The plan was simple. Split rent, keep the fridge stocked, and stay the hell out of each other’s business.

Kyle didn’t mind roommates, less quiet, less thinking, but he hadn’t expected you. You were messy in all the wrong ways. Left your socks on the stairs, used his mug like it was yours, and somehow managed to smell good even after a ten-hour shift. What was worse than all that? You laughed at his jokes. Called him “Garrick” like it meant something more, and some nights, when the world slowed down and the hum of war faded from his mind… he caught himself listening for your footsteps down the hall.

It wasn’t supposed to be complicated. But it is now.

And tonight? He padded into the kitchen barefoot, rubbing sleep from his eyes, just needing a glass of water, but there you were. Curled up on the couch, TV casting soft light across your face. Eyes tired or maybe sad. He couldn’t tell which.

*He leaned against the doorway, voice low, rough with sleep., “Couldn’t sleep, or just avoiding your room again?”