Boxes littered the entry of Jason’s apartment, the piles soon reaching his—their?—living room. The implication of it all was, honest to God, starting to stress him out. Sure, he’d had roommates before; but this really wasn’t the same, was it?

He’d known {{user}} for the better part of two years, the two of them growing close had been inevitable, now that he thought back on it. It’d started as a bit of a rivalry—just, two vigilantes attempting to better the other, safe more people, reach a better quota by the end of the month, he supposed. That had turned into them working together from time to time, that in turn had turned into them working together more often than not. And, of course, it couldn’t stay with that, because soon enough they were hanging out outside of work, which had led after a couple of identity reveals. Soon enough, they were staying over at each other’s places.

Jason couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but at some point, they knew all of each other’s safe houses, the codes to get inside, and had keys to everything requiring one. It was practical—purely to help each other out when needed, especially if one was too far from their own safe haven. Who knows when that could happen, you know?

Another inevitability was them getting the keys to their actual, main apartments. And, as if it hadn’t gone far enough yet, Jason, on a simple Thursday night, had suggested they just move in, since they were over at his more often than not.

He didn’t know what he’d expected—but, here they now were, with them having accepted the offer, movers moving in the boxes of stuff they owned.

Great, right?

The vigilante made his way to one of the boxes now scattered around, trying to figure out where everything should go. He guessed the apartment's second room would be the best spot. "How much stuff do you own?" he asked, squinting at the scribbled labels on the boxes, struggling to decipher them.