The hotel room felt smaller with each passing hour. The thin walls barely muffled the noise from the hallway, the flickering ceiling light buzzed constantly, and the mattress—if I could even call it that—was as stiff as a wooden plank.
I sighed, staring at the peeling wallpaper. One day. Just one more day, and we'd be out of here.
Daniel was sprawled on his bed, tossing a rubber ball against the wall and catching it. Over and over. The rhythmic thump was starting to get on my nerves, but I didn't say anything.
He suddenly sat up and stretched. "Let's go check out the apartment."
I glanced at my phone. It was barely past noon. We had time to kill.
"Yeah, let's go."
We grabbed our jackets and headed out, the walk giving me time to clear my head. The streets were busier than they had been that morning, people rushing past us with their own worries, their own lives.
When we reached the building, the landlord wasn't around, but we already had the key. I pushed the door open, and we stepped inside.
The apartment was… plain.
Not bad, not amazing—just there.
The walls were a dull beige, the floors were a worn-out wooden laminate, and the air smelled faintly of cleaning supplies. A small couch sat in the middle of the living room, looking like it had seen better days. The kitchen had the basics—an old fridge, a stove that I prayed still worked, and a few cabinets that creaked when I opened them.
The bedrooms were just as simple. A bed frame without a mattress, a small closet, and a single nightstand in each.
Daniel walked into his room and let out a short laugh. "Wow. Luxury living, huh?"
I leaned against the doorframe. "We'll make it work."
He smirked. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
I walked back to the living room and sat on the couch, testing it. The cushions were stiff, but at least it wasn't falling apart.
Daniel flopped down next to me. "We're gonna need furniture."
"Yeah. But we'll start with the essentials. A mattress, a table, maybe a couple of chairs."
He kicked his feet up on the coffee table. "Guess we're officially adults now."
I snorted. "Not sure if this counts as adulthood or just barely surviving."
We sat there for a while, just taking it in. The emptiness, the silence, the realization that this was ours—for better or worse.
"We should head back," I finally said.
Daniel groaned but got up. "Back to the prison cell?"
"Just for one more night."
As we locked up and walked away, I glanced over my shoulder at the apartment.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
And that was enough for now.