"I met her on the... mountain, there I took her life..... Met her on the mountain... stabbed her with my knife...." Trev's voice echoed overlapping with the music system as I entered the house after my run.

The laugh burst out of me before I could stop. He listened to the weirdest songs.

"Come here!" He shouted from the kitchen.

I paused the stereo that was asking some Tom to hang and went to the kitchen.

"What song was that? Why must he die?" I asked as I took a bite of the cucumber from the table.

Trev laughed. "It's an exemplary song. You should listen. I heard it at Joel's last night and I can't seem to get it out of my mind."

"No, thanks. Why did you call me?"

I avoided looking at him. That was a thing now. I was sweaty and tired after my run. He would look fresh like a freaking flower and I would be hell bent struggling to keep my eyes away from his face.

"I'm having some friends over for lunch tomorrow. Do you have any plans?"

"I'm out. I have my first real life practical assessment on Monday." I finished the cucumber and looked for something else to occupy me.

"We won't make any noise."

"That's alright. I'm going to the library." I picked an apple and left the kitchen.

"Hey, put back the song."

"Use the remote." I called from the top of the stairs.

"My hands are wet."

"Mine too." I shouted back before shutting my door.

We had settled into a very comfortable routine. There were a few new things I learnt about Trev.

1. He wasn't a morning person. It had nothing to do with his insomnia. He simply refused to get out of the bed before eight.

I usually left home for uni at six thirty. When Trev heard that, he changed his plan. He found out that walking through the park in our neighborhood was a short cut and reduced the three miles to two. He let me off the hook from his chauffeur duty.

2. He was an amazing cook. Amaahzing. Nothing was meh.

On a good day, I was a below average cook. On a bad day, a horrible one. Since he wouldn't get up early in the mornings, I made breakfast for both of us. Whatever I made, he ate it without a single complaint.

Dinner though, he rocked. He made sure there was always a hot meal for dinner. The fridge was stocked with prepped food for emergencies. I happily stopped buying canned food and pre cooked frozen meals and helped him in dish washing. He hated that part.

3. He listened to music a lot, like a lot, lot. Not on headphones. No, it had to be in surround sound, filling the whole house. At first I was irritated but then I got used to it. It put a smile on my face when he sang along.

4. The only way to win an argument with him was to use his reasons against him. Like my wet hands.

Yeah, I was winning a few arguments here and there.

5. He was so fucking hot in swim trunks. Thankfully, I was in my bedroom when I witnessed it. He was in our neighbor's pool. How he got there? I had no clue. But fuck, I was glad he did. He had the narrowest hip that highlighted his broadening shoulders and long legs. I almost touched myself watching him that day.

Semi hard on was my normal state these days when I was around him. Even a smile from him could put my body in overdrive. I just made sure I wore extra long shirts or had a book to cover myself.

So yeah, he was my housemate now. Whom I was as comfortable with as I could hope for.

After a shower, I went down to the living room with my books and laptop. I liked to stay there when Trev was cooking. Some days he would come and sit next to me and we would start talking about our day. I loved it, it almost felt like we were a couple.

He was back on track in friends department. Both in college and community. Starting from our neighbors, the whole two miles he walked, he had made friends. In college, surprisingly, he had friends even in his age group.

Some days, when I woke at the middle of the night, I would see him reading, in my desk chair.

If he caught me staring, he would say, "go back to sleep," with a small smile.

One night, he had found me awake when he came in, so he dragged me to his room and made me sleep there while he studied.

I was worried by his insomnia. I wasn't sure he got enough sleep. He still went for therapy. Hopefully, it would go away soon.

All in all, I had a pretty domestic life— with my housemate, for whom I was falling harder each day. Heck, I had fallen forever ago. If only we could kiss every now and then, it would be perfect. Make love once in a while or daily twice that would be pretty damn perfect.

A loud bang jolted me out of my day dream.

"Aaagh!" Trev cried from the direction of the staircase.

I abandoned my book and ran there.

The carpet was pulled out and Trev was sitting there clutching his left hand, face red.

"What happened? What the fuck were you doing?" I took his hand, the middle finger was bleeding alongside the nail bed. "Shit, Trev. Wait."

I ran to the cupboard and grabbed the first aid box and came back. Trev was not where I left him. The faucet was running in the kitchen.

"I asked you to wait!" I yanked his hand back from the running water.

He closed the tap and shrugged, "it's not a major injury."

"I'm the doctor here." I snapped and inspected his wound. "What did you do?" I asked as I cleaned it.

"I was nailing a board to shut the hole... the hammer missed the nail and hit my finger." He murmured.

I gritted my teeth as I dressed the wound. "Way to blame the hammer.
If your nail color changes in next three hours, we should go to the doctor."

