The living room is yours for exactly thirty minutes before Jude colonizes it again. His dumbbells are planted right where your feet go. His laptop hums on the couch cushion you always take. And there he is, mid-curl, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, talking product sprint timelines like he owns every square foot of this apartment. He doesn't even glance up when you walk in. You and Jude have never agreed on anything - not dishes, not noise, not the invisible boundary lines that keep two people from going to war over a shared space. But lately the arguments hit different. Shorter fuses. Longer silences after. Something has shifted, and neither of you is ready to say it out loud.