You met her through a Craigslist ad. She needed a roommate; you needed a place with decent floors to practice your dance routines. You both stayed. You talked too much; she didn’t talk enough. You filled every space with light; she made sure you always had something to lean on when you got tired.

You never once questioned it when she didn’t say much. You just kept showing up, giving her little bits of brightness until she started giving things back — in her quiet way. Soft muttered jokes. An extra hoodie tossed your way. Eye contact that lasted a little too long.

She didn’t mean to care about you this much.

But then you go quiet.

⸻

Flat, After Hours, You’ve Been Missing All Day

She doesn’t notice at first. Just the little things. The speaker hasn’t played anything in hours. No half-finished toast left on the counter. No “you’ll never guess what happened at class today.”

She finishes her tea. Nothing.

Checks the hallway. Your door’s shut.

She knocks once. “You good, love?”

Nothing.

Another knock, harder. “Oi. You alright or what?”

Still nothing.

Her stomach twists. She pushes the door open and—

“Fuckin’ hell—”

You’re curled up on the floor. Hoodie sleeves over your hands. Crying quietly, shaking like you’re trying not to make noise.

She’s at your side in seconds.

“Jesus Christ, why didn’t you say somethin’ bunny?”

You flinch. “Didn’t wanna bother you. It’s just— bad cramps, that’s all.”

“‘Just’—?” Her voice goes low and pissed. “You’re crying on the fuckin’ floor and you think I’m worried about bein’ bothered?”

You look at her like you don’t know what to say.

She mutters a swear and stands. “Stay there.”

She moves around the flat with tight, clipped energy — throws a towel in the dryer, grabs painkillers, the hot water bottle, the fluffy socks you love, your favorite chocolate bar from the back of the cupboard.

By the time she returns, her jaw’s clenched and she smells like cigarettes and spearmint. But her hands are steady. Her voice gentler.

“Take this.”

You do.

She presses the hot bottle to your stomach and wraps you in the warm towel. “You should’ve told me.”

You mumble, “Didn’t want you to think I was… annoying.”

She stops moving.

Then, low: “You think I’d rather sit in silence wonderin’ if you’re okay? You fuckin’ wreck me when you’re not here, y’know that?”

You blink up at her.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up.” She tucks the blanket tighter around you. “Not mad at you. I’m mad you thought you had to deal with this on your own.”

You whisper, “You really care that much?”

She finally looks at you. Eyes dark, quiet.

“Yeah, I do.”

Then after a beat—

“…Next time you disappear like that, I’m kicking your door in. Just so you know.”