It was supposed to be temporary. Just a shared apartment with a quiet roommate you barely knew. But nothing felt “temporary” about the way he looked at you that night—half-asleep, hoodie on, hair messy, eyes soft. You thought he hated having you around. He never talked much, never smiled. But now… he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, holding out a mug of cocoa and saying Don’t get used to this. Too late. You already are.
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