Roomies in Arms - Part 19

Everyone in this story is 18+

I checked the mailbox again.

Still nothing.

No discreet brown box. No telltale shipping label. Just bills and a takeaway menu for “Lord of the Wings.”

I sighed, shoving it closed before Lex saw me loitering there like a pervert waiting for a parcel. Which — fine — I was.

“Anything?” Lex called from the kitchen table, surrounded by loose sketches of Astra’s UI and a mug that smelled like energy drink and despair.

“No,” I muttered. “Just pizza coupons.”

“Tragic.” He didn’t look up. “Back to revolutionizing payments for horny artists?”

I crossed to the table, sliding into the chair opposite him. The candle from yesterday was still there, wax puddled into a tragic little crater. Somehow it felt fitting.

We fell into work — or at least, Lex coded while I tried to make sense of his notes, which were equal parts flowcharts and hentai doodles. It was surprisingly… companionable. Almost domestic, if you ignored the subject matter.

Then — a knock at the door.

Lex didn’t look up. “Who’s that?”

“Our new partner,” I said, already halfway to the door.

Lex blinked. “What?”

I opened it. Asher stood there — hoodie, notebook, faint confusion in his polite British face.

“Hey,” he said. “Seb said you needed an economist?”

Lex just stared. “You… brought backup?”

“Look,” I said quickly, “if we’re serious about Astra, we need more than just code and vibes. Asher’s an econ major. He can… do numbers.”

Lex gave him a long look, then shrugged. “Fine. I don’t speak numbers unless they’re crypto. Come in.”

Times passed — energy drinks piling up, Asher building spreadsheets, Lex swearing at code, Sebastian translating between them like a frazzled diplomat.)

Hours later, Asher pushed his laptop toward us. “Alright. Verdict time.”

Lex and I leaned in.

“So,” Asher said, “if Sebastian gets access to some trust fund money, plus an additional investment from his dad… you’re still short. You’ll need at least one more investor and a startup loan. Unless you want to risk everything you’ve got.”

Lex stretched, cracking his knuckles. “I mean, I do have some crypto lying around. Just have to remember the passcode.”

Asher frowned. “Like… clean money?”

Lex grinned. “Define clean? I doubt Uncle Sam knows about it. But… clean-ish.”

I rubbed my temples. “Anyway. I might know someone.”

Lex raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Boarding school in Canada. His name’s Hunter.” I hesitated. “He’s… eccentric and from Los Angeles.”

Lex smirked. “Aren’t we all kinda eccentric?”

“His dad’s basically Zuckerberg-adjacent,” I continued. “He just graduated Stanford — I think, and he bragged on Snapchat last week about becoming head of his father’s new venture capital fund. I think he’d love this.”

Lex leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “Love it enough to fund it?”

I shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

Asher packed up his laptop, promising to email more projections by morning.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lex leaned back in his chair, smirking at me. “So… Hunter.”

I blinked. “What about him?”

“You keep saying ‘eccentric.’ That code for hot?”

“Absolutely not,” I said too fast.

Lex’s grin widened. “So he’s hot.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Sebby, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

I stared at the table, wishing it would swallow me whole. “…He’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

With a groan, I shoved my phone across the table. “Here. His Instagram.”

Lex scrolled. His eyebrows climbed higher with every swipe.

“Is that… a yacht made almost entirely of glass?”

“Yeah.”

“And… a gold tracksuit?”

I buried my face in my hands. “He… likes gold.”

“Likes gold? He’s cosplaying Midas.” Lex laughed, shaking his head. “This guy’s unreal.”

“Eccentric,” I muttered.

“Seb, he’s flashing washboard abs, designer shorts, and captions about ‘manifesting hustle.’ This isn’t eccentric. This is… loud.”

I peeked through my fingers. “He’s also… good at what he does.”

Lex scrolled one last time, then slid the phone back with a sigh. “Alright. I trust your instincts. If you think Mr. Gold-plated Manifestation is what we need?” He leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Then let’s give him a call.”

God help me.