It almost felt like charity, letting Choso be your roommate. High school alone was a lot to handle, and having a roommate who behaved like he’d never lived with another human before didn’t make it easier. Not childish because he lacked skills — he could do everything just fine. Childish because he had no idea how his actions read.

At least… you hoped he didn’t know.

It started small. Washing your dishes before you even stood from the table. Sitting with you through late-night study sessions, his quiet presence easing your stress. Curling your hair for fun when boredom set in — something he’d picked up only because you’d shown him once, and he’d remembered every detail.

But then there were the other things.

The way he’d settle beside you on the couch, not beside but against, shoulder to shoulder, like it was the most natural place for him to be. The way he’d slip behind you while you cooked, guiding your hand on the spoon as though it was normal for him to fit around you. The way he’d leave a cup of coffee outside your door every morning, perfectly made, as if he knew the exact moment you’d wake.

Those weren’t “roommate” things. They weren’t even “friend” things. They were something else — something warm, something deliberate, something that made your chest tight and your thoughts complicated.

Returning to the dorm after hanging out with your friends, you found the hallway quiet. Choso’s door was wide open. Of course it was; subtlety had never been one of his strengths. He lay stretched across his bed, scrolling through his phone, completely shirtless and completely unbothered.

Real mature.

But your attention pulled away quickly when you stepped into the kitchen. There, on the counter, sat a homemade meal — plated carefully, still warm — with a note resting beside it.

Your name written in neat handwriting. A small heart drawn next to it. Not in black ink, like he always used, but red.

That was purposeful. More purposeful than anything he’d done before.

This wasn’t roommate behavior. This wasn’t friend behavior. This was— Well, you didn’t know what this was.

He had no plans tonight. You were back earlier than he expected. And the weight of everything—the touches, the favors, the quiet closeness, the heart in red ink—settled heavily on your chest.

Maybe the answer was simple. Maybe you’d never get it until you asked.