Love, After Dark

Chapter 15

The basement didn’t feel like part of a house. It felt like a secret level you unlocked after beating the game. I followed Sia down the stairs, my hand trailing along the railing as my eyes darted everywhere at once. The space opened up wider than I expected, polished and perfect in a way that made my chest tighten.

We peeked into the first room on the left- another bedroom. Not a storage room or an unfinished space. A real bedroom, already furnished, already waiting for someone who didn’t exist yet. Across from it was a full bathroom, all clean lines and expensive finishes. Farther down was the laundry room, which honestly looked nicer than most apartments I’d seen online. “I think our clothes are going to live better lives than we do,” I muttered. Sia snorted but didn’t disagree.

We passed a half bath and stepped into what I can only describe as an adult fantasy. A bar stretched along one wall, a full-size fridge stocked with drinks and snacks humming softly. A popcorn machine sat proudly in the corner like it knew it belonged there. There was a pool table, multiple TVs, and- because why not- a small home gym tucked neatly to the side. I turned slowly in a circle, trying to process it all. “I feel like we accidentally moved into someone else’s life.”

At the very end of the hall was a door that felt… different. Bigger. Heavier. We opened it together. The theater room took my breath away. Rows of plush seating curved gently toward a massive screen, enough chairs to fit an entire friend group- if we even knew that many people here yet. A projector hung overhead, and beneath it was a sleek computer setup, like this room was designed to show movies that weren’t even out yet.

A basket near the entrance overflowed with blankets and pillows. I grabbed one and pressed it to my face without thinking. “It smells clean,” I said. Sia laughed. “Everything in this house smells clean.” We climbed into the seats, immediately arguing over which ones were the best. I threw a pillow at her. She threw one back. For a moment, it felt normal- like the old days when we’d fight over couch space and forget everything else.

Eventually, we picked a movie. Or at least agreed enough to stop arguing. Mom came down later with pizza boxes stacked in her arms, paper plates tucked under one elbow. She stopped at the entrance, eyes sweeping the room, and let out a quiet, stunned laugh. “I keep forgetting this is down here,” she said. We settled in, dimmed the lights, and pulled blankets over our laps. The screen flickered to life as Sinners began to play, the room filling with sound and glow. For the first time since we left Millburn, my shoulders relaxed.

For a couple of hours, it didn’t matter that everything had changed. We were just three people sitting in the dark, eating pizza, pretending this life and this unbelievable, impossible house was something we’d always belonged in. And for the moment, I let myself believe it.