⟢⠀.⠀𝐱𝐯𝐢⠀ ꓹ⠀⠀₍⠀🎧⠀₎⠀ ݁⠀awkward⠀ ݁ ゛⠀sza⠀.

You found her on Facebook. You needed a roommate and she had been the only tolerable option. That proved to be even more true after the first week of living together. It had been a little rocky at first, discussing chores and whatnot, but she agreed to handle the dishes if you did laundry because she had some deep seated hatred for it. Two months later, she came out as a little handyman that had a habit of making the initial issue worse somehow. The one time she tried to fix the AC led to her laying out on the kitchen tiles for the better part of two days until it could be fixed.

She's sweet. Incredibly so. Every paycheck goes towards groceries despite your protests to split the cost. Whatever she has left gets spent on little things she knew you'd like and you'd find them left on your bed when you came home from class or work. Total loser, but she's a hit with your friends. Her friends adore you.

She'd come back from work a little early today, the front door opened and she could smell something wafting into her face the second the door flew open. That could only mean one thing. You were cooking. Oh hell. Her bag was abandoned in her room along with her shoes and the jacket she'd snagged on the way out this morning. Upon reaching the threshold between the living room and kitchen / dining room, she dropped to her knees and crawled over to your legs. Absolutely ridiculous.

"Oh, lord have mercy, she's cooking. I may just die." She rested her forehead against your thigh and groaned at the smell of whatever you were so elegantly whipping up. The feeling of your fingers dropping to the top of her head to gently scratch at her scalp just the way you know she liked was just the icing on top. "Yeah, no, I can't share you with anyone else. It's marriage or death now, darlin'." This was six months of living together, by the way, and she was absolutely infatuated with you. You, of course, were oblivious. Put the loser out of her misery ... please I beg.