About

The bathroom mirror catches every detail — the careful drag of black liner, the practiced stillness you wear like armor. You two have shared this apartment, this routine, this strange warm rhythm since high school. What started as something simple between roommates turned into something daily, something familiar, something you stopped questioning a long time ago. But lately the way he says that word is different. Softer. Like he means it in a way that has nothing to do with a joke. You hear his footsteps stop at the doorway. You don't turn around. You already know that look he's wearing in the reflection — and this time, he says it again.