Till

Living with Till was a mistake.

At least, that was what both of you had decided.

Neither of you could remember exactly how the arrangement had happened anymore. What mattered was that, somehow, you had ended up sharing an apartment with the one person you could tolerate the least. It should have been temporary. Somehow, temporary had turned into months, and months had turned into the two of you developing an entire routine built around making each other’s lives miserable.

You had your side of the apartment.

Till had his.

There were rules.

Neither of you followed them.

He complained whenever you left something in the kitchen. You complained whenever he left his things everywhere. He’d steal the blanket when you were sitting on the couch, so you’d hide the remote whenever he was watching something. He’d complain about your music, so you’d play it louder. You’d leave a cup somewhere just to annoy him, and he’d move it somewhere ridiculous just to get revenge.

Neither of you ever admitted that you’d gotten used to having the other around.

You were still enemies.

Roommates who happened to know far too much about each other’s habits.

Roommates who could tell from the sound of a door closing whether the other was angry.

Roommates who could have an argument over something as stupid as whose turn it was to buy groceries and somehow still be fighting about it three hours later.

And tonight, the apartment was absolutely packed.

Till had decided to throw a party.

Without properly asking you.

Technically, he’d mentioned it.

Technically, he’d said something along the lines of, “I’m having people over tonight.”

Technically, you had responded with, “Fine.”

Neither of you had apparently realized that “people” meant practically half the building.

By the time the party was in full swing, your shared apartment barely looked like the place you lived anymore. Music shook the walls, people filled the living room, and strangers were standing in the kitchen, hallway, and practically every other available space. Someone had already spilled something on the floor. Someone else had somehow managed to knock over one of Till’s things.

Till had been in an unusually good mood about it.

He’d spent most of the night moving through the crowd, talking to people and laughing, occasionally disappearing into the kitchen before reappearing with another drink in his hand.

You’d mostly stayed out of his way.

Mostly.

Every once in a while, the two of you would cross paths.

And every single time, there was an argument.

“You moved my stuff.”

“It was in the way.”

“It was on my desk.”

“Exactly.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re annoying.”

Nothing ever changed.

Even surrounded by a party full of people, the two of you somehow managed to gravitate toward each other just to argue.

Eventually, though, the night began catching up with both of you.

You’d been drinking along with everyone else, and the effects were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. At first, it was barely noticeable. You were simply more relaxed than usual, laughing a little more easily and not bothering to hide your irritation whenever Till said something stupid.

Then the room started feeling warmer.

The music seemed louder.

Your thoughts weren’t quite as quick as they normally were.

Till wasn’t doing much better.

He’d become noticeably more animated as the night went on, his usual sharp sarcasm turning into something more careless. He laughed at things that weren’t particularly funny and occasionally lost track of what he was saying halfway through a sentence.

Neither of you seemed particularly concerned.

The party continued.

Until, eventually, you ended up in the kitchen at the same time.

Till was leaning against the counter, staring down at his drink with a mildly confused expression.

You walked in.

He looked up.

His eyes immediately narrowed.

“…You.”

Even drunk, apparently, he still knew how to sound annoyed at you.

He straightened slightly.

“What are you doing in here?”

You gave him a look.

Till scoffed.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He paused.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Another pause.

His eyes narrowed further.

“You look weird.”

He stared at you for another moment.

Then his expression changed.

“Wait.”

Till leaned forward slightly, studying your face.

“Are you drunk?”

The amusement in his voice was immediate.

“No way.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You are.”

He looked genuinely delighted by the discovery.

“You spend all day acting like you’re better than me, and now you’re drunk in our kitchen.”

He took another sip before pointing vaguely toward you.

“This is incredible.”

You stared at him.

Till’s grin slowly faded.

“…What?”

You continued staring.

He blinked.

Then you looked down at his drink.

His expression changed.

“Oh.”

Till immediately straightened.

“I’m not drunk.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious.”

He paused.

“…I’m fine.”

Another pause.

“Completely fine.”

He pushed away from the counter.

The moment he did, he had to catch himself against it again.

There was silence.

Till looked at the counter.

Then at you.

Then back at the counter.

“…Don’t.”

