A/N:
Hey there, folks! I just finished binge-watching the show and instead of focusing on grad school, I did...this...stuff.
I'm picturing this as a series of snippets into what the show might have looked like if Zoey and Max had become roommates 5 years ago, around when they met at SPRQ Point. I have a bit of plot up my sleeve, but I'd consider any feedback or insights you want to share as the story grows.
Ratings may change, tags may be added. Who knows. It's 2020.
Fun fact: I watched the crew filming for Season 2 on Tuesday at my university, and actually literally bumped into Skylar Astin and Alex Newell as I was leaving the building. I didn't say anything and kept walking, but I felt my eyes get way too big to look like a normal human being. And Skylar smiled at me and whoo, my heart rate is still going. So. Yeah. Fun fact.
Zoey is in the middle of cutting tear-off strips into the poster when she sees Max come back from his lunch break with a compostable coffee carrier.
"What's this?" he says, eyeing her scissors and handing her a to-go cup. The cup's logo is unmistakable.
"I could ask you the same question," she teases, smiling ear-to-ear as she takes the cup. "I see you've discovered my weakness."
"Hard not to," he says with a grin, hooking his foot into a nearby rolling chair, dragging it closer to her desk, and sitting backwards on it. "Your annotations were not all that subtle."
Zoey vaguely remembers circling or starring or highlighting or maybe all-threeing the Golden Gate Grind in the slightly outdated Lonely Planet guide she'd bought—a botched New Year's resolution to do Yelp reviews. Since Max was fresh from NYU, she figured he'd get more use out of it than her. Even though it was kind of ridiculous to keep a paper copy, he seemed to appreciate the gesture.
Zoey takes a sip without looking at the Sharpied words on the cup, and to her surprise, it's her normal drink: a non-fat latte. He must have really been reading those notes.
"Thank you," she says, and he smiles sheepishly. "I think you might've just resurrected me." She gives the scissors an experimental snip and gets back to cutting the poster. "I decided to move out of my parents' house. It's getting a little claustrophobic, and I figure now that I'm done with school, it's time to put on my grownup pants and get my own place, especially with the commute time."
Max is nodding his head. Even with parents as amazing as Zoey says they are, he gets it. "That's great! When I was back with my parents for a few weeks after graduation I felt like everyone was in my business all the time. So…what, are you looking for a place or a roommate?"
He takes one of the posters in her pile and looks it over as she rambles. "I have a place in mind, but I'm hoping to figure out a roommate first. It's cheap for here but still way too expensive for my loans, even if it's a crappy area."
Max's eyes bug out at the cross streets. She's not sure if he's gotten incredibly familiar with maps of San Francisco, or if the area's reputation precedes it.
"Planning on getting mugged anytime soon?" he mutters, incredulous.
"I mean, it's not that bad," Zoey starts, but Max is already Googling the actual address, his lips pursed.
"Yeah, no, this doesn't look great, Zo," he says. "Any other options?"
Zoey puffs out her cheeks and sighs. "Not in my price range, not now. At least, not when I check. I never refresh the page at the right time. Two seconds after a new listing is posted and there are already seventy kombucha fanatics making offers."
Max frowns. After a long moment, watching her snip at the poster, he speaks again. "Look, my uncle has this fairly decent condo about a twenty minute walk from here, and he's subletting it out to me with a deal." She glowers and says something about nepotism under her breath which makes him chuckle.
"So?" he asks, tilting his head.
"So what? Good for you," she says, only a little bitter. "The commute sounds nice."
Max rolls his eyes.
"So I'm asking: do you want to split the rent? It's a two bedroom and it's by no means the Ritz, but it's definitely a better option than that."
Zoey's eyes fly open so comically that he coughs to disguise his laugh. "What? I mean, that's really nice to offer, but are you sure?"
Somehow, it didn't even occur to her to ask a guy to be her roommate, which probably was a little short sighted, given that there really aren't that many double X chromosomes walking around SPRQ Point. But Max isn't, like, a fratboy, and she already knows they are going to be friends for life, so the idea of rooming with this particular Y chromosome doesn't strike the fight or flight response that, say, Tobin, would. Shudder.
