A/N: This story is actually months in the making. I've had this idea sitting in the back of my head for some time, and I've contemplated whether or not I should start on it, or if I should even release it out (since I have two more stories that are pending updates), but then I realize that if I don't put this up, it'll only gather dust and cobwebs. It's a little different from my other Fabrevans fanfic, but I hope you'll like it just the same.

So, enjoy!

xXx
CeruleanBlues

The Housemate Agreement

Chapter 1

She was late.

Again.

For the umpteenth time that month, but in her defense, it wasn't her fault at all that her apartment just had to be so goddamn far from school, practically at two ends of the city. It also didn't help that her class was scheduled at eight in the fucking morning. The teaching faculty had to be insane. Between scrambling for the train and dodging people in the streets, it was practically impossible to reach in time without needing to wake up at the crack of dawn.

Fuck my life.

She had always hated New York, totally despised the ever-present bustling of human beings striding self-importantly down the pavements in their designer clothing and pretentious thousand-dollar haircuts with their noses high up in the air, as cars and taxis honk their way through traffic. The concrete jungle was a breeding ground for air pollution, and she loathed the lack of simplicity. She missed having to look up at the sky and see the puffy cotton-white clouds instead of towering buildings looming overhead in a downright judgmental manner. Even with summer creeping around the corner, everything felt cold.

In the midst of all that havoc, a blonde figure dashed across the road, her short bob flying in the wind as she effortlessly navigated through the moving vehicles. The fast pounding of music blasting out of her headphones managed to block out any surrounding noises that came with the rush hour, and she was sure a couple of cars had given her the obnoxious horn, but with an attitude, her heart-shaped sunglasses and leather backpack, the girl was on an important mission.

Hallelujah, Starbucks!

Grinning victoriously, she shoved the glass door open and stepped into the vicinity, inhaling the heavenly smell of freshly-brewed coffee. Her one-person party was short-lived, however, when she caught sight of the clock on the wall. She had approximately half an hour to get her ass to class, and judging by the horrendous crowd and traffic situation, that wasn't going to happen, but she made a beeline for the counter anyways.

An upbeat alternative rock song started playing in her ears—something indie, one that she hadn't heard of—and she bopped her head along to the song. It wasn't bad; actually, she quite liked it. Maybe if the singer wasn't too whiny, she might enjoy it even more. The queue was advancing somewhat, a little faster than usual, but there were still three people in front of her. Shrugging one strap of her bag off her shoulder, she dug through its contents for her purse, extracting it in time to find herself next in line.

"Good morning, Quinn, the usual?"

She was about to open her mouth and answer the barista behind the counter when a solid, tall person swooped directly in front of her—in an array of plaid and denim—to conveniently cut her queue without so much as to acknowledge her presence.

"A Grande mocha to go."

He had a deep voice, sultry and husky, with a slight Southern twang; a voice that for some odd reason sent a delicious shiver running down her spine. For that split second, she had completely forgotten to breathe, but damnit, she wasn't a weak little girl. Immediately sobering up after the initial shock, she was now furious at the intrusion, and coupled with the crappy morning, she wasn't going to tolerate it. Ripping her headphones off her ears, she hung it around her neck and violently tugged on the fabric of his button-down shirt.

"Hey!"

"You just cut my queue!" she cried out lividly.

"Fine, look, I'll pay for your coffee, alright?" he spat in annoyance, throwing down a couple more bills on the counter. "Give the lady her usual."

She ought to be thoroughly offended. After all, this random stranger had just invaded her personal space and rudely demanded for his beverage, but she couldn't really argue with a free cup of her routine drink, and thus didn't put up a fight. There was a difference between standing up for her honor and being smart about it. That, however, didn't mean she was admitting defeat. The guy was still an asshole.

"Thanks," she begrudgingly mumbled.

Despite his impatience, the corner of his oversized lips tilted upwards in a cocky smirk. "You're welcome," he replied gruffly, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

The barista returned with a cup, sliding it across the counter. "Here you go, Quinn—"

Before she could even reach for it, a larger, manlier hand swept down and wordlessly swiped it off from right beneath her nose. She didn't know if it was intentional or not, but that definitely crossed the line—pun intended. He didn't even offer her a backward glance as he bulldozed out of the café and left his own cup of coffee behind.

