By morning, they had a shared spreadsheet.
Not for groceries. Not for chores. But for "Co-living Rules and Violation Penalties."
Rule #1: Knock before entering.
Rule #2: No walking around shirtless (Ren) or pantsless (Noa).
Rule #3: No eating ice cream seductively in shared spaces. (This one was added after a silent stare-off over a melting cone.)
Rule #4: No emotionally confusing touching.
They both agreed it was necessary.
They also both broke three rules before noon.
---
It started with laundry.
"I swear I sorted them," Noa mumbled, digging through the shared basket.
Ren stood at the doorway, towel over his shoulder, watching her pull out a mess of tangled clothes that could qualify as modern sculpture.
"Is that my shirt?" he asked, pointing.
"It *was*. Now it's wearing my bra."
They stared at the black lace tangled inside his white button-down like some kind of intimate hostage situation.
"Should we cut them apart?" he offered, already reaching for scissors.
"No!" she yanked the bra free. "This one's expensive."
Ren blinked. "You paid money to buy something that covers, like, 20% of your body?"
She threw it at his chest. "And yet, you can't stop looking at it."
"Touché."
---
Later that day, Ren opened the fridge and stared at a glass jar of pickles that definitely wasn't there before.
"Noa?"
"Yeah?"
"Why is there… a bra in the fridge?"
Pause.
Then, from the other room: "I was flash-drying it. Science."
"You put your bra. In the same space as my lunch."
"It was hanging near the AC and it blew into the fridge! It's called multi-tasking."
Ren sighed, closed the fridge slowly like he was shutting down a crime scene, and made a mental note to never touch anything in the top shelf again.
---
Night two, Noa took the floor.
She insisted it was fair, even if Ren offered to swap.
"I'm fine," she said, arranging the blanket with military precision. "Just... don't step on me when you go to the bathroom."
"Noted. Though I do have very graceful feet."
"Your feet look like exhausted noodles."
"You watched me sleep?"
She froze.
He grinned. "You watched me sleep."
"I was making sure you weren't dead! You sleep like a Victorian widow."
Ren leaned over the edge of the bed, face half-shadowed. "If I die here, it'll be from sexual tension and rug burn."
Noa threw a pillow at him. "Go to sleep."
---
At 2 a.m., they were still awake.
Ren stared at the ceiling. Noa stared at the underside of the coffee table.
"Can I ask you something?" she murmured.
He turned toward her voice. "Always dangerous. Shoot."
"If we had to kiss—hypothetically, for inspection purposes—do you think it would be... weird?"
Silence.
Then, slowly: "Define weird."
"Like... uncomfortable. Or like, crossing a line."
He thought for a second too long.
"No. I think it'd feel like... a line that's been begging to be crossed."
Noa didn't answer right away. She just tugged the blanket higher, heart doing a stupid cartwheel in her chest.
"Well," she said quietly, "Good thing it's only hypothetical."
"Yeah," Ren whispered, "good thing."
But neither of them slept easily that night.
And when morning came, the "No emotionally confusing touching" rule mysteriously disappeared from the spreadsheet.