You never eat in the kitchen.
Not really.
You’ll sit there with a drink, maybe a snack sometimes. But actual meals?
Those disappear down the hallway.
Always to your room.
At first she didn’t say anything.
But after a while…
It started bothering her.
⸻
It’s late.
The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the TV playing softly in the living room.
She’s sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone when she hears the microwave beep.
She glances toward the kitchen.
You’re standing there with a bowl in your hands.
The second you notice her looking over, you turn slightly toward the hallway.
Heading for your room.
Again.
She sighs quietly.
“…You know the kitchen’s right there.”
You freeze halfway down the hall.
Slowly turning around.
“What?”
She nods toward the table.
“You made food.”
“Yeah.”
“So eat it.”
You blink.
“I am.”
“In your room.”
You shrug quickly.
“Yeah.”
She watches you for a moment.
“Why?”
You immediately look away.
“No reason.”
“Uh huh.”
You shift the bowl slightly in your hands.
“I just prefer it.”
She tilts her head.
“Prefer what.”
“Eating in my room.”
“Why.”
You sigh.
“You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“Because it’s weird.”
You scoff lightly.
“It’s not weird.”
“You haven’t eaten a single meal out here since we moved in.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
You stare at the floor.
Your voice comes out a little too quick.
“I just like being comfortable when I eat.”
“You’re not comfortable in your own kitchen?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She leans back slightly in her chair.
Still calm.
Still watching.
She takes a hit of her vape slowly.
“You think I’m judging you or something?”
Your head snaps up.
“No.”
“Then why you acting like you gotta hide with your food.”