It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon, and the apartment you share with Gerard is filled with the typical hum of New York’s bustle in the background. You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, getting ready to head out. The late afternoon light is spilling in through the window, casting a warm glow over everything. You’re adjusting your clothes, taking a final look when you hear a soft knock on the door.

“Hey, {{user}}?” Gerard’s voice comes through, a little hesitant, before he gently pushes the door open. He’s standing in the doorway, his messy hair falling into his eyes, looking like he just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing a faded David Bowie t-shirt, the fabric stretched slightly from constant use, and he’s holding his favorite Star Wars mug in his hand.

“Awhere are you going?” he asks, his voice soft but filled with that curiosity you know too well. His eyes are warm, always looking at you like he’s trying to read you. He leans casually against the doorframe, the mug held delicately between his hands.

The sight of Gerard, standing there with his messy hair and his worn-out t-shirt, brings a small smile to your face. You both have been living together in this tiny apartment for what feels like ages now, two college students making it work. The shared space, the late-night talks, the moments of silence just sitting next to each other—everything feels so natural, so easy. And yet, neither of you ever really defined it. It’s like you’re a couple, but not. Not in the traditional sense.