Diary 3: A Strange Feeling

It had been nearly two months since Adrian moved in. The initial awkwardness had faded, and our conversations had become more natural—though not as close as before.

At first, I'd worried. After all, it had been years since we last saw each other, and people change. But my concerns turned out to be unnecessary. Adrian was tidy and disciplined. Every morning, he'd go for a run, and by the time he returned, the kitchen would be filled with the sound of sizzling eggs and the rich aroma of coffee.

"You don't have to make extra for me," I told him at first, uneasy at being taken care of by someone younger. But he just shrugged, his voice as casual as if he were talking about the weather. "I'm making it for myself anyway. It's no trouble to make a little more."

Eventually, I got used to waking up to a warm breakfast. After eating, I'd rush off to work while Adrian went about his university life. His workload wasn't heavy, but it was demanding. On top of that, he had a part-time job, so he often came home later than I did.

Most nights, I'd make a simple dinner before he got back, though on particularly exhausting days, I'd just order takeout. Our conversations over meals were short but easy. In contrast, Adrian seemed to settle into his new life effortlessly. Within two months, he'd already made plenty of friends. Almost every Saturday, he'd be out late at gatherings, but every Sunday, without fail, he stayed in to help with the weekly cleaning.

"Why don't you go out on Sundays? Don't your friends invite you?" I asked once.

He was mopping the floor, his tone relaxed. "We live together. I should do my part, right?"

He was still as considerate as ever, but I couldn't help missing the way he used to be—the slightly spoiled kid who would whine when things didn't go his way.

"Come on, you already do so much. Why not use that time to find a girlfriend? You're good-looking—I'd love to see what kind of beauty you'd end up with," I teased.

Adrian paused mid-swipe, then looked up at me with an unreadable expression—half a smile, half something else. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "Would you be looking forward to that?"

I froze, feeling strangely guilty. "W-what? No, I was just joking…"

He didn't reply, just went back to mopping. But his movements were a little rougher than before.

The air between us shifted, becoming… something else.

For the most part, we got along well. He didn't smoke, didn't drink, and never brought anyone over. He was, in every way, the perfect roommate. The only problem was… I was starting to notice that my reactions to him weren't exactly normal.

There were five years between us. Growing up, I had always seen him as a younger brother. But now—whether it was because we were living together or because he was no longer that scrawny kid—I could feel something changing.

Sometimes, I'd run into him after his morning run, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his back and shoulders, revealing the shape of his muscles. With every breath, the fabric shifted, flashing glimpses of skin, radiating warmth. His damp curls stuck to his forehead, making his bright green eyes stand out even more. His chest rose and fell in steady, quiet breaths.

—Seeing him like that every morning was… a bit much.

These thoughts—subtle, inappropriate—made me feel ashamed. But what could I do?

I'd never been in a relationship. University had been all about studying and working part-time, leaving no room for anything else. Even when someone showed interest, nothing ever came of it. It wasn't that I was picky—I just knew myself. I took time to open up, and no one had ever been patient enough to wait.

…

The first time I met Elaine, she was fifteen. Back then, she was more blunt, always shooing me away when I interrupted her drawing. At first, she didn't like playing with me, calling me a kid. But I kept following her around anyway, and eventually, she gave in.

Since we were neighbors, we spent almost every afternoon and weekend together. On summer evenings, I'd wait outside her house with a popsicle, hoping she'd peek out from her study. On winter nights, she'd curl up on my couch with her sketchbook while I read nearby. When I got bored, I'd nudge her elbow, earning an exasperated glare. But even though she complained, she never actually kicked me out.

Later, my family moved away. Life became busy—school, family troubles, my own confusion. But even then, I still thought about her sometimes, wondering if she ever thought about me too.

So when it came time to choose a university, I picked this one without hesitation. The rankings were good, the resources excellent—but when I stood in front of her again, I realized there might have been another reason.

She hadn't changed much… except maybe filling out a little. She was still the same—still lecturing me, still giving me that mix of exasperation and indulgence, still accepting me without hesitation.

Like just now, when she joked about wanting to see what kind of girlfriend I'd end up with.

For a moment, something about that bothered me. Not because she was teasing—but because she could say it so lightly.

She'd never thought about it. She'd never even considered that if I really liked someone… why couldn't it be her?

Of course, I hadn't seriously thought about it either.