Chapter 8 – The Apartment Has a Strict No-Apocalypse Policy
Rowan's apartment was not built for six people.
It was barely built for one person and a dying cactus.
Yet here he was, unlocking the front door at 11:47 p.m. with a parade of mythical disasters behind him like the world's most overqualified conga line.
Seraphina floated first, still glowing faintly red because she refused to "turn it off."
Mila (human form) carried two bags of take-out dumplings like sacred offerings.
Mila (wolf form) had refused to shift back and was currently wearing one of Rowan's old bath towels as a cape.
Kagerou had illusioned herself an entire traditional kimono and was using three tails to hold umbrellas nobody needed.
Isolde walked like she was on a runway that happened to be made of cheap linoleum.
Nyx floated last, still wearing nothing but Rowan's hoodie and a constellation of slowly rotating galaxies.
Rowan stepped inside, kicked off his shoes, and announced the house rules the way every exhausted twenty-four-year-old does:
"Shoes off. No blood on the carpet. Fridge is fair game. Couch is first-come-first-serve. Bathroom's down the hall, don't touch the left faucet, it screams."
He yawned, scratched his stomach, and headed for the kitchen. "I'm making instant ramen. Anyone want any?"
Six voices answered at once:
"Yes, please."
"Whatever you desire."
"Only if you feed me."
"May I lick the pot?"
"I have never consumed mortal noodles."
"Ramen is acceptable tribute."
Rowan blinked. "...Right. Six bowls it is."
He filled the biggest pot he owned (which was comically small for this crowd) and set it on the stove.
Behind him, the living room turned into a silent war zone.
Seraphina claimed the exact center of the couch and spread her wings (which she definitely hadn't had this morning) like a crimson blanket.
Mila (wolf) dove for the spot closest to where Rowan would eventually sit and curled into a silver ball of muscle and contentment.
Mila (human) stood guard over the dumplings like someone might steal them.
Kagerou illusioned six extra cushions and arranged them into a perfect circle around the coffee table.
Isolde grew a tiny apple tree in the corner because "the air quality was offensive."
Nyx simply hovered above the couch, orbiting Rowan's future seat at roughly knee height, glowing softly.
Rowan stirred the noodles, completely oblivious to the fact that:
The building's plumbing had just decided to work perfectly for the first time since 1997.
The dead cactus on the windowsill had sprouted a single, smug flower.
Mrs. Kowalski downstairs was currently texting the tenant group chat that "the nice boy on three finally got some very enthusiastic girlfriends."
He drained the noodles, split them into six bowls (miraculously none broke), added seasoning packets, and carried them out.
The room went still.
Rowan handed bowls around like it was the most normal night of his life.
"Careful, hot."
Six immortal women accepted their bowls like they were receiving holy relics.
Seraphina tried to eat with aristocratic dignity and failed because noodles are noodles.
Wolf-Mila inhaled hers in three bites and looked hopeful for seconds.
Human-Mila ate slowly, savoring every bite like it was made of starlight (it basically was).
Kagerou used chopsticks made of moonlight because regular ones were "boring."
Isolde grew edible gold leaf on top of hers for flavor.
Nyx just held the bowl and absorbed the heat through the hoodie; apparently stars don't need to chew.
Rowan sat in the exact middle of the couch (somehow there was room now) and started eating.
For thirty whole seconds there was silence except for slurping.
Then Seraphina spoke, voice soft.
"Thank you… Rowan."
The others echoed it immediately, a quiet chorus.
He waved a chopstick. "No big deal. I always make too much anyway."
He had no idea that, across the city:
Every vampire had suddenly lost the desire to feed on anyone else.
Werewolves were posting on private forums asking why the moon felt "polite" tonight.
Fae gates were blooming whether they wanted to or not.
Astronomers were panicking because the stars had rearranged themselves into a giant arrow pointing at this apartment building.
Rowan finished his bowl, set it on the coffee table, and leaned back.
The couch sighed happily. Six immortal women subtly scooted closer until he was basically wearing a blanket made of mythical girlfriends.
He yawned so hard his jaw cracked.
"Alright," he mumbled, eyes already closing. "I'm passing out. You guys figure out sleeping arrangements. There's one bed, one couch, and a lot of floor. Be nice."
He was asleep in four seconds flat.
Six pairs of eyes watched him breathe.
Seraphina whispered, "He's ours now."
Mila (both) growled in agreement.
Kagerou's tails wagged.
Isolde smiled like someone who'd just won a war she didn't fight.
Nyx dimmed her glow to night-light mode and settled into orbit around his head.
The apartment settled into quiet.
Outside, the stars rearranged themselves one more time into a new constellation:
A little stick figure asleep on a couch, surrounded by six glowing dots and the words:
TAKEN. DO NOT DISTURB.
Rowan drooled on a throw pillow and dreamed about getting to work on time for once.
The universe let him have that dream.
It owed him at least that much.