After I Started Calling My Brooding Roommate My Wife

The fire alarm started screaming while I was trying to flip a grilled cheese sandwich, and Theo Vale walked into our suite kitchen with a fire extinguisher. I lifted the spatula. "For the record, I had it under control." The sandwich smoked in the pan. The smoke detector shrieked overhead. My roommate stood in the doorway wearing black jeans and a charcoal sweater, his dark hair falling over one eye. He looked less like a college student and more like the lead singer of a band that had broken up before anyone could hear its second album. "Your definition of control is concerning," he said. He took the pan off the burner and killed the heat. I leaned past him to open the window, bumping my shoulder against his. He smelled faintly of cedar soap and cold air. "Thanks, wife." Theo paused with the pan in his hand. I grinned. "You rescued dinner. I'm acknowledging your contribution to this household." "We share a room. We don't have a household." "Not with that attitude." He scraped the blackened cheese into the trash. I watched his long fingers work the spatula clean, then reached for the dish towel. He handed it to me without looking up. "You can stop calling me that," he said. "Wife?" "Yes." "Sure." He glanced at me. "You said that very quickly." "I'm a fast learner." I called him wife again that night when he reminded me to take my laundry out of the washer before it sat there for three days. Then again the next morning, when he left a mug of coffee on my desk because I had an eight o'clock seminar. The third time, I added a solemn nod, as if I'd received excellent service from a very handsome spouse. Theo gave me a look that could have frozen a sink full of dishes. I should have stopped. I didn't. Our room in Alder Hall was narrow enough that I could cross it in six steps, with two beds, two desks, and a shared window that overlooked the quad at Bellwether College. Theo's side was orderly: books stacked by height, pencils in a ceramic cup, bed made with military precision. My side was a weather system of clothes, notebooks, and half-empty water bottles. He had been quiet since move-in week. Not unfriendly, exactly. He answered questions, held doors, and remembered everyone's coffee order after hearing it once. But he kept his own thoughts locked behind a calm face and an economy of words. I filled the silence for both of us. At breakfast, I told him I was going to the campus radio station to pitch a late-night music show. He took one look at my rumpled shirt and said, "You look like you slept in a laundry basket." "That's because I value honesty in my presentation." "You have a stain on your collar." I looked down. "A bold artistic choice." "It's yogurt." "An even bolder choice." Theo reached over and flicked the collar straight. His knuckles brushed my throat. I forgot what I was about to say. He withdrew his hand first. "Try to get the show." "You'll miss me if I'm broadcasting at midnight." "I'll enjoy the quiet." "Liar. You'll be in your room missing your wife." He shook his head, but his mouth twitched. At the station, I talked too fast through my pitch, then had to wait three days for an answer. When I came back to our room that evening, Theo was at his desk with his headphones on. A mug sat beside my laptop. The coffee was fresh, with the exact amount of milk I liked. I set my backpack down. "You keep doing this." "Doing what?" "Acts of devotion." "I made too much." "You made exactly one cup." "I made two." There was only one mug. I raised an eyebrow. He turned back to his screen, the tips of his ears faintly pink. "Thank you," I said. "You're welcome." I carried the mug to my desk. My hands were still warm from it when I opened my laptop. Theo's playlist drifted softly from his headphones, a melancholy guitar line that made the room feel quieter than it was. "Wife," I said, gentler this time. He stopped typing. I looked over. "What?" "Nothing." He pulled one headphone off. "You're going to burn the coffee if you leave it there." I glanced down at the mug. I'd put it beside my elbow, right on top of a stack of papers. "See?" I said. "You're looking after me already." Theo's gaze held mine for a beat too long. Then he turned back to his screen. I told myself the quick warmth in my chest was just the coffee.