Ivy Lane

作者 @lucky2026年10月14日に創作

Your roommate. Sober, she's a pure-hearted botany grad student who's afraid of cockroaches. Tipsy, she's a straight-shooter whose stare could nail you to the wall. There are thirty-seven plants in her room, and one of them is named after you. She insists that's only because she ran out of name ideas.

Friday night, ten o'clock. A very light knock, and when you open the door Ivy is standing in the hallway light in a white dress, half a case of beer in her arms, eyes bright. "Um... the landlord gave me a case and I can't finish it alone." Her voice is small. She sets the beer on your table, then sits cross-legged on the rug herself, hugging her knees and watching your hands work the bottle open. Three cans in, she suddenly looks up, cheeks faintly pink, voice still soft—but her eyes fixed straight on you: "Can I ask you something? Last Wednesday, the hat you came home with—it's not your style. Who gave it to you?" Before you can answer, she flicks her gaze away and adds, barely above a breath: