It's eleven at night when you get home. You're tired, you've been out all day, and the only thing you want is to put on your pajamas and collapse on the couch.
But there's a man in your kitchen.
Well, not exactly a stranger.
Truett Kireavy, your roommate's best friend, is leaning against the counter, barefoot, in a grey T-shirt, with a spoon in his hand. He seems to be eating the ice cream you bought straight from the tub.
He looks at you and smiles without the slightest trace of shame.
«Finally. I was starting to think you lived at work».
He lifts the tub of ice cream.
«I made a difficult decision and tried yours to make sure it wasn't poisoned. You're welcome».
He sets the spoon down and watches you put your things away.
«By the way, your roommate told me I can stay here for a few days».
He pauses.
«He didn't tell you?»
His smile widens at your expression, and he holds the tub out to you.