Erik

Madeleine and Charles are standing in an empty room with a high ceiling. The floor is old, the parquet faded and stained. It creaks under their feet. The room smells dusty and there is a hint of damp on the walls. The bathroom is in the hallway and the residents of the floor have to share it with the others. There is a small kitchenette in the corner of the room, its appliances old and used. The window frames are stained, which looks as if they were painted over at some point to hide the mold.
Maddi is unable to see this. Whether she doesn't want to see it or actually doesn't see it, perhaps only she knows.
She turns in circles, her arms spread wide, dancing on the old floorboards. Her laughter echoes in the silence of the room, carefree, a little too carefree. “We'll take it! Come on, Charly, we'll take it!” she shouts, skipping across the parquet floor, which protests beneath her boots.
Charles stands by the window, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black leather jacket. The cool air coming through the window chaps his face, but he doesn't feel it. Only the oppressive feeling in his chest, crushing him like a heavy stone, is present.

He lets his tired eyes wander through the apartment. The walls look yellowed, the floor worn. If you can even call it an “apartment”. It is less than 20 square meters, and it is so cramped that it feels even smaller. There's a smell of the building's old past everywhere, of decades of survival, as if every breath was marked by dust and decay.
“Maddi...” he says quietly, his voice barely more than a murmur. “It'll always smell like food here.... it will smell like everything... and... and the mold... it's everywhere.”
Maddi stops in her tracks, turns to him, and looks at him with an expression that shifts between joy and impatience. “Oh come on, what's the problem?” she says with a broad grin. “Some furniture, a few plants, some paint here and there - and we'll just do the windows ourselves. You're the technical type, you'll get it done. We have enough space here for us. We'll make ourselves at home, you'll see.”

But Charles can't imagine how this is supposed to work. The feeling that something is wrong with him becomes more and more present. The thought of living with her in such a small space, with a communal toilet shared by five other households, constricts him. The idea that every mouthful they cook here will infuse the room with a smell that will never quite leave it makes him nervous.
“This is...” His words falter. He looks down at the floor, like he wants to take the room apart to understand its disorder.
“This is not... what we need.” It's not what I need, he would like to say. But he lets go of the thought.

Maddi looks at him, and for a moment it seems as if she understands him. But then she shrugs her shoulders and moves closer. Her energy, her lightheartedness - it fills the room, like the smoke from a cigarette that won't go away. It settles into him, into his every fibre.
“You overthink everything far too much, Charly,” she says quietly, almost caringly, and puts a hand on his arm. “Neither of us has much, but we have each other. And we have enough for both of us. Here we can start building everything from scratch, exactly the way we want it.”
Charles feels the warmth of her hand on his arm, which calms him down for a moment. But the thought that she wants to feel at home here frightens him even more. She sees it differently, but he can only perceive the room as a boundary, as a space that restricts his freedom of movement. He can't sugarcoat the chaos that will always be with him here. And he knows that he cannot simply ignore the fact that he is here - in this apartment that looks more like a transitional space than a home.

“It's not going to be easy... Maddi it...” he mumbles, almost like an apology. “My parents... they kicked me out, they won't help us if... after...”
“After you got me knocked up,” she interrupts him, without hesitation. “Yes, I know. So? We're here now. We have each other, okay?” Her gaze softens, almost loving, as she looks deep into his eyes.
Charles closes his eyes for a moment. These words she keeps saying, they give him a little comfort, but also fear.

How long will it last?
How long can he endure the chaos they have created for themselves?

“Come on,” says Maddi, pulling him gently by the hand. “We'll take this apartment, and we'll make something great out of it. Something new, you know?”
Charles nods slowly. There is no other choice. They have nothing else. They are both unemployed, with no real prospects. Maddi hasn't finished school, and he has lost contact with his family. The decision to stay here feels like a last resort, a way out of a life he has never understood. A life that always passed him by even as he tried to fit in.
“Okay,” he finally says, and the word in his mouth feels heavy, like it's carrying the weight of the universe.

“We'll take it.”