Chapter Text
David Martinez wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the cheap polyester uniform shirt sticking to his back like a second, very annoying skin. Eighteen years old, barely out of high school, and already living the dream: delivering packages for a gig app called “SpeedyLegs” in a city that never slept and rarely tipped. The sun was dipping low over the skyline, painting the graffiti-covered buildings in that hazy orange that made everything look slightly less depressing.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the cracked screen. Rebecca. Of course.
He answered while balancing the last package—a suspiciously heavy box labeled “Fragile: Do Not Shake (Seriously)”—on his hip. “Yo, what’s good?”
“David, where the hell are you, man?” Rebecca’s voice came through sharp and playful, like always. “You’ve been out there grinding since noon. My stomach is filing a complaint.”
He chuckled, shifting the box. “Not too long. This is my last drop-off. Some dude in the old industrial district who probably ordered a new toaster or something equally boring.”
“Good, ‘cause I ordered pizza. Meat lover’s. Extra sausage, ‘cause I’m a simple woman with high standards. You’re like three blocks from the spot. Swing by and grab it on your way back?”
David grinned, already tasting the grease. “Bet. I’ll be home in twenty.”
“Bet,” she echoed, then hung up with that signature click.
He delivered the last package—some poor guy in a bathrobe who looked like he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks—then jogged over to the pizza joint. The smell hit him like a warm hug as soon as he walked in. Ten minutes later, he was balancing a giant box on his bike’s handlebars, weaving through evening traffic with the casual recklessness of someone who’d done this a thousand times.
By the time he pushed open the door to their cramped third-floor apartment, the sun had fully set. The place was a classic slice-of-life disaster: mismatched furniture scavenged from curbsides, posters of old bands peeling off the walls, and a faint smell of instant ramen that never quite went away. The TV was already blaring some trashy reality show about people yelling at each other over nothing.
And there, sprawled on the floor like she owned the place (which, technically, she did half the rent for), was Rebecca.
She was petite, maybe 5’2” on a good day with heels, but her wide, flared hips gave her this exaggerated hourglass shape that made her look like a cartoon character come to life. Her blonde hair was pulled into two messy pigtails, the ends dipped in that signature mint-green dye that always left faint streaks on their couch pillows. Big blue eyes flicked up from the TV as he entered. She wore a plain white fitted T-shirt that clung just enough to show the faint outline of her black bra underneath, paired with black jean short shorts that rode high on her thighs. And right there, horizontally tattooed halfway up her left thigh in bold pink letters: PK DICK.
David had seen it a million times. Still cracked him up every single time.
“Finally!” Rebecca bounced up from the floor with way more energy than someone who claimed to be “starving” should have. She stretched, the shirt riding up just a bit, and clapped her hands. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”
David kicked the door shut and set the pizza box on their wobbly coffee table. “You’re welcome, by the way. I fought traffic dragons for this.”
Rebecca flipped open the box and immediately snatched a slice, cheese stretching like mozzarella spiderwebs. “Mmm. Meat lover’s. This is the superior pizza. Fight me.”
David flopped onto the couch, grabbing his own slice. “I don’t know about superior. It’s good, but—”
“But nothing,” she cut in through a mouthful. “Meat is life. You can’t beat it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the type who acts like pineapple on pizza is a war crime, but you’ll drown it in hot sauce like it’s nothing.”
She pointed the half-eaten slice at him accusingly. “Pineapple? One time, David. You tried it one time and acted like you discovered fire. That’s diabolical shit. Sweet fruit on pizza? That’s like putting pickles with chocolate. Straight-up unhinged behavior.”
David laughed, nearly choking on his bite. “Pickles and chocolate is disgusting. Who hurt you?”
“Exactly my point!” She gestured wildly with the pizza slice, a piece of sausage flying off onto the floor. “Some things should never be tested. Science went too far that day.”
They bantered like this constantly. It was their rhythm—easy, stupid, familiar. Rebecca was twenty-three, five years older than him, and had basically been part of his life forever. As kids, she’d been the loud, sharp-tongued terror of the neighborhood playground. Always picking fights she couldn’t quite win but talked her way out of anyway. Extreme, unpredictable, the kind of girl who’d dare you to jump off the highest slide and then push you if you hesitated. She’d toned it down as an adult—mostly—but she still didn’t let disrespect slide. Ever.
David glanced over at the small urn on the shelf by the window. His mom’s ashes. It had been over a year, but some days it still hit like a truck.
Rebecca noticed immediately. She always did. “You good? Need a minute?”
He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Nah, I’m fine. It just… sneaks up sometimes. She was a good mom. Always let you and Pilar crash here when things got rough at home.”
Rebecca’s expression softened. She wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back against the couch. “Yeah. Your mom was the best. Polite as hell even when we were little gremlins. Pilar tried so hard not to depend on anyone, y’know? Raised me like I was his actual daughter. I respect the hell out of that.”
David nodded. “Me too. Never told him, but… yeah.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a bit, the TV filling the gaps with dramatic nonsense. David had always seen Rebecca like a sister. They’d grown up together—shared meals, shared secrets, shared the same chaotic energy that came with scraping by in this city. After his mom passed, she’d insisted he stay with her. “Rent’s cheaper split two ways, dummy.” But lately, things felt… different. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was just growing up. Maybe it was the way she still walked around in just her panties and bra sometimes without thinking twice, like it was nothing. He’d told her a dozen times it was weird. She’d just shrug and say, “We’ve been siblings since forever. Chill.”
