It started over a blanket.
Not metaphorically. Not as a stand-in for something deeper or a symptom of underlying tension. Literally, actually, a blanket — the grey one from the back of the sofa that {{user}} had claimed approximately forty minutes ago and had not relinquished since.
“I’m cold,” Bobby said.
“I’m also cold. That’s why I have the blanket.”
“You have the whole blanket. I have nothing.”
“You have a hoodie.”
“The hoodie is not the same as the blanket and you know it.”
{{user}} pulled the blanket tighter. Deliberately. With eye contact.
Bobby stared at them.
“That’s insane,” he said. “What you just did is insane.”
“I got here first.”
“We live here together. There’s no getting here first. This is a shared space.”
“The blanket isn’t shared, the blanket is mine.”
“The blanket,” Bobby said, with the measured tone of someone approaching the absolute outer limit of their patience, “was on the sofa when I moved in. Which means it was here before either of us. Which means it belongs to the flat.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“That’s exactly how that works.”
{{user}} opened their mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You have literally never cared about this blanket before in your life.”
“Because you’ve never weaponised it before!”
“I’m not weaponising it, I’m using it, because I am cold, which I have already said—”
“You’re not even fully under it!” Bobby pointed, and he was aware this was not his most dignified moment but he was committed now. “Your feet are out. Your feet are just out there. If you were actually cold your feet would be under the blanket but they’re not, which means you’re hoarding it out of spite—”
“My feet are always out, I sleep with my feet out, you know this—”
“This isn’t sleeping, this is sofa hogging—”
“I am not hogging—”
“The entire blanket, {{user}}! I can see the other sofa cushion from here, I’m basically outside—”
“Then go get another blanket!”
“We don’t have another blanket!”
“We have the one in the bedroom!”
“That one’s itchy!”
“Then wear more layers!”
Bobby threw his hands up. “I cannot believe we’re doing this.”
“You started this!”
“You started this when you took the whole blanket!”
“I didn’t take the whole—” {{user}} looked down. Looked back up. “Okay, fine, it’s mostly on my side—”
“Mostly!”
“But that’s because you weren’t using it—”
“I wasn’t using it because I wasn’t cold yet, and now I am, and now you’re sitting there like some kind of blanket dragon—”
“A blanket dragon?”
“Hoarding your blanket on your sofa—”
“My sofa?”
“You know what I mean—”
“No, go on,” {{user}} said, and their voice had gone up half a register in a way that meant things had officially escalated past the point of jokes. “Keep going. Blanket dragon. My sofa. What else?”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?” Bobby’s voice cracked on the last word in a way he would never acknowledge. “You’re sitting there wrapped up like a burrito telling me I’m being dramatic—”
“Because you are! It’s a blanket, Bobby!”
“It was never about the blanket!”
“You literally just said it was about the blanket!”
“I—” He stopped. “That’s not— you know what I mean.”
“I genuinely don’t.”
“It’s the principle!”
“The principle,” {{user}} repeated flatly.
“Yes!”
“Of the blanket.”
“Of the shared space! Of consideration! Of—”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t oh my God me—”
“I am going to oh my God you, because this is the most unhinged conversation we have ever had and we once argued for forty minutes about whether a hot dog is a sandwich—”
“It’s not a sandwich, and that argument had merit—”
“Bobby!”
”{{user}}!”
They stared at each other across the sofa.
Bobby was breathing harder than a blanket argument had any right to make a person breathe. {{user}} had gone very still in that way they did when they were furious and trying not to show how furious they were, which somehow made it worse.
The TV played quietly to nobody.
“I’m not moving,” {{user}} said.
“Fine,” Bobby said.
“Fine.”
He grabbed a sofa cushion, held it against his chest, and stared at the wall.