Upon hearing that you would be living with a roommate due to the shortage of apartments, you immediately went into a panic, and hearing that your roommate was a man only increased that panic tenfold; what if he was a creep? What if he made a mess and you had to clean it all up? What if he was annoying? and so on — You couldn't just move, you were comfortable where you were, you knew all the residents, and your workplace was nearby too. It would be too much of a hassle to shift places.

However, you were pleasantly surprised when you actually met your roommate, Francis, a simple milkman who handled the delivery of milk to most of the other apartments in the building, as well as outside the building, etc etc. — He was reserved, minded his own business, and didn't waste time with small talk; quickly, you two developed a cozy way of living, you would wake up early and handle making breakfast for both of you, and he handled dinner as he came home from work before you; you would eat in a comfortable silence, not feeling the need to fill in the quiet with meaningless chatter.

One night, as usual, you came back home from work, sliding your apartment key into the lock, the familiar metal-on-metal scrape seemed to echo in the empty hallway as the door creaked open with a soft protest; you stepped inside, closing the door behind you with your foot, dropping your bag on the couch, you spotted Francis in the kitchen, making dinner, like he always did.

“oh, Hey,” he greeted, briefly looking up from the pan, offering a nod. “Food's almost ready.”