After Calling My Brooding Roommate My Wife

Chapter 1: The Laundry

I called Rowan my wife while he was holding my damp socks by two fingertips.

"That's your third pair this week," he said.

"My wife notices everything."

He stared at me over the laundry basket. His black hair fell into his eyes, and the corner of his mouth made the same tiny, unreadable twitch it had made the first time I'd tried the joke. I couldn't tell whether he was amused or imagining my slow, painful death.

"You could also do your own laundry," he said.

"I could. But then who would you have to look after?"

"I don't look after you."

Rowan dropped my socks on my desk.

"You sorted the whites from the darks."

"They were mixed together."

"You saved me a seat at dinner."

"It was the only empty one."

"You made coffee when I had that headache."

"You left the coffee machine running."

"Last month, you fixed my bike."

"The brake cable was loose. You would've injured yourself."

"That's basically a vow."

"That's basically a safety precaution."

I grinned. Rowan turned away before I could decide what his expression meant.

Our dorm room was built for two people and about one and a half people's belongings. His side was so neat that even his charging cable seemed to have been trained to lie straight. My side looked as if a yard sale had been caught in a windstorm. We'd been assigned the room at the start of junior year, after his former roommate transferred and my old one decided he couldn't live with my six different alarms.

Rowan was quiet, but not shy. He could hold his own in class discussions and had a dry, exact sense of humor when he chose to use it. He just seemed to prefer keeping the rest of the world at a careful distance.

I liked trying to make him smile. I liked that he would listen to me talk about my half-formed ideas even when I couldn't explain why they mattered. I liked that he brought me the blue sports drink I liked when I was sick, though he claimed it had been on sale.

I had not, until that moment, asked myself what it meant that I liked these things so much.

The first time I'd called him my wife, it had been at dinner. He'd reached past me to slide my forgotten fork across the table. I'd thanked him with the nickname because the people around us were already teasing him for being the most organized person in our suite. Our friends had laughed. Rowan had looked down at his plate.

It had become a bit after that. I called him "wife" when he handed me a pen, when he reminded me about a deadline, when he gave me the better half of a takeout order. Each time, he let it pass.

I'd assumed that was permission.

I hadn't stopped to wonder if "not objecting" could mean something else.

"Are you coming to the mixer tonight?" I asked.

Rowan folded a shirt with enough precision to make the shirt look nervous. "No."

"You said that last time and came."

"Last time you told me they had decent food."

"They did have decent food."

"They served nachos from a bag."

"Decent food."

He shoved the shirt into a drawer. "I have a paper due."

"You also had a paper due last time."

"I have another one now."

I wheeled my desk chair around to face him. "You can work after. You've been in this room since noon."

"I like this room."

"That's because it's an excellent room. It contains me."

"That's the downside."

I put a hand over my heart. "Cold."

He looked at me again. This time I caught it: the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth.

There it was. A win.

"Come for one hour," I said. "If the nachos are bad, I'll personally find you a better snack."

"You're not good at finding snacks."

"I'm excellent at finding snacks."

"Last week you called a stale granola bar a meal."

"It had chocolate chips."

"It was hard enough to use as a doorstop."

"Chocolate doorstop. Still a snack."

Rowan pulled on his dark sweater. "One hour. I have to be back by nine."

I blinked. "You're coming?"

"I said one hour."

"Did I do something heroic?"

"No."

"Did I say something persuasive?"

"No."

"Are you sure it wasn't the wife thing?"

His face went still.

The shift was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. I only noticed because I'd been watching for his smile. The warmth left his eyes, and the space between us seemed to widen.

"Don't call me that tonight," he said.

I stopped grinning. "Okay."

"I'm serious, Eli."

"I know. I won't."

He picked up his jacket and walked out. I stayed in my chair, staring at the socks he'd left on my desk.

It was the first time he'd asked me to stop.

I should have wondered why.

Instead, I told myself I'd ruined the joke.

The mixer was in the student center, where the music was loud enough to make every conversation feel like a competition. Rowan stood beside me for the first ten minutes with his hands in his pockets. When someone from my media class asked if he was my new boyfriend, I answered too quickly.

"He's my wife," I said, then remembered.

The words had left my mouth before I could catch them.

My classmate laughed. Rowan didn't.

"Sorry," I said immediately. "I forgot."

He looked at me. "You didn't forget."

The classmate's smile faded. "I'm going to get a drink."

When she'd gone, I leaned closer so Rowan could hear me over the music. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You keep saying it like it's a harmless word."

"I thought it was."

"Because you've decided it is?"

I swallowed. "No. You're right. I should've listened the first time."

He looked away, jaw tight. "I'm going back."

"Do you want me to come?"

"No."

He walked off into the crowd.

I let him go, because he'd asked me to. The rest of the mixer blurred into voices and bad music. I left early and got back to our room before nine.

Rowan was sitting on his bed when I entered, a book open in his lap.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He turned a page. "You already said that."

"I know. I wanted to say it when I wasn't yelling over a speaker."

"Okay."

"I won't call you that again."

He looked up. "Good."

I wanted to ask why the joke had landed so badly. I wanted him to tell me what I'd missed. But I'd already spent too long assuming that because I didn't mean harm, I hadn't caused any.

So I took my laundry off my desk and put it away myself.

For the first time, Rowan didn't watch me struggle with the drawer.