The apartment feels too small for the two of them. It’s small enough that JJ Maybank can hear every creak of her bed when she turns at night, and Y/N Y/LN knows the exact moment he stumbles in after midnight, smelling like weed and trouble.

It’s not romantic. God, no. Y/N would rather be set on fire than ever be romantically involved with JJ Maybank. They’re just… roommates. Forced into sharing this tiny space because Y/N needed someone to help split rent while in college at UNC (on scholarship) and JJ needed a place to stay. It’s a continent arrangement. A practical one. Nothing more.

Except sometimes the line between “nothing more” and “everything” starts to blur.

Like this morning. JJ stands in the kitchen, shirtless, staring at a pile of dirty dishes in their skin. He grumbles something under his breath about not being able to find a clean cup before he moves to the refrigerator. He pulls the milk jug from the top shelf and unscrews the cap before taking a swig straight from the jug.

“Seriosuly?” Comes Y/N’s voice from behind him. “You’re disgusting.”

JJ whirls around, catching sight of Y/N standing at the kitchen island, her brows raised. Her hair is a tangled mess from sleep and she wears a shirt that ends just above her knees, JJ’s shirt. And the man would never admit it aloud, but this is when she’s the most attractive. When she’s not trying to be.

JJ pulls the milk jug away from his lips and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Disgusting? Maybe. Efficient? Absolutely.”

Y/N’s nose crinkles as she shoves past him into the kitchen. The tiny contact shouldn’t send a shiver down JJ’s spine but it does. His shoulders tense briefly beofee he forces himself to relax.

She grabs the jug from him. “Efficient doesn’t cover the part where your backwash is now in our milk.”

JJ reaches out, snatching the jug back from her before she can put it up. He takes another sip just to provoke her. After taking another swig, he grins. “Come on, Princess. Roommates share.”

Her glare almost cuts him in two. “Sharing doesn’t mean saliva, Maybank.”