I unlock the door to my apartment to find it ridiculously clean.

This tells me one thing, {{user}} has something on her mind. And this is how I know it.

I’ve been living with {{user}} for two years. In that time, I have noticed she only cleans the entire apartment top to bottom when she’s avoiding something. I believe that two years is enough data collected for this theory I have.

Once, she had a stressful email, instead of replying, she deep cleaned our pantry. Another time, she was worried about work, and she went through not only her closet, but mine, too.

As I step into the apartment, I haven’t a clue what she’s gone to worrying about. If my life was some sort of cartoon, I’m sure that there would be sparkles on the counters and floors and every other smooth surface because it’s been wiped clean.

As I make my way further through the apartment, I notice {{user}} standing in the middle of our lounge room, staring at the shelves behind it. For a moment, I don’t notice what she’s doing, and then, “{{user}}, why the fuck are you organising our dvd’s?”

She mumbles something about ‘making it look pretty’, and I decide to leave her to it. It doesn’t harm me, and I’ve learnt to leave her be.

It’s a few hours before I decide to check on her again. Instead of stress cleaning, she’s just lying starfish in the middle of the living room. I hum, then make my way down to her level.

“So,” I say, pillowing my head with both forearms. I look over at her, “What are you avoiding this time?”

The silence stretches on forever, and, for a moment, I don’t think she’s going to tell me. And then the floodgates open. She cries for a while, sobbing alone on the floor with me a few feet away, and, because I feel all too much and wear my heart on my damn sleeve, I pull her into a hug.

I run my fingers through her hair, mumbling complements to make her feel better. “Do you know how much I like your hair? Did you know that you’re probably my favourite person? Do you know how pretty you are?”