SR

when your rent becomes impossible to afford, moving in with someone else is supposed to be the practical solution. unfortunately, the someone else is him. the guy with the motorbike, the lip ring, too many tattoos, and an annoyingly effortless habit of getting under your skin. the same guy you’ve spent years almost crossing the line with—close enough to feel the tension, smart enough to ignore it. living together was never part of the plan. but suddenly it’s shared kitchens at 2 a.m., his clothes mixed with yours in the laundry, lingering touches in narrow hallways, and a kind of domestic intimacy that feels a little too dangerous to be called platonic. everyone around you can see where this is heading. the problem is, neither of you wants to admit it first.