A/N: I just need to preface this by saying that this is my favorite chapter ever written, out of the few works I've written. I really hope you will enjoy it too!

I’m home alone for the first time in weeks, and I couldn’t be happier. Since we fought at Alex and Keith’s house, Olivia has been on my back all the time. She has been a lot nicer and more caring, always asking me what I want and if I like something. She even let me choose a new show to watch together, which considering our disagreement in movie genres was extremely surprising.

Well, I regretted it quite quickly in the end. Maybe choosing a mystery wasn’t the best idea I had, since I’m living in one. Following this show is terribly tiring. I can’t remember some developments from the previous episode, even though I watched it just the day before. But I’d never tell her and accept I made a wrong choice. So I’m pretending to be interested and let my mind wander through random thoughts while the show is running.

But this evening, I don’t have to pretend. She’s having a girls’ night out—she’s pressuring me to also partake in the boys’ night out with the guys, but I decline every time—and I have the whole apartment to myself.

I decide to investigate the bedroom. This is the room I avoid at all costs. I’m feeling extremely uncomfortable in this room, and when Olivia is in it with me it becomes plainly unbearable. I tried sleeping in the bed with her the other day. While I can’t lie that it’s way more comfortable than the couch, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me. I was lying on the very edge of the mattress, my body alert with every one of her movements.

I know it’s stupid, but I felt like a trapped animal about to be attacked. The adrenaline rushing through my veins was keeping me awake and at some point, I just got up and left the room. It took me half a pack of cigarettes and two hours to finally calm down and collapse on the couch.

But this got me thinking. This room is where I used to spend half of my time. And this room is half mine. I guess there is some stuff in there that could help me figure myself out. 

I enter the room and pause for a few moments. I need to stay calm. Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m not in danger.

I go towards my bedside table and sit at the edge of the bed. There’s a book about self-improvement lying next to the lamp. I take it and read the back cover. It mainly talks about how a routine can help you get more things done. It also says the day starts earlier than you might think. There’s no bookmark in the book, so I either read it already, or I was about to. But then I remember I have an alarm set at five in the morning on my phone—I deactivated it, of course—for every single day. So chances are I’ve read the book. I lay it back on the table.

There are two drawers in the bedside table. I open the top one and don’t find anything really interesting. There’s a hand cream and a few different chapsticks. A pack of tissues. Some wired earbuds. Elastics and pins for my hair. The kind of stuff to expect in a nightstand.

The second drawer seems to be jammed. After a few tries, I understand I have to pull it up a bit before opening it. I feel my cheeks heat up when I realize what’s inside. A pack of condoms. An open pack of condoms. Of course. I mean, I do live with my girlfriend. There’s also a tube of lube. That makes sense. There’s something in the back of the drawer and I have to lean forward to check it out. It’s a dust bag. I take it out carefully. As I take out the object and realize it’s a toy, I’m clueless but I feel my body heat up. If I don’t remember, my body definitely does. I check it out attentively, not understanding why it would be inside my nightstand and not Olivia’s. Then it hits me. This toy isn’t Olivia’s. Unless she has a prostate, this toy is undeniably for me. I put the toy back in the bag and in the drawer.

I don’t want to know what my intimate life with Olivia looks like. My heart is beating fast and I have to get some air. I get up and go to the patio, taking deep breaths. When my heart is finally beating at a normal rate again, I decide to go back inside and continue my exploration.

I go towards the wardrobe and open the left mirror door. All of this is mine. If I’m honest, since I got back here I only used about four shirts and three pairs of pants, rotating them often. I haven’t really looked at what I used to wear. I own a lot of t-shirts in different colors and jeans with all kinds of washes. There’s also a substantial amount of sweatpants and hoodies. As I inspect those more closely, I realize some of them are cropped quite high. 

Something catches my eye at the end of the wardrobe. I own almost nothing red yet there’s a bright red item in there. I pull it out and see that it’s a white sports bra with a wide red band. I don’t understand what this is doing on my side of the wardrobe. Then I realize there’s a matching item—high-waisted briefs that sport the same bright wide band. I have to think for a minute, but I noticed Olivia is more on the lacey side of stuff when it comes to underwear. And she has no reason to own briefs. So the only conclusion I have is that this is indeed mine. I look at the items, confused, but the more I stare at them, the more they make sense.

They’re my style. I would see myself wearing them. Looking at all the clothes I own, I can’t deny that I have a lot of streetwear pieces, and those two just fit with everything else. Something switches in my head, and I decide to put them on. The fabric is soft and feels nice. When I look at