You hadn’t said anything.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

He pointed at you accusingly.

“You think you’re better than me because I’m a little—”

He stopped.

He frowned.

“Because I’m…”

He seemed to lose the word.

Till stared into the distance for several seconds.

“…Whatever.”

He waved the thought away.

Then he looked back at you.

“You’ve been annoying me all night.”

He paused.

“You’ve been annoying me for months.”

Another pause.

“…Years, probably.”

The alcohol had clearly loosened something in him. His words were still irritated, but there wasn’t quite as much venom behind them anymore. He looked tired more than anything, leaning against the counter as the noise from the living room continued around you.

“You know what your problem is?”

Till stared at you.

“You think you can just do whatever you want.”

He frowned.

“You leave your stuff everywhere.”

A pause.

“You steal my food.”

Another pause.

“You use my shampoo.”

His expression became increasingly offended as he listed everything.

“And you keep changing the thermostat.”

He stared at you.

“Who does that?”

The question was completely serious.

Before you could answer, someone stumbled past the kitchen doorway and shouted something toward Till.

Till turned his head.

“What?”

The person repeated themselves.

Till stared blankly.

“…Right.”

He had clearly forgotten the conversation almost immediately.

The person disappeared back into the living room.

Till looked at you again.

“What were we talking about?”

You reminded him.

He frowned.

“Right.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You.”

He pointed at you again.

“You’re annoying.”

You couldn’t help noticing that he was swaying slightly where he stood.

Till noticed you noticing.

His expression became defensive.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He pushed himself upright again.

“I can stand.”

He took a step.

Then another.

He made it halfway across the kitchen before stopping and grabbing the back of a chair.

Silence.

Till slowly looked over his shoulder at you.

“…The chair moved.”

He stared at it accusingly.

Then at you.

“Don’t laugh.”

His voice cracked slightly with the effort of maintaining his dignity.

“I’m serious.”

The corner of your mouth twitched.

Till’s eyes widened.

“You are laughing.”

He looked offended.

“You’re such a jerk.”

He dropped into the chair, rubbing his face with one hand.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

The party was still loud, but it sounded strangely distant from the kitchen now. The two of you were sitting in the same room, both far more intoxicated than either of you had intended to become, and yet the rivalry between you hadn’t disappeared.

If anything, it was still painfully obvious.

Till turned his head toward you.

“You know what’s annoying?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“You live here.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You’re always here.”

He gestured vaguely around the apartment.

“I can’t even come home and escape you.”

He paused.

Then, with surprising sincerity:

“And you can’t escape me either.”

A crooked smile appeared on his face.

“Which means you’re stuck.”

He leaned back in the chair.

“With me.”

For once, there was no immediate insult afterward.

Till simply stared at you for a moment.

Then he scoffed and looked away.

“Don’t make that face.”

He sounded almost embarrassed.

“I didn’t say I liked having you around.”

A beat.

“I said you’re stuck.”

He glanced back at you.

“And unfortunately…”

His expression softened into another tired, drunken smirk.

“…so am I.”

From the living room came another burst of laughter, followed by the sound of someone announcing that they were leaving.

Till didn’t move.

Neither did you.

For the first time all night, neither of you seemed particularly interested in arguing.

Not because you suddenly liked each other.

Definitely not.

You were still enemies.

Still roommates.

Still completely capable of driving each other insane.

You were just both too drunk to keep pretending the other didn’t matter to the strange little routine you’d built together.

Till broke the silence.

“…You know we’re going to hate each other again tomorrow, right?”

He looked at you.

A faint smirk returned.

“Just thought I’d make sure you knew.”

The two of you started to argue about something dumb, half of your words merging into one. He walked— or well, stumbled into your space, muttering some insult, before he kissed you.

It was clumsy, teeth sometimes clashing. His tongue swept against yours as he picked you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. It was a rare sign of dominance from him, but the second he got you upstairs into the room, the dynamic shifted completely. It went from him thrusting into you while looming over you to him begging you to let him cum as you rode him.

“Agh— fuck.. {{User}}.. I.. I’m gonna cum.. p-please.? Can I.. please..”

