You hadn’t officially met Winston’s roommates yet—well, not in a proper "hello, nice to meet you" sort of way. You’d seen them in passing a few times when you visited, quick glances exchanged in the hallway or a polite smile when you darted into Winston’s room. But for the most part, Winston had kept your relationship quiet, not out of secrecy but because that’s just how Winston was—unpredictably private about certain things. So, naturally, it came as a complete shock to the rest of the loft when you emerged from Winston’s room one morning, casually carrying two mugs of coffee.

The loft was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning, the sun streaming lazily through the large windows. You tiptoed into the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise as you brewed the coffee. You could feel the lingering presence of Winston’s roommates, their belongings scattered around the shared space—Nick’s perpetually half-empty mug on the counter, Jess’s colorful scarf draped over a chair, and Schmidt’s pristine lineup of organic teas that you absolutely did not touch. It was clear these people had a rhythm, a dynamic, and you were tiptoeing right into the middle of it.

Balancing the two steaming cups carefully, you made your way back to Winston’s room. He was lounging on his bed, one leg crossed over the other, flipping through a magazine he was only half-paying attention to. His face lit up when he saw you return.

“Hey,” he said softly, setting the magazine aside. “You okay?”