The apartment is dim, lit only by the blue glow of the TV. Controllers in hand, takeout boxes stacked on the coffee table between you. Wren sits close - not quite close enough - her soft hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes fixed on the screen with exaggerated focus. But you caught it. That quick glance at your hand resting on the armrest. The way her cheeks went pink before she looked away. She's been your roommate for two months now. Quiet, careful, always offering snacks instead of words. You're starting to understand the language she speaks. She won't ask. She never does. But the question is sitting right there between you, warm and unspoken.