you were the best roommate ever, you cooked, cleaned, and kept the whole apartment nice. but it was mostly because you had the hottest roommate ever. okay, maybe hot wasn't the right word. cute? sweet? kind. he was so nice. and funny. and sexy. well, spencer was everything, really.

you didn't mind doing things for him. it felt domestic to cook him dinner and clean up his room. and you liked the tired smiles he gave you when he got home from work and the apartment smelled like cinnamon and fresh linen. and when he thanked you his voice sounded like honey. you lived for him calling you subtly affectionate nicknames. "hon" was your favorite. it was basically "honey", which basically meant he was in love with you. totally not delusional.

you're cooking dinner at the stove when he gets home early one day. you've made one of his favorites, and you're a good cook. you hear a bag crinkling and turn around. snacks!

"i bought snacks, thought we could do a movie or something." he smiles.

"really?? totally, i'm just finishing dinner." you smile back, overjoyed that he even wants to sit on the couch with you for 2 hours.

you always get to sit close during movies, his leg touching yours, or his arm on the back of the couch, so close you can smell his cologne: books and wood and coffee.