I unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside, sighing like a man who had just accepted his fate.

  Elly trailed behind me, casting a critical eye around the place like an estate agent auditioning for a reality show called Survivor: Tech Bro Edition.

  "Huh," she said.

  I frowned. "Huh, what?"

  She spun in place, absorbing it all: the scuffed wood floor, the IKEA couch with one leg shorter than the others, the Leaning Tower of Laundry on the armrest, a tiny pyramid of empty energy drink cans that glinted from the kitchen counter like a cyberpunk shrine to burnout, and the distinct lack of grownup décor that screamed ‘single dude who barely functions.’

  "I don't know what I expected," she said finally, "but it wasn’t… this."

  I kicked off my shoes, already exhausted. "Is that a compliment?"

  She wrinkled her nose and tapped a dusty shelf, leaving a distinct fingerprint. "Not remotely. You live like a cryptid who only manifests when the fridge is empty. It’s a mess in here."

  She wasn’t wrong, but still. “I have a system.” I mumbled.

  Elly wandered over to the window, poking at my dusty blinds with the expression of someone performing an autopsy. “You know I’ve never been here before, right?”

  I paused mid-jacket-hang. “Wait. Really?”

  She turned, crossing her arms. “I’ve known you for how many years, and this is my first time stepping inside your disaster cave.”

  Come to think of it, despite our multi-year friendship, I’d never had her over, had I? Why was that something that had never happened? It seemed weird, now that I thought about it… no weirder than pointy ears, but weird.

  “I… huh.” I blinked. “That can’t be right.”

  “It is,” she said flatly.

  A weird twinge stirred in my chest. Why hadn’t she ever come over before? We’d hung out so many times… Game nights, sure. Movies, yes. But always at her place or a bar, or neutral territory, as she called it. Not once had she crossed this threshold.

  “You always made excuses,” I said, brow furrowing. “Was that on purpose?”

  Elly looked away, suddenly interested in the dented lampshade. “...Maybe.”

  "Did I have to invite you in, like a vampire?”

  “I’m not undead, dingus.”

  “Then was this part of some kind of long fae con? Or was I just that messy?"

  She sighed, brushing her hair behind one ear, which now looked more pointed than usual in the dim light. "It was...proximity."

  “Proximity?”

  “To you,” she said simply. “Being around a Null messes with us. Our magic. Our luck. Our... everything. Too much time in your apartment and I was afraid I’d start breaking mirrors just by looking at them.”

  I blinked. “Wait, is that why you always left during Mario Kart tournaments?” That was the only time I could ever remember her sitting next to me very long. Even at a restaurant, it was always across the table or on the other side of the booth.

  “Partially. Also, you get really mean when you play Peach.”

  I feigned being aghast. “That’s slander.”

  “Is it, though?”

  We stared at each other. She flopped dramatically onto the couch, sending the Leaning Tower of Laundry tumbling to the floor. "Alright, let’s strategize."

  I blinked. "Strategize?"

  "You," she said, pointing dramatically, "are in deep in our world now. You need a game plan for staying alive, paying bills, not dying…”

  “You said staying alive twice.”

  “It’s important.”

  She had a point.

  “Existing in a world where supernatural things want to eat you is hard, especially when you are a walking supernatural magnet.”

  I sighed, rubbing my face. "And you’re an expert on this?"

  She waggled her eyebrows. "I am a fae. Which means I am very good at survival. And chaos. And luck. All of which you apparently need."

  I groaned, collapsing into the chair across from her. "Fine. What’s step one?"

  She kicked her feet up onto my coffee table. "Step one: You need money, which means a job.”

  “I have a job.”

  “I mean you need a job that doesn’t involve working in offices full of copy-repairman/void-monsters trying to kill you. Ideally, it’d be something flexible, in case we have to skip town or fight a vampire or something."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I gave her a flat look. "Do you hear yourself?" I mean, not seeing Greg gnosh on his protein bars anymore might be nice, but it was still my job, my five-star rating.

  She grinned. "I hear myself loud and clear. And I stand by it."

  "Fine. Any suggestions?" I asked, rubbing my temples, “I’m not really qualified to be anything but tech support.”

  “You’re qualified to be bait,” she muttered.

  I shot her a look.

  “Sorry! Not helpful. Okay—real talk. You’re smart, resourceful, and unreasonably good at Googling things. We turn that into a freelance gig. Otherwise, we have to monetize your abilities.”

  I snorted. "And advertise how? 'Daniel Mercer: Magic Repellent for Hire'?"

  She gasped. "Wait. That’s brilliant. You’d get so many clients, and you can toss in some techie advice while you’re there."

  I scoffed. “Like Ghostbusters meets Geek Squad?”

  “Exactly.” She grinned. “With business cards and everything.”

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “Obviously.”

  "Step two?" I asked quickly before she could put up a Craigslist ad.

  She hesitated, suddenly more serious. "Step two is staying alive. Which is why I'm staying over."

  I shot up. "Excuse me?"

  She rolled her eyes. "You’re a Null, which means you attract trouble, and until you know how to handle it, you need a bodyguard."

  I gestured wildly. "And that means sleeping over?"

  She stretched like a cat, clearly enjoying my suffering. "Of course. Wouldn’t want anything snatching you in the middle of the night. You’re going to need protection at least until we can set up wards or you can train yourself to wake up alert in the face of danger."

  I ran a hand down my face. "You do realize this is weird, right?"

