It had been almost two months since Adrian moved in. The initial awkwardness had faded, and our conversations flowed more naturally—though not quite like before.

  At first, I had been worried. Five years was a long time, and people changed. I didn't know what kind of person Adrian had become, but I had expected—at the very least—some trace of the boy I remembered.

  And yet, the Adrian who had shown up at my doorstep felt like a completely different person.

  The Adrian I knew had been loud, mischievous, and relentlessly persistent. He used to follow me around, whine when I ignored him, and throw exaggerated tantrums if he didn't get his way. If there was a puddle, he'd jump in it. If there was a tree, he'd climb it. If there was a rule, he'd test how far he could bend it before getting caught.

  Now, though, he was… composed.

  Disciplined.

  Every morning, before I even woke up, he'd be out for a run. By the time I stumbled into the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee would already be in the air.

  "You don't have to cook for me," I said the first time I saw him standing at the stove, flipping an omelet with practiced ease.

  Adrian barely gnced up. "I'm making it for myself anyway. A little extra doesn't hurt."

  That was that.

  Eventually, I got used to it—waking up to the sound of the coffee machine, the faint ctter of dishes, and the quiet rhythm of Adrian moving around the kitchen like he had always belonged there.

  I wasn't sure when it had started feeling normal.

  After breakfast, I'd rush off to work while he went about his university life. He had slipped into his new routine effortlessly—within weeks, he had already made friends, found a part-time job, and mapped out the best study spots in the city.

  I couldn't rete.

  When I had first moved here for university, it had taken me months to adjust. I had spent too many evenings alone in my dorm, too nervous to initiate conversations, too slow to form friendships.

  Adrian, on the other hand, made it look easy.

  He had pns almost every Saturday, meeting up with friends. But on Sundays—without fail—he stayed home, helping me with the weekly cleaning.

  It took me a while to notice. At first, I thought he was just tired, catching up on rest after a long week. But after a few Sundays, the pattern became clear.

  One Sunday afternoon, as I wiped down the kitchen counter, I gnced over at Adrian, who was wringing out a mop.

  "You know, you don't have to stay and help every week," I said, reaching for a dish towel. "I can handle it."

  Adrian didn't pause. "We live together. I should do my part, right?"

  I smiled to myself, shaking my head as I dried a pte. "You really have grown up."

  He gnced up at that, an amused glint in his green eyes. "Have I?"

  "You used to be a little terror," I reminded him. "Always making a mess, never sitting still. Now you—" I gestured vaguely at the mop in his hands. "You've actually become responsible."

  "Shocking, isn't it?" he said dryly.

  I ughed. "A little."

  A comfortable silence settled between us as we continued cleaning.

  After a while, I spoke again, my tone light. "Come on, you already do so much. Why not use your Sundays to go out? Have fun. Maybe even meet someone."

  Adrian's movements slowed.

  "You're still young," I continued. "You shouldn't have to spend your weekends doing house chores. Go make some memories while you can."

  The mop stilled completely.

  His grip on the handle tightened, knuckles briefly turning white before he looked up.

  And for some reason, the air shifted.

  His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it—something unreadable, something almost sharp.

  "Is that something you'd be looking forward to?"

  The warmth in my chest evaporated.

  I blinked. "I—what?"

  He didn't look away.

  There was something in his gaze—something steady, searching.

  I suddenly felt too warm. The kitchen felt too small.

  My fingers curled around the dish towel. "I was just joking," I added quickly, forcing out a ugh.

  Adrian exhaled, slow and measured. Then, without another word, he went back to mopping. But his movements were different now—tighter, sharper, as if trying to push something down.

  I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink.

  What… was that?

  …Anyways, for the most part, we got along well. He didn't smoke, didn't drink, and never brought anyone over. In every way, he was the perfect roommate.

  The only problem was… I was starting to realize that my reactions to him weren't exactly normal.

  There were five years between us. Growing up, I had always seen him as my friend's younger brother. A clingy, annoying kid.

  But now—now, I wasn't so sure.

  Sometimes, I'd run into him after his morning run. His sweat-dampened shirt clung to his back, fabric shifting over lean muscle as he caught his breath. His dark curls stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, framing his sharp features.

  I knew I shouldn't be staring.

  But I did.

  And the worst part?

  I knew I shouldn't be thinking about it, but I couldn't stop.

  ...

  The first time I met Ellie, I was ten. She was fifteen.

  And from the very start, I thought she was the coolest person I'd ever seen.

  She wasn't loud or fshy, but she had this presence—quiet, steady, like nothing could shake her. She always carried a sketchbook, as if she lived in a world slightly apart from everyone else.

  She never chased attention.

  But somehow, she always had mine.

  I used to follow her around, too impatient to sit still, too restless to understand how she could spend hours sketching in silence.

  If I whined enough, she'd sigh—just a little—and tilt her book so I could peek at what she was working on. If I pestered her, she'd shove a bnk page at me and say, Fine. If you're going to stay, make yourself useful.

  She never pushed me away.

  But she never reached for me first, either.

  And then, my family moved away.

  Things… happened.

  After that, I had to grow up. Fast.

  For a long time, I didn't have the space to think about Ellie. But sometimes, te at night, I'd wonder if she ever thought about me too.

  ...

  Years passed.

  When it was time to apply for university, I chose this city.

  I told myself it was because the school was prestigious. World-renowned.

  But standing in front of Ellie again, after all these years, I started to wonder.

  Had I really chosen this pce for the ranking?

  Or had it been something else entirely?

  She hadn't changed much… or at least, that's what I thought at first.

  And then there were moments—small, fleeting things—that caught me off guard.

  Like the way she stretched one evening, reaching for a book on the top shelf.

  Her sweater lifted just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin above her waistband, the soft curve of her waist more defined than I remembered.

  I looked away before I could think about it.

  I hadn't expected that.

  The moment she looked at me, I felt like I was ten years old again, trailing after her, trying to get her attention.

  She was still the same—still quietly stubborn, still lost in her own world, still responding to my antics with that mix of exasperation and indulgence.

  Like just now, when she joked about me needing to meet someone.

  It was a casual remark. She didn't seem to think twice about it.

  But something about it made my chest tighten.

  Not because she was teasing.

  But because she could say it so easily—so naturally—like the idea of me and her had never even crossed her mind.

  She had always been like this—gentle, yet distant, always just out of reach.

  Even when I was younger, no matter how much I whined or clung to her, she never pushed me away.

  But she never reached for me first, either.

  And maybe that was why I had never thought about it seriously before.

  Because if I had…

  What then?

  But now, for the first time, the thought wouldn't leave me alone.

  If I really liked someone…

  Why couldn't it be her?