Chapter 1

The cold Chicago air stung Chase Keaton’s cheeks as he stepped out of the gym, sweat cooling on his lean frame despite his hoodie. The workout had been his one constant since arriving in the city—a brief reprieve from the chaos of trying to rebuild his life on a teacher’s salary.

He walked briskly to the motel a few blocks away, dodging puddles from the melting snow. His stomach growled as he climbed the stairs to his room. The door creaked open to reveal the dingy space he’d called home for the past two weeks: a sagging twin bed, faded floral wallpaper, and the faint smell of mildew. He tossed his gym bag onto the chair by the desk and opened the mini-fridge, pulling out a plastic tray of microwavable pasta.

He stared at it, his jaw tightening. “Another gourmet meal,” he muttered, shoving the tray into the microwave.

Chase had always taken pride in taking care of himself. Back home, he’d meal-prepped every Sunday, carefully balancing protein, carbs, and greens. Now, stuck in this overpriced motel, all he could manage were freezer meals from the gas station around the corner. The contrast wasn’t just frustrating—it was infuriating.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fork in hand, and opened his laptop. The screen glowed with listings he’d been cycling through for days, each more disheartening than the last.
The first had been in a neighborhood he later learned was infamous for gang activity. The landlord had insisted it was “on the up-and-up,” but the boarded-up windows of the surrounding buildings told a different story. The rent? $1,200 a month for a shoebox-sized room with a shared bathroom.

Another apartment had seemed promising on paper: a decent area, affordable rent, and only one roommate. But when Chase arrived, he found the roommate was an older man who chain-smoked inside and had a collection of taxidermy animals lining the living room. The smell of nicotine and formaldehyde had chased him out before he could even ask about utilities.

Then there was the place near his school, which had seemed too good to be true. It was. The “apartment” turned out to be the basement of an old townhouse with ceilings so low Chase could barely stand upright.
Chase closed the laptop with a groan, running a hand through his damp hair. At this rate, he’d be stuck in the motel forever, burning through his savings one microwaved meal at a time.
He stared at the cracked ceiling for a long moment before pulling out his phone. Scrolling through his feed, he stumbled upon a post in a Facebook group he’d joined out of desperation: “Roommate wanted. Rent: $450/month. Message for details.”

It felt like a scam. Or a typo. But the apartment’s location caught his eye—just a few train stops from the school.

Chase hesitated for only a second before typing out a quick message. Hi, is this still available?

The reply came almost immediately: Yep. Come check it out tomorrow. Here’s the address.

The cold air bit harder the next morning as Chase made his way to the address. The neighborhood was… surprisingly nice. Tree-lined streets with brownstones and a scattering of independent coffee shops. He clutched his coffee cup like a talisman as he approached the building, trying to suppress his skepticism.

The building itself was older and a little rough around the edges—chipped paint and overgrown hedges—but Chase reminded himself of the rent. He climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor and knocked on the door.

A faint thud from inside was followed by a muffled, “Coming!”

When the door opened, Chase was hit by the scent of takeout and the faint hum of video game music. Standing before him was Fred Douglas. He was massive in every sense—broad-shouldered, round-bellied, and wearing a faded T-shirt with some anime character Chase couldn’t recognize. His messy hair and glasses perched slightly crooked on his nose completed the picture.

“Hey! You must be Chase,” Fred said, grinning as he held out a hand. His grip was firm, his smile easy.

Chase glanced past him into the apartment, trying to suppress his initial reaction. The space was huge—high ceilings, large windows, and a living room big enough to fit three of his motel rooms. But it was cluttered with empty soda cans, pizza boxes, and random wires trailing from gaming consoles to a massive TV.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Chase said, stepping inside. His sneakers stuck slightly to the hardwood floor, but he forced a smile.

Fred gestured to the couch, clearing a stack of laundry to make room. “Sorry about the mess. Wasn’t expecting company, y’know?”

Chase glanced around. The apartment had potential. Beneath the chaos, the wood floors were solid, and the walls were painted a warm beige that might’ve been inviting if not for the grease stains on one corner.

“So,” Fred said, plopping down on an oversized beanbag chair, “you’re a teacher, right? What grade?”

“High school,” Chase replied, lowering himself onto the couch cautiously. “Math. I just started at Westfield Academy.”

“Cool, cool,” Fred said, nodding. “I work from home. Programming. So, uh, sorry in advance if you hear me cursing at my monitor. It’s, like, 90% of my job.”

Chase laughed despite himself. Fred’s easygoing nature was disarming, and while the mess was daunting, there was something endearing about the guy.

Fred leaned forward. “Look, I know it’s not… perfect here. I’m not gonna win any awards for cleanliness, but I’m chill, and the rent’s cheap because, well, I don’t care about much except paying the bills. You’d have your own room, and I stay out of people’s way. So, what do you think?”

Chase hesitated. The rent was absurdly low, and the location was unbeatable. He could almost see his savings stabilizing with the extra breathing room this place would give him.

“Alright,” Chase said, holding out his hand.
“You’ve got a deal.”

