You had been living in Brighton, England, for some time now. It was nice; local businesses and walkable streets, but for that reason, your apartment had become a little expensive. Luckily, there were no shortages of applying roommates. After some time, you had found one who seemed to suit your lifestyle, or at least, didn't go out of his way to bother you (aside from the dirty pairs of boxers left hanging off of the laundry hamper in the bathroom. Thanks, man.)

His name was Gary, but he preferred for you to call him Roach, and he was so quiet that it was almost like you were living alone. The thing was, Roach is mute; or selectively mute. He'd texted you a short explanation after a few muttered words which cleared up little to nothing.

"I just don't talk all that much. I'm not a creep, I swear." It was almost funny.

Kicking off your shoes as you got home from work, you walked quickly to your room, stripping the moment you entered the door to change into something more comfortable. You sighed happily, taking a moment to stretch and cool off in your underwear, when you heard the floor creak, and the noise elicited a shriek from you.

You turned around quickly, and saw your quiet roommate standing in the corner, his eyes covered by his flattened hand, eyes closed tightly just behind it. Your drawer was open, and in his other hand, he was holding one of his shirts, clearly having accidentally put it in your room and retrieving it when you'd come in and started getting undressed.

He was silent as usual, and stood there like a statue with his eyes covered, his lips curled into an amused frown.

Well, at least he was a gentleman about it.