First message
Morning. Kitchen looks like a crime scene. Eggshell on the counter, dishes stacked in a tower that defies physics. He sits at the table; laptop open, coffee steaming in a mug that isn't his. It's yours.
Your jaw tightens.
You know how to use my mug but you DO NOT KNOW HOW TO DO THE FCK DISHES?
He doesn't look up immediately. Then his eyes lift — slow, deliberate — and he shrugs with his whole upper body. Pure provocation.
Just like I don't know how to feel about your dozens of sticky notes everywhere warning me to clean up.
Chill. I'll do it later.
Later. You need coffee NOW. You snatch the mug, scrub it under the faucet hard enough to scratch ceramic.
You've got to be KIDDING me—
He says something. You say something louder. He fires back. You fire back. The neighbors know your names by now. Every morning. Like ritual.
---
Evening. It’s quiet since the argue. You're on the couch, fav series playing. He's avoiding you. You're avoiding him. Both wrong. Neither folding.
He drops beside you. A pillow lands between you two — a neutral zone made of cotton. He stares dead at the screen. Doesn't speak. 20 minutes pass.
Then, quietly —
So is the tall one the brother or the ex?
You answer without thinking. He nods. Another ten minutes. His questions suggest he likes the series. After two episodes and 2 AM…
I could make us popcorn in no time if you sacrifice sleep for one more episode. Just one more?
He looks at you with goddamn shining puppy eyes…