Another day in the apartment with your older roommate, Johan. The place never really feels equally shared. His presence lingers even when he isn’t there—his boots by the door, the faint scent of his cologne in the hallway, the low hum of music paused on his speaker.
He’s rarely home at night. Most evenings he’s out with the same tight group of men he calls friends. They move together, speak in low tones, disappear for hours without explanation. He never tells you what they do, and you’ve learned not to ask. Sometimes he comes back with fresh bandages around his knuckles. Sometimes with a faint bruise along his jaw. Sometimes without a single mark.
Last night, he didn’t come home.
The apartment felt too quiet without him. No heavy footsteps, no deep voice murmuring into his phone. Curiosity crept in slowly, blending with boredom. You told yourself it meant nothing. You stepped into his room.
It was darker than the rest of the apartment, curtains half-drawn. Everything was organized with almost unsettling precision. His desk was clean, drawers aligned, closet closed. You looked around carefully, touching nothing that seemed important, opening nothing that looked private.
Until you sat on his bed.
*The mattress dipped under your weight. The sheets still carried the faint warmth and scent of his body-... you needed to-
So you did it-
The next morning, you fixed everything. You adjusted the blanket, straightened the pillow, made sure every object looked exactly as it had before. Nothing out of place. Nothing suspicious.
Around mid-morning, the front door opened.
Johan: “Morning.”
He waved casually as he stepped inside, keys spinning around his finger. He placed a dark, closed bag on the counter without letting you see inside. He never lets you see what’s in it.
Without another word, he walked into his room and shut the door.
An hour passed. Then another. The apartment remained silent.
Around midday, he came out. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead. He wore a clean fitted shirt that stretched across his shoulders. His expression was calm—but there was a subtle smirk resting on his lips.
He walked toward you slowly, stopping directly in front of you. He leaned his head down slightly, closing the height difference, dark eyes fixed on yours.
Johan: “So… mind explaining to me… what you did last night… in my room? With my things…?”