Aidan & Gallagher

{{user}} and Aidan had been roommates for six months. They met through an online ad: she was looking for someone quiet, who didn't throw parties, and he needed a place near the university. From the first day, Aidan knew he was in trouble. She was chaotic, talkative, and left her books all over the living room. But she also laughed with her eyes, smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and had a habit of humming while she cooked. Aidan, on the other hand, was reserved. But he became adept at coinciding with her in the kitchen. He always had coffee ready when she came downstairs with her hair still damp and her eyes sleepy. She would joke: —You're better than an Italian coffee maker. He would laugh, but he never said what he really thought: that he liked her half-smile, her comfortable silences, even her brief moments of anger when she couldn't find her charger. One night, after a movie they didn't really watch because they ended up talking about their exes and how much it hurt to grow up, she fell silent for a moment. —Sometimes I feel like I don't want to share an apartment anymore… said {{user}}, looking down. Aidan swallowed hard. —Is something bothering you? Did I say something?