Okay, no, that's it!

Snatching the beverage off the counter, she stormed out of the place and noticed him trying to hail a cab by the sidewalk, still clutching her drink in his hand. Huffing in irritation, she went up to him and whacked him on the back. Startled, he jumped and whirled around, knocking her in the process, their bodies colliding.

She hadn't seen it coming, and she wasn't sure how it happened, but the next thing she knew, the front of her brand new tank top was dripping with scalding hot coffee. The thin material absorbed the liquid at once, rendering her recent purchase as see-through as glass.

"Son of a—" she gasped.

"Watch where you're going, Barbie," he snapped, pulling out a handkerchief from the back of his jeans. If she weren't so distracted at the moment, she probably would've scoffed at his suburban ways, because really, who ever carried a hanky around anymore?

Assuming that he was going to offer it to her, she extended an arm out, only to be completely ignored as the man wiped his sticky fingers instead, grumbling under his breath about her incompetency. The coffee was starting to soak into her bra, staining the lace material an ugly shade of brown, and God, could her day get any worse? How was she going to school now? Groaning in frustration, she scoured her bag for a pack of tissue paper—relieved to have remembered to drop it in there the night before—and began scrubbing at her clothes.

Fucking hell!

It only made things worse. She now looked like a heap of poop.

Great, just great.

"What else do you want, huh? Are you following me now?" he demanded, his greenish-gray eyes piercing and accusatory.

"You wish, jerk face!" she retorted, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "You took the wrong cup. This is your stupid Grande mocha—"

A phone suddenly rang and she immediately patted down her stuff to check if it was hers, but then the ringing stopped.

"Hello?"

Quinn rolled her hazel eyes as the guy answered his call, cursing and swearing into the receiver.

Of course, she thought bitterly.

She caught snippets of the conversation, something about 'this crazy chick won't leave me alone', and figured she really didn't deserve this. Her presentation was due in fifteen minutes and she was sure that she had just suffered second-degree burns on her chest; her coffee wasn't even what she wanted and this sad excuse of a gentleman was blaming her for his misfortune. She was having none of it, and while she still had some dignity left in her, she was going to be mature enough to walk away.

Sticking her thumb and index finger between her lips, she executed a pitch-perfect whistle and flagged for a taxi. One instantly screeched to a stop at her feet, probably the only best thing that had happened to her all morning, and she didn't hesitate in seizing the opportunity. Before the douchebag decided to ruin it for her all over again, she figured she ought to make a break for it.

"—I'll be there, alright? Give me ten minutes, I'm on my way."

Apparently, even that was too much to ask for.

"Excuse me!" he barked, roughly shoving her petite frame aside, and just like everything else, he slid into the vehicle and stole her transportation.

"Excuse me!" she shrieked, completely losing it. "That's my cab!"

With one leg already in the car, he paused to face her, not even the least bit apologetic. "Not anymore," he quipped. His gaze trailed down to the cup in her hand, as though finally realizing her sole purpose of pursuing him, and another smirk graced his guppy-like mouth.

"Oh, thanks, by the way," he added, exchanging the Grande mocha with her half-empty drink. "I don't care so much for caramel macchiato."

And then he kissed her.

He fucking kissed her.

It was pompous and overbearing, just oozing with testosterone and male ego, and despite the initial tingle that shot right down to her toes, she hated every freaking second of it. In fact, she probably would've bitten his conceited fishy lips had he not pulled away in time.

The guy didn't even give her the luxury to recover. Just like that, the taxi sped off, blending into traffic and leaving her seething on the pavement while she desperately tried to ignore the heat that surged through every nerve ending in her body.

Fuck my life.

A/N: Before I proceed on with this story, I just need to say that I'm going to take my time with this story because I just want it to be as perfect as possible, and I think it's got great potential to be better than 'Whisper in My Ear'. Therefore, I hereby apologize in advance if I don't update this one as often as you would want me to. That said, please review! Much appreciated!