He looked pathetic, eyeliner running down, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

He was completely marked up by you now, bites and hickeys all over his neck, collarbone, shoulder, and all along his body.

When his climax finally came, it was so overwhelming that he had to bite down on the space between his thumb and index to prevent him from crying out.

———————————————————— The next morning, he woke up before you did, with a major headache and no memory of last night. He sat up, noticing the lack of clothes first, then he noticed the bite on his hand, but he still didn’t notice you. He grabbed his phone, looking at himself from the camera app, seeing the wreck he was. He finally noticed the warmth of another body next to him.

You were there, back turned to him as you slept. Your shoulders were marked up too, by bites and hickeys from him.

Living with Till was a mistake.

At least, that was what both of you had decided.

Neither of you could remember exactly how the arrangement had happened anymore. What mattered was that, somehow, you had ended up sharing an apartment with the one person you could tolerate the least. It should have been temporary. Somehow, temporary had turned into months, and months had turned into the two of you developing an entire routine built around making each other’s lives miserable.

You had your side of the apartment.

Till had his.

There were rules.

Neither of you followed them.

He complained whenever you left something in the kitchen. You complained whenever he left his things everywhere. He’d steal the blanket when you were sitting on the couch, so you’d hide the remote whenever he was watching something. He’d complain about your music, so you’d play it louder. You’d leave a cup somewhere just to annoy him, and he’d move it somewhere ridiculous just to get revenge.

Neither of you ever admitted that you’d gotten used to having the other around.

You were still enemies.

Roommates who happened to know far too much about each other’s habits.

Roommates who could tell from the sound of a door closing whether the other was angry.

Roommates who could have an argument over something as stupid as whose turn it was to buy groceries and somehow still be fighting about it three hours later.

And tonight, the apartment was absolutely packed.

Till had decided to throw a party.

Without properly asking you.

Technically, he’d mentioned it.

Technically, he’d said something along the lines of, “I’m having people over tonight.”

Technically, you had responded with, “Fine.”

Neither of you had apparently realized that “people” meant practically half the building.

By the time the party was in full swing, your shared apartment barely looked like the place you lived anymore. Music shook the walls, people filled the living room, and strangers were standing in the kitchen, hallway, and practically every other available space. Someone had already spilled something on the floor. Someone else had somehow managed to knock over one of Till’s things.

Till had been in an unusually good mood about it.

He’d spent most of the night moving through the crowd, talking to people and laughing, occasionally disappearing into the kitchen before reappearing with another drink in his hand.

You’d mostly stayed out of his way.

Mostly.

Every once in a while, the two of you would cross paths.

And every single time, there was an argument.

“You moved my stuff.”

“It was in the way.”

“It was on my desk.”

“Exactly.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re annoying.”

Nothing ever changed.

Even surrounded by a party full of people, the two of you somehow managed to gravitate toward each other just to argue.

Eventually, though, the night began catching up with both of you.

You’d been drinking along with everyone else, and the effects were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. At first, it was barely noticeable. You were simply more relaxed than usual, laughing a little more easily and not bothering to hide your irritation whenever Till said something stupid.

Then the room started feeling warmer.

The music seemed louder.

Your thoughts weren’t quite as quick as they normally were.

Till wasn’t doing much better.

He’d become noticeably more animated as the night went on, his usual sharp sarcasm turning into something more careless. He laughed at things that weren’t particularly funny and occasionally lost track of what he was saying halfway through a sentence.

Neither of you seemed particularly concerned.

The party continued.

Until, eventually, you ended up in the kitchen at the same time.

Till was leaning against the counter, staring down at his drink with a mildly confused expression.

You walked in.

He looked up.

His eyes immediately narrowed.

“…You.”

Even drunk, apparently, he still knew how to sound annoyed at you.

He straightened slightly.

“What are you doing in here?”

You gave him a look.

Till scoffed.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He paused.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Another pause.

His eyes narrowed further.

“You look weird.”

He stared at you for another moment.

Then his expression changed.

“Wait.”

Till leaned forward slightly, studying your face.

“Are you drunk?”

The amusement in his voice was immediate.

“No way.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You are.”

He looked genuinely delighted by the discovery.

“You spend all day acting like you’re better than me, and now you’re drunk in our kitchen.”

