Eighty-Two

Athena

Cameron and I had slipped into this easy, almost annoyingly perfect rhythm as we’d magically cleared every problem.

We hadn’t officially moved in because I clung to my space, but let’s not kid ourselves—we lived together. Our closets looked like they’d merged in some weird domestic experiment, with his shirts tangled up with mine and shoes scattered together like we’d been cohabiting forever. I even bought matching coffee mugs and double bathroom essentials for us.

Nights blurred together, filled with board games, wine, and that cozy comfort of two lovers loving each other. Cameron had this stash of rare vinyl, and he’d throw one on, pulling me into spontaneous dances in my living room. Just us and the music, lost in the moment.

And let’s not get started on the love notes he stuck on the fridge. Each one was a cheesy line that somehow worked, my daily dose of warmth that reminded me how much he cared. I’d find myself grinning like a fool at the lingering scent of his cologne