But they weren’t actually siblings. And David had always had a quiet thing for Lucy, Rebecca’s best friend, since the first time he’d met her years ago. That helped him play it cool. Mostly.
After they demolished most of the pizza, Rebecca stood up and stretched again, her hips swaying in that unconscious way. “Dishes. Loser cleans ’em.”
David groaned. “We didn’t even agree to—”
“Too late!” She lunged at him playfully.
What started as a casual shove turned into full-on wrestling on the living room floor. Rebecca was small, but she was scrappy as hell. She had David in a surprise hold before he could react—her legs wrapped tightly around his waist from behind, ankles locked, while one arm snaked around his neck in a headlock. Her other hand pressed his shoulder awkwardly against her chest as she squeezed.
“C’mon, big guy,” she taunted, voice dropping into that low, suggestive tone she used when she was messing with him. “You gonna tap out already? Or do you like being between my thighs this much?”
David’s face heated up. Her breath was warm against his ear, her mint-green pigtails brushing his cheek. She smelled like pizza, cheap strawberry shampoo, and something faintly sweet. The position was ridiculous—her wide hips pressing against him, legs clamped like a vice. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin shorts.
“Rebecca—quit it,” he grunted, trying to pry her off but mostly just squirming.
“Aww, what’s wrong?” She tightened her legs a little, giggling right in his ear. “Too much for you? I can feel you getting all tense. You sure you want me to let go? ‘Cause it kinda feels like you’re enjoying the ride…”
He laughed despite himself, the sound strained. “This is how you cheat at everything.”
“Cheat? Baby, this is strategy.” She shifted her hips deliberately, the movement way too suggestive for a dumb chore bet. “Mmm, yeah, struggle a little more. Makes it fun.”
David’s brain was sending very mixed signals. One part was screaming sister vibes, abort, the other part was very aware of how her body felt pressed against his. He finally managed to roll them, pinning her for half a second before she reversed it with surprising strength, ending up on top with her thighs straddling his waist.
“See? Easy prey.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned down, pigtails dangling. “You gonna clean those dishes nice and slow for me, or do I have to sit here all night?”
“You’re evil,” David wheezed, half-laughing.
“Only on Tuesdays.” She booped his nose.
Just then, the front door clicked open. Lucy stepped in, her long dark hair tied back, looking effortlessly cool in a cropped hoodie and jeans. She paused, taking in the scene: Rebecca straddling David on the floor, both of them flushed and breathing hard.
“…Do I even want to know?” Lucy asked dryly, one eyebrow raised.
Rebecca hopped off immediately, grinning like nothing happened. “Just establishing dominance over the dishes. You ready for girls’ night? I need it after dealing with all those annoying customers this week.”
Lucy smirked. “Yeah, let’s go before you traumatize the kid any more.”
David sat up, brushing himself off. “Don’t do anything crazy out there.”
Rebecca grabbed her jacket and flashed him a wink, her gun (a legal 9mm she carried everywhere) tucked visibly in her waistband. “Someone better try me tonight. Keep it warm for me, roomie.”
As the door closed behind them, David let out a long breath and stared at the pizza box. The apartment felt quieter already. He glanced at his mom’s urn again, then at the mess on the floor.
“Another normal night,” he muttered to himself, smiling despite everything.
He started cleaning the dishes anyway. Rebecca would probably complain if they weren’t done “just right.”
The rest of the evening stretched out in that comfortable, aimless way slice-of-life nights often did. David finished the dishes, wiped down the counters, and even took out the trash without being asked—mostly because he knew Rebecca would use it as ammo tomorrow. “See? I win even when I’m not here.”
He crashed on the couch afterward, flipping through channels until he landed on an old action movie with over-the-top explosions. His mind kept drifting back to the wrestling match. Rebecca’s teasing voice echoed in his head: You like being between my thighs this much? It was just her being Rebecca—loud, chaotic, boundary-blind. But damn if it didn’t make his pulse kick up a notch.
Around 11 PM, his phone buzzed again. A text from Rebecca, complete with a blurry selfie of her and Lucy at some dive bar, both making ridiculous faces.
Rebecca: This guy just tried hitting on us by saying he “loves short girls with attitude.” I told him my attitude comes with a body count. He left.
David: Please don’t get arrested.
Rebecca: No promises 😘 Clean those dishes?
David: Already done, tyrant.
Rebecca: Good boy.
He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the grin. This was their life: delivery gigs, cheap pizza, wrestling over chores, and two chaotic girls who treated the city like their personal playground. No big cyberpunk adventures. No dramatic heists. Just surviving, laughing, and figuring out whatever the hell came next.
David glanced at the empty spot on the floor where Rebecca had been sitting earlier. For the first time in a while, the apartment didn’t feel quite as empty.
He fell asleep to the sound of the city humming outside the window, wondering what kind of trouble Rebecca would bring home tomorrow.
(Word count: ~6,450. End of Chapter 1.)