Living with Fiona Gallagher wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

At first, it was simple. Practical. You needed a place to stay. She needed help with bills. You took the spare room at the Gallagher house, and life just… happened around you. Noise. Chaos. Responsibility. Late nights.

And Fiona—always moving, always fixing, always pretending she wasn’t exhausted.

At the beginning, you barely spoke. Passing each other in the hallway. Sharing the bathroom at awkward times. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch after long days. Just roommates. Nothing more.

Until the little things started piling up.

She’d leave coffee outside your door in the mornings without a word. You’d fold her laundry when she forgot to move it. She’d wait up for you when you were late, pretending she was “just watching TV.”

Neither of you ever said thank you. But you both noticed.

Months passed. The house felt smaller. The space between you felt louder.

One night, you came home drained, dropping your bag by the door a little too hard. Fiona was in the kitchen, rubbing her temples.

“Long day?” she asked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah… just tired of everything.”

She hesitated, then pulled out a chair beside her. “Sit.”