Not a lot to say really, I've never personally seen a fic with Neela moving into the apartment, so I thought I'd write one. Oneshot!
She didn't have much in the way of stuff. She had been living on Abby's couch for the last 6 months, so when it came to her moving into the two-bedroom apartment that Ray owned, it didn't take a lot of moving in.
Initially he had helped her to get her boxes from the car to the apartment itself. But she insisted that she was perfectly capable unpacking 3 big boxes of her belongings. He had left her too it, but they both had the day off so he ended up making himself useful and making her tea.
"Which floor did you say it was on?" Neela asked irritably. She knew she was mad the moment she agreed to this. Living with Ray was going to be the weirdest experience of her life, and it certainly was going to be that, an experience.
"The second one. But there is a lift, which normally never works. So get used to walking up stairs, Roomie," he smiled bounding up the staircase effortlessly, a big box in his hands. Neela was carrying her clothes bag, which was brimming with all sorts of materials. Her collection of clothes had decreased over the last year. Having moved to Chicago she didn't see the point in bringing so many with her, she could just wash them all.
"Don't call me that," she stated, panting slightly as she reached the top of the stairs. Ray opened a door for her and showed her in. Putting the box next to a doorway she assumed was the way to her room. "Cosy." It was the first word that had entered her head; she took in her surroundings, exactly what she had expected and then some.
There was a siren on the top of the hi-tech sound system, which looked as if it stayed constantly on. A lava lamp or three dotted around the main room. There were shelves after shelves of CDs, all of which Neela assumed would be Rock/Punk, The Clash- that sort of thing. The television was set up with a coffee table and a two-seated sofa in front of it, and that made up all the furniture in the room, apart from a small side table for keys etc. by the door.
The living room was joined to the kitchen, open plan style. It had the basics and was extremely messy, plates over the sides, and dirty dishes in the sink. She was going to have her work cut out for her.
"Here you go Roomie," Ray smiled, passing her a cup. It was a miracle there were any after that pile in the kitchen; maybe he - she shuddered to think how - cleaned them. She took it willingly and took a sip, it wasn't bad actually, just very American. They never grasped the concept of tea.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Must have missed that," Ray said with a laugh taking a sip from his own cup and sitting down on the edge of her bed. Something in the box in front of him caught his eye. "What the hell is this?" he said picking it up. It was some sort of doll, or teddy, it was pink, and extremely worn.
"That's Freda. My Mum gave her to me when I was two, she's goes with me everywhere."
"Cute, Roomie," he laughed carefully placing 'Freda' in the middle of Neela's new bed. "She looks so comfy." He then took it upon himself to turn and lay on Neela's bed. "Oh, much better than mine. Maybe we could switch..."
"And I'd risk my health going in that pit you call a room, I think not." Neela took the final box and emptied it carefully placing things where she wanted them. "Besides, I'm nearly done."
"Well in that case, me and Freda here are gunna take a nap, and make the most of my day off. Aren't we Freda?" before he got the chance to act Freda out, Neela had pushed him from her bed and he was on the floor, slightly dazed.
"What was that for, Roomie?"
"If you're taking a nap, you're not doing it here, or there for that matter, you can go into your biohazard."
"Harsh words, Roomie, harsh words." Ray legged it as Neela picked up something that looked hard and went to throw it at him.
"I said don't call me Roomie!"
"You work early shifts right, so you can make gigs with your band?" Neela asked as Ray looked through the charts.
"Well yeah, and if you stick to your late shifts we wouldn't see each other for days."
"Weeks even." A handshake sealed the deal. Have I really thought this through?
"Welcome, Roomie." I guess not.
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