Fred grinned, his hand enveloping Chase’s in a firm shake. “Welcome home, dude.”

As Chase stepped into his new room—bare but mercifully clean—he exhaled deeply. This wasn’t what he’d imagined when he moved to Chicago, but it was a start.

And, as he unpacked his bag, he couldn’t help but smile. It might even be the start of something interesting.

Fred lingered in the doorway of Chase’s new room, leaning his considerable frame against the doorjamb as Chase began to unpack. A duffel bag thudded onto the mattress, followed by the rustle of jeans, textbooks, and a dented laptop charger being sorted into neat little piles on the floor. The room was spartan, but Chase already seemed determined to impose a sense of order.

Fred watched him for a beat, then scratched the back of his head. “Hey, man—so I was gonna order some pizza. My usual Friday night feast-slash-habit-slash-religion. You want in? My treat. Kinda a ‘welcome to the jungle’ type deal.”

Chase glanced up, a pair of rolled-up socks still in his hand. “Thanks,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost cautious. “But I’m good. I’ve got… microwave pasta, I think.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Microwave pasta? That’s not food, that’s punishment.”

Chase let out a short laugh, despite himself. “It’s budget gourmet.”

Fred grinned, not pushing the offer further. “Alright, man. Your loss. I’m getting a large stuffed crust and an entire pepperoni-and-jalapeño to myself. No judgment if you cave later.”

Chase smiled and nodded, going back to his unpacking, but the offer lingered longer than expected. It had been a long time since anyone offered him something without strings attached. It wasn’t just the pizza—it was the gesture. The normalcy. The warmth. Even if he didn’t take it, it felt like a crack of light in what had been a series of closed doors lately.

An hour later, after he’d lined his books on the windowsill and plugged in a too-small desk lamp he’d rescued from the motel, Chase made his way to the living room with a stack of homework packets under one arm and a red pen clenched between his fingers. The apartment still smelled like melted cheese and grease—Fred hadn’t been exaggerating about the feast. Two pizza boxes lay open on the coffee table, one already decimated, the other halfway there. Fred was sunk into his beanbag, controller in hand, eyes flicking across a massive TV screen where some kind of intergalactic battle raged.

Chase hesitated, then dropped onto the far end of the couch, spreading the homework on his lap and flipping open the first paper. He began marking a few equations with practiced ease, the rhythm of numbers and formulas bringing a strange comfort.

Fred glanced over between mouthfuls. “Man, grading papers on a Friday night? That’s bleak.”

Chase didn’t look up. “That’s the job. Kids don’t teach themselves algebra.”

“True,” Fred said, reaching for another slice. “Though I’d argue algebra teaches people pain. Like, remember that scene in Revenge of the Sith when Anakin’s burning alive and screaming in agony? That was me in high school math.”

Chase smirked. “I think that scene was more about moral collapse and human tragedy.”

“Yeah, well, moral collapse feels a lot like failing a midterm.”

There was a pause. Fred leaned forward and waved a greasy hand toward the screen. “You a Star Wars guy?”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to need to be more specific. Original trilogy, prequels, or Disney chaos?”

Fred let out a delighted snort. “Okay, now we’re talking. Alright—best film. Don’t overthink it.”

Chase didn’t miss a beat. “Empire Strikes Back. Easily.”

Fred pointed at him with a crust. “Classic choice. Respectable. But I gotta say, Rogue One edges it out for me.”

“Rogue One?” Chase said, setting his pen down. “You mean the one where everyone dies and Darth Vader gets like thirty seconds of fan service at the end?”

“That thirty seconds changed lives.”

Chase gave a reluctant laugh. “It was solid. I’ll give you that. Great pacing. Great finale. But no film in the saga matches the tension and character work in Empire. That reveal scene? Vader, the hand, the twist? That’s cinema.”

Fred clapped his hands dramatically, sending a few crumbs flying. “Alright, alright. I surrender to the professor.”

“I’m not a professor,” Chase muttered, flipping a page. “Just a tired math teacher with a stack of half-done homework and a freezer full of sadness.”

Fred chuckled. “Well, if you ever want to escape the sadness, there’s always co-op night. I run a D&D game every other Saturday, couple folks from the neighborhood. Plus, movie nights, pizza, and high-stakes Mario Kart.”

Chase glanced up at him, studying the wide grin and the crumb-dusted shirt. Something about Fred’s unapologetic enthusiasm was disarming—like he’d stopped caring what people thought years ago and found a way to be comfortable in his own mess. It was strange, maybe even a little contagious.

“I’ll think about it,” Chase said, returning to his grading, but there was a slight lift to his tone now, a hint of amusement he hadn’t felt in a while.

Fred, sensing a victory, let the conversation drop. He resumed his game, shouting at the screen with colorful language while Chase quietly made his way through the homework, the red ink dancing across the pages.

The pizza still smelled incredible. Chase’s stomach rumbled, but he resisted.

Barely.

But the connection—that tentative thread between two strangers forced into proximity—had started to form. Not quite friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

Maybe something.