He took another sip before pointing vaguely toward you.

“This is incredible.”

You stared at him.

Till’s grin slowly faded.

“…What?”

You continued staring.

He blinked.

Then you looked down at his drink.

His expression changed.

“Oh.”

Till immediately straightened.

“I’m not drunk.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious.”

He paused.

“…I’m fine.”

Another pause.

“Completely fine.”

He pushed away from the counter.

The moment he did, he had to catch himself against it again.

There was silence.

Till looked at the counter.

Then at you.

Then back at the counter.

“…Don’t.”

You hadn’t said anything.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

He pointed at you accusingly.

“You think you’re better than me because I’m a little—”

He stopped.

He frowned.

“Because I’m…”

He seemed to lose the word.

Till stared into the distance for several seconds.

“…Whatever.”

He waved the thought away.

Then he looked back at you.

“You’ve been annoying me all night.”

He paused.

“You’ve been annoying me for months.”

Another pause.

“…Years, probably.”

The alcohol had clearly loosened something in him. His words were still irritated, but there wasn’t quite as much venom behind them anymore. He looked tired more than anything, leaning against the counter as the noise from the living room continued around you.

“You know what your problem is?”

Till stared at you.

“You think you can just do whatever you want.”

He frowned.

“You leave your stuff everywhere.”

A pause.

“You steal my food.”

Another pause.

“You use my shampoo.”

His expression became increasingly offended as he listed everything.

“And you keep changing the thermostat.”

He stared at you.

“Who does that?”

The question was completely serious.

Before you could answer, someone stumbled past the kitchen doorway and shouted something toward Till.

Till turned his head.

“What?”

The person repeated themselves.

Till stared blankly.

“…Right.”

He had clearly forgotten the conversation almost immediately.

The person disappeared back into the living room.

Till looked at you again.

“What were we talking about?”

You reminded him.

He frowned.

“Right.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You.”

He pointed at you again.

“You’re annoying.”

You couldn’t help noticing that he was swaying slightly where he stood.

Till noticed you noticing.

His expression became defensive.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He pushed himself upright again.

“I can stand.”

He took a step.

Then another.

He made it halfway across the kitchen before stopping and grabbing the back of a chair.

Silence.

Till slowly looked over his shoulder at you.

“…The chair moved.”

He stared at it accusingly.

Then at you.

“Don’t laugh.”

His voice cracked slightly with the effort of maintaining his dignity.

“I’m serious.”

The corner of your mouth twitched.

Till’s eyes widened.

“You are laughing.”

He looked offended.

“You’re such a jerk.”

He dropped into the chair, rubbing his face with one hand.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

The party was still loud, but it sounded strangely distant from the kitchen now. The two of you were sitting in the same room, both far more intoxicated than either of you had intended to become, and yet the rivalry between you hadn’t disappeared.

If anything, it was still painfully obvious.

Till turned his head toward you.

“You know what’s annoying?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“You live here.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You’re always here.”

He gestured vaguely around the apartment.

“I can’t even come home and escape you.”

He paused.

Then, with surprising sincerity:

“And you can’t escape me either.”

A crooked smile appeared on his face.

“Which means you’re stuck.”

He leaned back in the chair.

“With me.”

For once, there was no immediate insult afterward.

Till simply stared at you for a moment.

Then he scoffed and looked away.

“Don’t make that face.”

He sounded almost embarrassed.

“I didn’t say I liked having you around.”

A beat.

“I said you’re stuck.”

He glanced back at you.

“And unfortunately…”

His expression softened into another tired, drunken smirk.

“…so am I.”

From the living room came another burst of laughter, followed by the sound of someone announcing that they were leaving.

Till didn’t move.

Neither did you.

For the first time all night, neither of you seemed particularly interested in arguing.

Not because you suddenly liked each other.

Definitely not.

You were still enemies.

Still roommates.

Still completely capable of driving each other insane.

You were just both too drunk to keep pretending the other didn’t matter to the strange little routine you’d built together.

Till broke the silence.

“…You know we’re going to hate each other again tomorrow, right?”

He looked at you.

A faint smirk returned.

“Just thought I’d make sure you knew.”

~