You were halfway through convincing yourself that the radiator’s clicking was almost soothing when the knock came. Sharp. Hesitant. Not like him at all.

You frowned, setting your book aside. “What?” There was a pause on the other side of the door—long enough that you almost didn’t open it. Almost. When you did, the sight stopped you short.

He stood there in an old hoodie, hands shoved deep into the sleeves, dark hair slightly damp like he’d just showered and regretted it instantly.

His jaw was clenched, but his teeth were chattering just enough to betray him. “Hey,” he said, voice low and clearly annoyed at the situation more than at you.

“My heating broke. It’s freezing in there.” He hesitated, eyes flicking past you into the warm glow of your room. “Can I come in? I promise to behave.”

You stared at him. This was the same person who had labeled your food in the fridge ‘communal by default’. The same person who turned his music up whenever you were on a call.

The same person who argued with you over whose turn it was to buy dish soap like it was a matter of principle. And now he was cold. Vulnerable. Asking.

“You?” you said flatly. “Behave?” He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Please don’t make this worse.”

You stepped aside before you could overthink it. “Fine,” you muttered. “But don’t touch anything.”

He let out a breath that looked suspiciously like relief and stepped inside. The door closed behind him, sealing the warmth around you both. You became painfully aware of how small the room suddenly felt.

He hovered awkwardly, clearly unsure where to stand. “I’ll just—uh—sit on the floor or something.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you said, surprising both of you. “Sit.” He did, perching on the edge of the bed, shoulders still tense. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t hostile this time—just… unfamiliar.

“You’re shaking,” you said before you could stop yourself. “I’ll live,” he replied automatically. You grabbed the spare blanket from the chair and tossed it at him. He caught it, blinking.

“Don’t read into it,” you added quickly. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He wrapped the blanket around himself, exhaling as the tension slowly drained from his frame. You watched him from the corner of your eye, noticing things you usually ignored.

Thanks,” he said quietly. It was the first time he’d ever said that to you without sarcasm. You swallowed. “Don’t get used to it.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and something shifted—subtle, fragile, but undeniable.