
"I keep it clean," I protest, suddenly seeing my space through her eyes, the mattress on the floor, the milk crates serving as bookshelves, the hot plate balanced precariously on the windowsill. The room is spotless, actually. I'm meticulous about that. But no amount of scrubbing can hide the mold creeping up the bathroom wall or patch the hole in the ceiling where rain sometimes drips through.
Emily walks to the window, pushing aside the sheet I've hung as a curtain. Outside, the neon sign from the pawn shop across the street bathes her white hair in sickly blue light.
"How much do you pay for this?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral in a way that tells me she's trying hard not to offend me.
"Four-fifty," I answer, watching her face. "It's all I can afford."
"Four hundred and fifty dollars?" Emily interrupts, turning to face me. "For this?"
I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. "Cheap rent is hard to find."
Emily's eyes soften as she takes in my embarrassment. She crosses the room and takes my hands in hers.
"Pack a bag," she says simply.
"What?"
"Pack whatever you need for tonight." Her tone leaves no room for argument. "You're moving in with me."
My stomach drops. "Emily, I can't just…"
"You can and you will." Her fingers squeeze mine. "This building should be condemned, Dan."
"But isn't that moving too fast?" I blurt out. My brain is at war with itself. Every part of me wants to say yes, to escape this depressing hole in the wall, but a lifetime of disappointment has taught me caution. "I mean, I want to, but I don't want you to get sick of having me around all the time."
Emily's eyes soften as she steps closer, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. "You love me, right?" she asks, her voice gentle but direct.
"Yes," I answer without hesitation, the truth of it resonating through my entire body. "I do."
"And I feel the same way about you." Her thumb traces circles on my palm. "That's what matters."
"But…" I begin, my practical side still fighting for control.
"Relax," she cuts me off, her attention suddenly drawn to the state of my apartment. Her eyes scan the walls, taking in the peeling paint and water damage. "I haven't been in a real relationship since my husband left me. Yes, this is fast, but I don't mind." She releases my hand and walks to the center of the room, looking up. "Honestly, I'd much rather go a little too fast than have you die from whatever the hell that is."
I follow her gaze to where she's pointing at the ceiling. There's a massive yellowish-brown water stain spreading across the plaster, vaguely resembling... well, something obscene.
"Holy shit," I mutter, squinting at it. "I never noticed it looked like... that."
"Like a mare getting railed by the entire country of Italy?" Emily finishes with a straight face before breaking into laughter. "That's art, baby. Disgusting, potentially toxic art."
Despite everything, I find myself laughing too, the tension draining from my shoulders. "You make a compelling argument."
Emily's smile fades as she looks around again, her expression growing serious. "Dan, this isn't just about us moving fast. This place is actively dangerous. That mold could be making you sick."
I rub the back of my neck, embarrassment and pride warring inside me. "I can't afford to contribute much to rent at your place."
Emily's eyes flash with sudden understanding. "Dan, I own my house outright. There's no rent to worry about. It's not a mansion, but it's comfortable."
"Completely paid off?" I blink, trying to process this new information.
"One of the perks of my profession," she says with a hint of defensiveness.
The possibility feels too good to be true. No more moldy walls or leaky ceilings. No more choosing between heat and food at the end of the month. But there's still one major complication.
"What about your daughter?" I ask, the weight of reality tempering my excitement.
Emily sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly as she perches on the edge of my threadbare desk chair. "I've never brought a man home before," she admits, smoothing her skirt. "I think after all these years, I earned at least one."
I fold my arms across my chest, unconvinced. "Won't she be freaked out by the age difference? That's going to be weird for her."
Emily rises from the chair and crosses the room to me. Her arms wrap around my waist, her head resting against my chest. I can smell her expensive perfume, so out of place in this dingy apartment.
"My daughter already hates me, Dan," she says, her voice muffled against my shirt. The raw honesty in her tone makes my heart ache. "Finding out what I do for a living destroyed whatever respect she had left. I don't mind if she thinks I'm weird on top of everything else."
I stand there, holding her, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing against me. The neon light from outside flickers, casting strange shadows across the walls of the apartment I suddenly can't wait to leave behind.
"Okay," I say simply, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.