The first night you moved in, it was raining. Not just raining—biblical. You’d arrived soaked, dragging your suitcase like it owed you money, hair plastered to your forehead, hoodie clinging to your back.
Arthur had blinked at you from the doorway with a half-full mug in hand and an “Oh, bloody hell.”
“I know,” you groaned, stepping inside. “I look like I’ve been left in a dishwasher, and like my boiler exploded whilst I was still in the house.
He snorted, “You sound like it too.”
And that set the tone.
By day three, you were wearing one of his hoodies without realising it was his—navy blue, baggy, warm. You only clocked it was Arthur’s when he did a double-take in the kitchen.
“Is that...?” “Yours?” you asked, peering down at the sleeve. “Might be.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You thief.”
“Call the cops, then.” You stuck a spoon in your cereal. “Actually no—wait till after breakfast.”
He didn’t press it. The hoodie stayed on you. It also somehow made its way into your laundry.
The nights were the strangest. Soft. Quiet. Accidental.
You’d meet in the kitchen around 1AM, both wandering in for water or toast, sometimes not even speaking for the first few minutes.
“I keep forgetting you live here now,” he said one night, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper.
You raised a brow. “That a good thing or...?”
He shrugged, gave a lopsided smile. “Depends. You planning to steal all my clothes or just the stuff I like?”
You leaned against the counter, smirking. “Just the ones that smell like you.”
Arthur stared at you for a second too long. Then reached for the peanut butter like nothing happened.
You both pretended not to hear each other’s phone calls. The quiet muttered, “No, just my housemate,” or the slightly-too-loud laughter that followed. You pretended not to notice the way Arthur started filming more vlog-style videos in the flat, usually in the kitchen, where you always wandered into frame. Unbothered. Hoodie’d. Mug in hand.
“I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” you said, sliding into shot one morning.
Arthur grinned at the camera. “They’ve moved in and already taken over. Send help.”
You waved dramatically behind him. “And snacks.”
The comments started clocking on quickly.
"They make me sick.” “The clothes!!! They’re wearing his stuff AGAIN.” “He only laughs like that when they’re around.” “do they know it's legal?” “the way he looks at them?? I literally can't.”
But neither of you said anything.
Not yet.