Gia didn't sleep that night.
Not fully.
The creaks in the hallway—once familiar—sounded different with strangers upstairs. Every door click, every footstep overhead made her eyes flick open. She wrapped her blanket tighter and tried to remind herself: they were just college students. Tired, broke, and grateful to have a roof over their heads.
Still, something about them lingered in her chest like static electricity.
Especially him.
Ace.
She couldn't stop thinking about his eyes. Not because they were beautiful—though they were—but because they were... flat. Not dead, not cruel. Just unreadable. Like he didn't expect to be seen. Like he had mastered the art of being invisible while standing right in front of you.
By morning, the smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen.
Gia padded down in her hoodie and socks, startled to find Roy already seated at the island, sipping from one of her mugs like he lived there.
"Morning, landlord," he said with a lazy smile.
She blinked. "You're up early."
He gestured toward the window. "Habit. I don't sleep much anyway."
Before she could reply, Ken sauntered in shirtless, hair damp, a towel slung over his shoulder. "Yo, Gia. Do you have more shampoo that doesn't smell like flowers?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Try the cabinet. Guest shelf."
Ken grinned. "Cool. You're a lifesaver."
Gia opened the fridge, trying not to react. So far, they were behaving like normal boys—comfortable, loud, alive. But something still scratched at the back of her mind.
Leonardo entered quietly, fully dressed, glasses in place, a book already tucked under his arm. He gave her a polite nod before sitting beside Roy.
Ace was the last to appear.
He didn't say anything. Just walked to the far end of the kitchen, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. No coffee. No food. Just watching.
Gia pretended not to notice how the room shifted with him in it.
"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "House rules. No loud music after ten. If you use the kitchen, clean up after. The downstairs bathroom is shared. And you get one shelf in the fridge each—label your stuff."
Ken saluted. "Got it, Captain."
Leonardo jotted it down in a small notebook. "Anything else?"
Gia hesitated, then added, "If you're expecting guests, just... let me know ahead."
Roy smirked. "Are you expecting to be surprised?"
"No," she replied, "but I'd rather not walk into a party I didn't approve."
Leonardo nodded. Ken looked apologetic. Roy just looked amused.
Ace said nothing.
"You okay with that?" she asked him directly.
He met her gaze, unreadable as always. "Fine."
Just that one word. No tone. No argument.
Gia forced a smile. "Great. Then... welcome home, I guess."
They nodded. Most of them smiled back.
But Ace just watched her. His expression didn't change.
---
They didn't make much noise.
Sure, Ken hummed in the bathroom, Roy liked to chat while making toast, and Leonardo's keyboard could be heard softly through the wall some nights. But none of them slammed doors, stomped through hallways, or even coughed loudly.
They moved like they were always aware of their surroundings. Like they didn't want to be heard. Or found.
By the third day, the house felt both crowded and eerily still. The quiet was the kind that buzzed in the back of her skull.
She was tying her shoes on the front steps that morning when the door creaked open behind her.
Ace.
He walked past her without a word, dressed in his usual all-black: hoodie, jeans, boots. Bag slung over one shoulder. Clean, silent, unreadable.
"Morning," she tried, watching him cautiously.
He paused briefly by the gate. Looked at her. Nodded once.
Then kept walking.
She didn't know why that one look left her uneasy. Maybe because he never smiled. Or maybe because his eyes didn't flicker like most people's—they just stared. Steady. Empty.
"Does he talk like... ever?" Gia muttered.
Roy appeared beside her, stretching his arms. "Ace? That was practically a conversation for him."
She scoffed. "He's weird."
"He's just used to staying invisible," Roy replied. Then added with a crooked grin, "But hey, I'm charming enough for both of us."
At school, the usual whispering was worse.
Gia had always been the quiet girl. Alone in the cafeteria, alone at bus stops. After her parents divorced and left town, people either ignored her or gave her grief. Today, it was the latter.
She reached her locker and froze.
"Landlord for Rent?"
Written in red marker across the door. Big, childish letters. A giggle came from behind her. Someone bumped into her shoulder harder than necessary.
She clenched her fists. Breathed slowly. No tears. No drama. She wasn't giving them that satisfaction.
"Hey, Stevens," someone sneered. "Heard you're running a boys-only shelter. Got any rooms left?"
More laughter.
Gia didn't respond. She closed her locker calmly, ignoring the burning in her ears, and walked off.
She was used to this. She'd survive it, like always.
That evening, she came home later than usual, dragging her backpack behind her. The porch light was on.
Ken was sitting on the railing, balancing a bag of chips on one knee. Roy leaned against the pillar, chatting with Leonardo in low voices.
All three turned when she stepped up.
Roy's grin faltered. "Damn. Who do we punch?"
Gia blinked. "What?"
Leonardo straightened a little. His gaze moved to her backpack strap—torn—and the faint red smear on her arm.
Ken's jaw flexed. "You okay?"
Gia hesitated. She didn't want to talk about it. "It's fine. Just stupid school stuff."
Roy's voice lowered. "Anyone touch you?"
Gia looked between them.
They weren't teasing now. They weren't even acting mad. Just quiet. Still.
Like they were waiting for her to say the wrong name.
She shook her head. "It's not worth it."
Ken crumpled the chip bag and tossed it aside. "People like that usually think no one's watching."
Gia moved to open the door. "I said I'm fine."
The door creaked open from the inside.
Ace stood there, leaning against the frame.
Gia froze slightly at the sudden presence.
He didn't say anything. Didn't even look surprised to see her there—just stepped aside so she could walk in.
No comment. No question.
But as she passed him, she noticed his eyes shift briefly—to her arm, to her bag, to her hand gripping the strap.
Then he looked away.
Like it didn't matter.