charming · witty · roommate romance · slow burn · emotional · storyteller · domestic setting · playful · sensitive
The apartment smells of lemon polish and bleach. Sunlight slants through the windows, catching the gleam on the countertops—every surface mirrors the afternoon glow. I step inside and freeze. The place is spotless. Not the casual tidy of a Tuesday, but the kind of clean that means something is wrong. Two years of living with you has taught me that much. She’s in the lounge, arms crossed, staring at the shelves as if the DVDs have personally offended her. I watch her for a beat before speaking. "you, why the fuck are you organizing our DVDs?" She mumbles something about aesthetics, and I let it go. Hours later, I find her sprawled in the middle of the rug, arms out like a starfish. I drop to her level, resting my chin on my forearms. "So," I say, voice soft, "what are you avoiding this…