Max shrugs but his brown eyes are warm and eager. "The more the merrier. So long as you're not allergic to cats, and okay with, like, a lot of reruns of the Star Wars Christmas special."
"You have it?" she nearly squeals. She'd been looking for a copy of the disasterpiece for years. "You absolute nerd."
His smile is mischievous. "Well, my old piano teacher may have burned a disc for me. I think he said it was a cautionary tale about the dangers of coasting on past success."
Zoey laughs but she can hardly imagine Max coasting on anything. In the two weeks she's known him (only two weeks?) it has become quite clear that Max is probably one of—no, all right—he is the most present, humble, and hardworking member of their team.
"I wouldn't mind a cautionary tale every once in awhile, if there's Wookies involved," she says lightly. "But—you have a cat? How did I not know this?"
He's quick to clarify. "No, no cats, yet. But I've been thinking about it for awhile, and this is the first pet friendly building I've lived in, so…it might be on the horizon."
"Honestly, a cat would be a perk, so that's no problem." She pauses. "Thanks for offering. But…you don't think you would go insane seeing your coworker all the time? I mean, obviously, you're living alone right now so I figure—"
He brushes it off. "I mean, if the orientation speech was any indication, we're all going to be in straitjackets by the end of the month, so why not lean into it? Just kidding, I think it'd be cool. And it's not like you're Tobin." He tilts his head toward Tobin, who is swirling Hot Cheetos in a jar of Nutella at his desk.
"True," she agrees, snickering. "I guess I'll put these ads on pause."
"Great, well, if you want to check the place out for yourself, we could walk over after work?"
Zoey leans down to stuff the half-finished posters into her bag when she says, "Great. It's a date." She doesn't see Max's cheek twitch.
"Hey, you two nerds gossiping about me?" yells Tobin from his desk. "Because if you are, it better be good."
Max was being humble. His place is very nice. He'd given an overview of the layout and amenities on the walk there, and a guesstimate of the fees ("I already set up shop in the bigger room, so your share of the rent would reflect that,") but she wasn't prepared for how nice it would be. It's modern and very clean but not unlived in. It looks like a real, grown man's apartment. Sure, there are goofy posters up, but they're in tasteful black frames, not just sticky-tacked to the wall like in her bedroom at home, which has endured an endless montage of shifting posters, fairy lights, and mood boards between middle school, high school, undergrad, and grad school.
"Um," Zoey says, as she follows his example and toes off her shoes, revealing her lucky socks: telescopes and stars. His are black and yellow Hufflepuff stripes. "You live here?"
He raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by that, but yes."
"Be flattered. W-o-w." The place is perfectly furnished, but more than that, it's clear that the owner has it together. She's eyeing the dish-free sink and the bowl of shiny, decidedly un-moldy fruit on the bar when he offers to give her the grand tour. Zoey takes silent notes. Living room (comfy-looking leather sofa), eat-in kitchen (with a weird but convenient laundry machine and dryer), bathroom (two sinks, skylights), bedrooms (decent closet space).
They get to the bedrooms last. The master sits at the end of the hall, while the spare is the last door on the left. It's minimally furnished, with a Queen bed, desk, dresser, a floor lamp, and some built-in bookshelves. One less gauntlet at Ikea. Zoey sits down on the Queen to test the mattress and gives it a quick bounce. The bedsprings are a bit firm and creaky but it'll be soft enough once she gets a foam mattress topper on it.
Max leans against the door frame, somehow looking both comfortable and nervous.
She criss-crosses her legs on the bed, bopping her head and shoulders. "I gotta say, Max, it's looking preeeetty perfect. So, if you're not afraid of cooties and really do want a roommate slash coworker slash friend to slowly descend into madness with, I'm yours."
She's almost blinded. How white are his teeth even?
"That's awesome, Zo! Would you be okay to move in on the first of the month? On paper I mean—you can start moving stuff any time."
They shuffle back down the hallway to the living room, Max just behind her, and it occurs to her that the hall seems a bit tight with the two of them. She shakes it off.
They plant themselves on the sofa to talk logistics, and then there's celebratory Thai takeout and beer-clinking on the coffee table. And then Zoey is teasing him as she combs through his ridiculously packed DVD binder. Max just watches her, feeling something unstated ballooning in his chest.
I'd LOVE to hear what you thought! 3