Building the Wild Man's house had become top priority—not out of love, oh no—but out of fear. Fear that if they didn't build it correctly, he'd declare war via interpretive dance. Again.
"Put it near the shore," Xenia said, gesturing with a half-eaten mango like a boss pointing at a war map. "But not too close. I don't want him coming back screaming that a crab stole his underwear."
Yesterday's "everyone-sleep-in-Gabriel's-cabin" plan had been an experiment in sardine-tier human stacking. The result? One bruised shin, two friendship-ending leg cramps, and Rico spooning a chair like it was a long-lost lover.
"No one's dead," Xenia muttered into her morning cup of roasted-corn-husk disappointment. "So… that's a win."
Clearly, they needed more space. And since Xenia didn't have a genie or a functioning credit card, she abandoned her delusional "one-house-per-person" dream. Instead, she dug deep into her trauma vault and pulled out the one thing that had always worked in tight quarters:
Bunk beds.
Cramped. Stackable. Peak college-core. If she could survive three semesters with Zoe snoring above her and throwing popcorn whenever she overstudied, they could survive this.
"Wherever you are, Zoe," she whispered to the wind, "I hope you're not being eaten by zombies… or finance bros."
That night, over dinner (which consisted of grilled eggplant, and something chewy Xenia refused to ask questions about), she made her pitch.
"Instead of private houses," she said, dramatically stabbing her fork into the Meat of Mystery, "we bunk up."
There was a pause. A groan. A resigned sigh. Then nods.
Rico immediately volunteered to bunk with Rafe. Rafe looked like he'd just been diagnosed with rabies.
"I don't snore," Rico said, beaming.
"You snore feelings," Rafe replied.
Brie flounced her ponytail. "Marga and I are obviously bunking together. Besties don't let besties die alone."
Marga nodded like someone who had long ago made peace with her fate.
Gabriel's original cabin had three rooms and one toilet—now ominously known as The Throne of Patience. Tenorio claimed it gave him "time to reflect." Everyone else claimed it gave them trust issues.
🧱 The Construction Plan:
Gabriel, Tenorio, Rafe → work on adding a second floor to the main cabin.
Rico + Wild Man → architect duo, building The Hut of Rebellion™
Xenia → patrolling like a clipboard-wielding ant queen on Adderall.
Xenia's job? Making sure no one accidentally built a door without hinges again (Rico). And that no one tried to "decorate with leaves" again (Brie).
Meanwhile, Anna had entered Full Chicken Mode—nesting with Irah and Cecil. Irah had crocheted enough tiny sweaters to dress a mouse militia. Cecil ran supplies from the new baby-farm, returning with banana leaves, muddy cheeks, and the glowing pride of a kid who had just harvested a cucumber the size of trauma.
"Are we growing tomatoes or goblins out there?" Rafe asked, watching her haul a squash larger than Rico's ego.
"Don't disrespect my squash," Marga deadpanned.
Anna repurposed old weavings for curtains, wall hangings, and—despite Xenia's protests—a crocheted toilet paper holder shaped like a rabbit.
It was horrifying.
It also weirdly matched the vibe.
Despite the chaotic noise—hammering, sawing, arguing about bunk politics—things were working. Until, of course, Wild Man showed up mid-ritual, dancing around the hut foundation with seaweed tied to his ankles and a stick in hand.
"Are you... blessing the wood?" Rico asked.
Wild Man stopped mid-shimmy. "I'm warding off cursed termites. They whisper insults."
Rico blinked. "Okay, man. Cool."
By noon, the hut had walls, a roof (well, something roof-adjacent), and a coconut shell doorknob.
"What's this made of?" Rafe asked, knocking on a beam.
"Optimism and leftover bamboo," Rico grinned.
Gabriel's new second floor was halfway done. Brie and Marga were already arguing over top bunk rights. Tenorio wanted a meditation zone and Gabriel was carving a sign:
NO WHINING PAST 8PM. (Spoiler: No one would respect it.)
Xenia stood back and tried to take it in. The noise. The sweat. The mutant squash. The Wild Man murmuring to tree bark. It was chaos.
And it was home.
---
🍵 ACT 2: The Architectural Uprising
Xenia barely had time to sip her lukewarm herbal tea (a.k.a. hot disappointment in a cup) when she saw Wild Man storming uphill like a forest god who had just been personally insulted by roofing.
"XENIA!" he shouted, dragging out her name like a dramatic courtroom judge.
"Oh no," she sighed. "What now?"
He stomped up, panting, pointing furiously at his hut like it had insulted his lineage.
"Why is my roof banana leaves?!" he demanded. "Gabriel's cabin has metal sheets. And WHY is it the color of dead grass instead of ocean blue like I CLEARLY communicated through my interpretive dance yesterday?!"
Xenia blinked. "You want a metal roof?"
"Yes!"
She dropped her hammer. Crossed her arms. "Let me get this straight. You want us to drag metal sheets—heavy, sharp, exhausting metal sheets—from Gabriel's cabin, uphill, through coconut roots and mosquito ambushes… so your hut can match your aesthetic?"
Wild Man didn't blink. "Correct."
"You realize," she said slowly, "metal roofs trap heat. You'd cook inside that hut. Like a Wild Man casserole. Extra crispy."
He paused. "Oh."
"And color? We don't have paint. Brie's lunch today was a boiled potato and a panic attack. Priorities."
Wild Man scratched his beard.
"And who would carry the metal, huh?" she continued. "Rafe? Rico? Rafe already threatened to stab someone with a screwdriver this morning because Rico voted for top bunk."
Another long silence.
Wind. Trees. A bird nearby let out a confused squawk, like "y'all good??"
"…Okay," Wild Man said at last. "Banana leaves are… earthy. Natural insulation."
"Exactly," Xenia said, smirking. "And if you behave, maybe next week you can get a coconut wind chime."
He raised a finger, hesitated, then dropped it. "Two wind chimes."
"Deal. Now go patrol the shoreline before a crab steals your soul again."
Wild Man trudged away, muttering something about the oppression of minimalist architecture.
Xenia shook her head and turned back to the chaos behind her.
Hammering. Arguments over shelf space. The faint scent of squash victory.
"I survived college roommates," she said aloud. "You think you scare me?"