"Will I lose it?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my cool. "You'll deserve it! What the fuck you know about hammering? Which dumbass gave you a hammer?"

Trev looked up from scrutinizing hus finger, "hey, don't belittle my friend. She was only trying to help. I was mentioning that I needed one and she lent me hers."

I went to the stairs and saw the warzone it had become. There was a tool box open with a variety of sharp and heavy objects. I should be grateful it was just his middle finger that was hurt. If he had been using any of the other tools, it could have been his whole hand. I took a breath to steady my fraying nerves. "Why the fuck, Trev? Who gave you this idea?"

He tilted his nose high. "Your dad. When he explained, it sounded rather simple. It is simple. It just slipped."

I groaned. "What's wrong with you? Can't you live with a broken board? Who asked you to fix it? It's a fucking staircase! One cursed step! You climb it exactly three times a day! What's the big fucking deal?" I lost my cool, fuck me.

Trev crossed his arms across his chest.

Oh, no. I had ample experience to identify that pose. He was gonna serve me down. I braced myself for the blasting.

"I'm having friends over tomorrow. One of them is, how do I say... a klutz. He would fall on flat surface when there's nothing to trip him. What if he puts his foot on this and tumbles down and breaks his head? Will that be a big enough deal for you?"

"Why would he go up?"

He raised his eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, there's a toilet right behind you. Why would a guest go up where there are only bedrooms?" I was honestly curious. I never questioned about his social life, half afraid that I would get introduced to his girlfriend or crush. But fixing stairs seemed a little extreme for a friend, a guy friend.

"Maybe I'd invite him. Maybe he'd want to look around." Trev replied haughtily.

My stomach twisted. "No. No, guests are allowed there."

Trev threw up his hands. "Jake! Don't be unreasonable. I want to fix the stairs. I can't have an unstable one. I need to fix it."

I snapped my fingers. "Now, you're speaking the truth. It's your own OCD. You must fix it. Don't you?" I asked, grinning. I started noticing his mild obsession with order of things around the house. He was very conscious of his actions and covered it up with some valid reasons. Now I had caught him red handed, or red fingered.

"No," Trev smiled sweetly, "it's perfectly acceptable for me if you do it or even better if a repairman does it."

I stared at him, slowly putting together his plan. "That's what this is about? Fuck you! Did you hurt yourself to force me to get it repaired? Fuck you to hell!"

I turned around and strode to couch, fuming.

He followed behind me and sat next to me. "I didn't plan to get injured. I just—"

"Let a hammer fall on your fingers. How would I feel, if we have to surgically remove your finger?"

He looked at the bandaged finger. "Jesus in heavens! I... will it come to that?"

I raised my brows innocently, "If your friend can trip on a hole that's at the bottom of the stairs and break his head open on an empty carpeted floor, you can very well lose a finger by a hammer injury."

He punched my shoulder.

That was his way of acknowledging my win. My heart was still overworking to accommodate my anger and stress, I couldn't enjoy my small victory.

"Seriously Trev, don't do anything stupid like this ever again. My dad has been tinkering around the house forever. He made his first table when he was fourteen. We're not like him, we are book worms. Just don't hurt yourself trying." I hated to advice him, it made me look older. Put me above him, but it was necessary.

"Maybe I'll make my own chair. Don't judge me."

Of course, he wouldn't listen.

I snickered. "Yeah, with a big ass 3D printer."

Trev laughed and picked a card from the end table. "Diana from next door gave me this."

I took it. "What for?"

"To repair the stairs. Call them and schedule to come tonight or early tomorrow morning."

I clutched my head. "You could have done it yourself. Why waste good blood?"

"I really thought it would be easy to do."

I glared. "You thought it would be fun to wreck my evening."

"Oh, please, it's just a shallow wound. It doesn't even hurt anymore. Moreover you have your first practical exam. Consider this as a mock."

"Don't." I didn't like it when anyone made any kind of comment about my upcoming exams. It irked me and made me worry more.

Somehow he sensed it. Trev must have his own list of new things he learned about me.

He patted my cheek with lean, soft fingers, sending warmth all over my body. "You're a baby. Don't worry, you'll do better in the real exam."

He stood up, "call them before you forget."

The perfection seeker in me bristled at the insult. "What do you mean, better? What's wrong with my bandage?"

Trev gave me a pitying smile, "you yelled at your patient and made him worry over nothing. I'd call it unprofessional and inexperienced."

I showed him my middle finger. Fuck his soft, warm fingers.

He laughed and went to the stereo system and resumed it.

'Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die.'

It continued singing.

I shook my head in amusement and watched Trev as he stretched next to me with a book of his own.