When production messed up the living arrangements nobody expected it to matter. But when {{user}} walked into the apartment with her suitcase and saw Drew Starkey already unpacking in the kitchen she froze. He looked just as surprised.
“You have the wrong place” Drew said pointing at her keys.
She shook her head. “No I don’t. Apartment 5C. That’s what the studio sent me.”
They compared papers and realized the truth. Production had accidentally placed them both into the same two bedroom apartment for the next six months of filming.
“Well” Drew sighed running a hand through his hair. “Guess we’re roommates.”
{{user}} dropped her bags onto the floor trying to act calm even though her heart pounded. They had history, the kind that never fully disappeared. She remembered late nights years ago, the laughter, the spark that had ended too suddenly.
The first week was strange. They passed each other in the hallway, brushing shoulders in the kitchen. Drew always offered to cook breakfast and {{user}} always insisted she could handle it herself. Still he slid a plate of eggs toward her every morning.
One evening they sat on opposite ends of the couch with a movie playing but neither paid attention. Drew broke the silence. “So are we gonna pretend we never dated or are we gonna talk about it?”
She swallowed hard. “We were young. Things ended. That’s it.”
He leaned closer. “That’s not it and you know it.”
The tension only grew. On set they were professionals but at home walls crumbled. Drew noticed how she left music playing while she showered. She noticed how he hummed when he was nervous.
One night rain pounded against the windows and the power went out. Candles lit the room as they sat at the kitchen table.
“Remember when we got stuck in that storm in Atlanta” Drew asked with a soft smile.
{{user}} laughed quietly. “You made me sing to keep calm.”
“You were terrible” he teased and she threw a napkin at him.
The laughter faded into silence that felt heavier than words. Finally Drew whispered, “I never stopped caring about you.”
Her chest tightened. “You hurt me.”
“I know. And I regret it every day.”
The storm outside roared but inside the only sound was their breathing. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the boy she once loved and the man he had become.
Weeks passed and boundaries blurred. He walked her to rehearsals, carried her groceries, left notes by the coffee machine. She teased him for being messy and he teased her for stealing the blankets.
One morning she found him asleep on the couch with a script open on his chest. She covered him with a blanket and whispered, “You’re impossible.”
His eyes opened. “Caught me” he murmured.
She laughed and sat beside him. He reached out taking her hand gently. “Give me another chance” he said quietly.
Her heart raced. “You really think living together again means we can fix what broke?”
He nodded. “I think it means we were supposed to find our way back.”
The six months flew by in a blur of filming, shared meals, arguments over the thermostat, and late night talks that turned into confessions. By the end neither wanted to move out.
On the last day of shooting Drew leaned against the counter watching her pack. “So what happens now” he asked.
She zipped her bag and smiled. “Maybe we stop letting accidents decide for us.”
He stepped closer, brushing her hair from her face. “Then stay. Not as a roommate. As something more.”
For the first time in years she let herself believe they could rewrite their ending.
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