  She smirked. "Only if you make it weird, Daniel."

  I muttered something unintelligible, standing to grab a blanket. "Fine. Couch is yours."

  She blinked. "Oh no, you misunderstand. I'm sleeping next to you."

  I choked. "What?"

  She stood, sauntering toward my bedroom. "It’s safer. If something tries to drag you off, I’ll notice. Plus, you’re warm, and I like warm things."

  I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. "Elly. No."

  “Yes, Daniel.” She grinned evilly. ”And no, I’ve never done this before. For the record.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She folded her arms. “It’s not like I make a habit of snuggling with Nulls. Or mortals. Or anyone, really.”

  Something in her tone gave me pause. It was casual, but not unfeeling. More like she was glossing over something painful. Or dangerous.

  “So,” I said slowly, “what happens when you do?”

  She hesitated. Then: “I’m not sure, but I think that if I’m too close for too long… things break. Powers short out. It’s like a circuit overload. If we sleep in the same bed, I’ll probably need a pillow wall or a comforter buffer. Physical contact might… dampen things.”

  I blinked. “Wait, is that why you’ve avoided my place all these years? You were afraid of losing your powers from cuddling?”

  “More or less.” She wrinkled her nose. “I like having functional magic, Dan. You have this weird null-field thing that just… unravels stuff. Not right away. But slowly. Subtly. Maybe permanently.”

  I swallowed. “That sounds… existentially terrifying.”

  She gave a tight smile. “Welcome to my side of the friendship.”

  There was a beat of quiet before she stood, stretching. “Now—shower time. Mine first.”

  She opened the bathroom door before I could stop her. “Daniel. The mildew has formed a society.”

  “It’s not that bad—”

  “I’m not bathing in whatever sadness is currently stuck to your bathmat.”

  I groaned. “Fine, I’ll clean it later.”

  “You won’t,” she muttered, waving a hand. A towel, fuzzy socks with clovers on them, and a backup toothbrush appeared mid-air.

  "Magic," she said smugly, wiggling it. "I suggest you do the same."

  I folded my arms. "I don't have magic."

  She sighed dramatically, then flicked a hand. Pop. A second toothbrush appeared in mine.

  I stared at it. "This feels illegal."

  She ignored me. "Go brush. Tater tots and all. It's necessary."

  I sighed, dragging myself to the sink. Which, apparently, was a mistake.

  “Gods, Daniel.” She said, regarding the soap scum and my collection of inexpensive body washes.

  I scowled. "Alright, alright, I get it. It's fine."

  She sighed like she was preparing herself for battle. " I’ll have to levitate while I’m showering."

  I hesitated. "I mean. You don’t have to—"

  She flicked her wrist and, just like that, she was in a camisole and boyshorts.

  I short-circuited.

  Elly smirked. "You were saying?"

  I immediately turned away, staring at the ceiling like my life depended on it. It probably did, considering my week. "Nothing. Absolutely no best friend standing next to me in her underwear at all. Nope."

  "That’s what I thought." She patted my shoulder, far too smug, and shoved me out of the bathroom.

  The shower turned on.

  I sat on my bed. I did not think about the fact that she was naked with just a door and a dirty shower curtain between us.

  Nope. Absolutely not.

  Ten minutes later, she strolled out, hair damp, towel slung over her shoulder. "Much better. Now the room smells like fae."

  I blinked. "Which is…?"

  She flipped her short, damp, hair. It dried and fell into place perfectly. "Like Irish Spring soap. Obviously."

  I blinked again. "That's a stereotype. I’m offended on your behalf."

  She smirked. "And yet, it's true."

  I groaned, dragging myself into the now-steamy bathroom.

  By the time I was out, she was sprawled on my bed like she owned it. My sleep shorts and baggy t-shirt seemed unfitting for the occasion, but I didn’t have much else. Pajama pants seemed like battle armor considering the situation.

  "You can sleep on the couch if you need to," she said sweetly. "But I’m not moving."

  I sighed, rubbing my temples. "This is a terrible idea."

  She patted the space next to her. "Welcome to your new normal, Daniel."

  I hesitated, taking in her star-shaped pupils. Apparently, she didn’t sleep with her contacts in, which was a wise choice, hygienically, but it still gave me the willies, in a good way. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, I climbed into bed.

  Elly immediately curled up against me, her head resting against my chest, with the comforter as a barrier between her fresh-smelling hair and my chest.

  "You're tense," she murmured.

  "You're invading my personal space," I muttered back.

  She shifted so her left leg was tossed over my torso, humming, totally unconcerned about the lines of friendship this crossed. "Night, Daniel."

  I exhaled, staring at the ceiling. Yeah. This was definitely a terrible idea. I couldn’t sleep. Thoughts kept going through my head.

  “You do like potatoes because you’re part Irish, don’t you?”

  Her eyes glinted in the dark. “Ask me that again and I’m turning your phone into a face-eating ferret.”

  I held the rest of my questions after that.

  “You smell like human.” She whispered a few minutes later, drifting off into sleep.

  Human smell certainly wasn’t Irish Spring. I wonder what she thought it was. Hopefully it was another soap-adjacent product and not food or animal products. I did consume more than my per capita amount of Frito Lay though…

  Lit only by the light of the TV on volume so low that it might as well have been on mute, she looked like the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I ignored the pounding in my chest, snuggled in, and closed my eyes, letting Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns lull me to sleep.

  Like a sister, my ass.

  Even Data got Tasha Yar that one time.