Heroic

𝙤𝙣𝙚. daffodil

THE CLUB'S MUSIC was practically pulsating through the walls. It was in the air, in the hips, and veins of nearly everyone here. It was the beat their hearts were dancing to. People were letting loose and unraveling, some into the hands of strangers while others preferred to do so into a alcoholic beverage of their choice. And yet, despite the intricate beauty of it all, Halston Wilde couldn't help but find it utterly and totally infuriating.

Apparently, this whole scene was the main floor of her new apartment building and she wasn't too sure if this was even legal. She didn't mind the club per se, but the thought of having to constantly cross the ocean of sweaty bodies and possibly receive unsolicited grinding to reach her own safe space was giving her the biggest migraine.

Halston ignored the evil-eyes of people who tripped over her luggage on the dance floor as she eventually reached the bar, carry-on hooked safely on her shoulder, packed with everything she owned. Certainly she stood out like a sore thumb. A bartender stood behind the counter, pouring a shot for a female he was talking up just a couple seats down from her. In an attempt to entertain herself, she eyed the bartender, watching his interaction with the woman. She watched him move languidly, watched him swiftly switch glasses, watched him chuckle at his own joke, watched him watch her watching him.

She averted her eyes, in hopes to avoid possible confrontation, but it was too late. Within moments, he'd excused himself and made his way over. Somewhere along the way, he picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured a single shot, sliding it towards Halston.

"On the house," he said, leaning his hip against the counter. "You're a fresh face."

Upon closer inspection, she found him to be quite physically appealing what with his dark hair tied into a little messy bun at the nape of his neck, a sharp grin, and the prettiest blue eyes. Immediately, she was struck with a mental image of Sirius Black and Damon Salvatore's love child.

Halston glanced at his name tag. "Beckett?"

He nodded, then motioned to the rack of booze behind him. "What can I get you? Other than another complimentary whiskey, of course."

"A White Russian," her reaction was immediate before she was reminded of her manners via the taken aback look in Beckett's face. "...please."

"Uh, I'll get straight to it then." He moved to make her drink moments before her hand shot out to stop him.

Almost immediately, she felt him tense up, unaware of her intentions. With his eyebrows raised, he looked down at Halston's manicured hand like it insulted him, then at its owner. "Yes...?"

"You're supposed to give me the keys, right? For apartment thirty seven?" She said, pulling back sheepishly, a smile hanging loosely off her lips. "I'm the new tenant. The landlady said to ask for the keys from you at this bar first thing."

She blinked as she watched Beckett ease up, pocketing his fight or flight instincts. He then reached into his apron's pocket and pulled out two keys on a ring with her apartment number painted on both of them.

"You should've mentioned that first, that you were the new tenant." Beckett shrugged and handed her the keys before moving to make her drink. "I'm in thirty five and I'm kinda in charge of the elevator key, so if you could just... wait a minute?"

"Elevator key?"

Beckett nodded in response as he passed her her finished drink and watched her drink. He gave her a once over and noticed her wince when her luggage's collapsible handle pushed against her hip as he began cleaning the counter top and setting aside various items.

"We can't allow just anybody in this club to access the living quarters so we manage the elevator by key. Without the key, it's a dead elevator unless you're going down." He explained, untying the knot of his apron and shoving it somewhere under the counter.

"Eli! I'm clocking out! It's your shift!" He called as he knocked on the door leading towards what Halston assumed is the back kitchen just in front of her. She wasn't able to notice it immediately because of how shrouded in shadows it was but now that Beckett practically pointed it out for her, she felt stupid to not have seen it in the first place.

Beckett earned a muffled reply in return.

He grinned at Halston. "I'm assuming that was 'of course, my lovely handsome Beckett.'"

She shrugged, snorting. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Halston trailed after Beckett in the dark as he fiddled with his keychain, stealthily avoiding sweaty bodies as they made their way to the elevator. Which she considered now a talent as she staggered into numerous people, most of which were getting quite steamy on the dance floor. Despite the extra baggage, which helped create something like a boundary, it was apparent that the closer to the DJ, the drunker people were.

The elevator was then revealed to her when Beckett moved aside a curtain and, just her luck, that was right next to the DJ's booth.

It was going to be a headache going through this process every fucking night.

Eventually they both made it inside and upstairs with no hassle, and the elevator doors opened proudly presenting the tenth floor. The hallway had red carpet and the doors, all four of them, were also painted a convenient color of red. The walls were a nice shade of beige and there was a picture of a potted plant right across the elevator, centered perfectly.

"Yours is the one on the right, and I'm the one across." Beckett nodded to the doors facing each other on the left, next to a window leading to a fire escape. He nodded at Halston's own set of keys, gripped in her fist. "You've got your very own elevator key right there, too."

"But didn't you just tell me you were 'in charge' of the elevator key?"

He shrugged, lips stretching into a charismatic grin as he winked at her. "Wanted an excuse to be alone with a pretty lady, could you blame me?"

Halston held back the urge to roll her eyes.

Beckett turned away to open his door as she stood there awkwardly cradling a keychain in the middle of a hallway that reminded her of a river running red. She cleared her throat just as he was about to turn in. He turned and blinked at her, raising his eyebrows.

"Does Eli live here, too?" Halston asked, moving closer to her door now.

"Elijah." He corrected and shook his head in response, leaning against his door frame as he watched her unlock her apartment.  "I only call him Eli for shits and giggles, it's our little thing. He lives with his dad a couple blocks from here, actually. Why?"

She turned the knob, shrugging. "Just curious."

Then she swung open to a dark and stuffy room. Behind her, she heard Beckett utter a good night before his door clicked shut, silently informing her that no more further questions were welcome. Considering the circumstances, she understood.

Beckett was only friendly on the clock. Otherwise, he couldn't and wouldn't be bothered.

The apartment was cozy and semi-furnished, something Halston had desperately needed for so long. And rent wasn't all too bad. She melted at the sight of her new couch and fanned herself when she saw her queen-sized bed. Albeit, everything in the apartment was bare, but Halston loved it. It was the first place she could actually call her own.

"No more bus stop benches for me." She muttered, eyes running over the textile of her kitchen counter. And she might have squealed a bit at her own oven.

Kicking off her shoes and setting her baggage by the door, Halston tied up her hair and cracked her knuckles. It was officially time. This was the moment she'd been craving for ever since she was a little girl who knew what she wanted.

Never mind if it was midnight on a Tuesday, Halston Wilde was going to clean the living, breathing shit out of her new place. And then go furniture shopping the next day.

It was the only thing she looked forward to her entire life. Except for avenging her mom and sister's untimely and mysterious death and giving their killer a piece of her mind before unmasking them for all the world to see, of course. But cleaning, right now, came first.

Priorities, priorities.