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Hakeem, mug halfway to his mouth, stopped, and Antonio waited.

There were very few graceful ways to respond to that question once your brain had already begun scoring it like a true-crime reenactment.

“Depends,” Hakeem said carefully. “Why?”

“So I know when you’ll be asleep half the day.”

Antonio said it evenly, matter-of-factly, as if this was a neutral bit of roommate logistics and not something a killer would absolutely say five minutes before calmly buying duct tape and bleach.

Hakeem took a sip of coffee to buy time. “That’s… considerate.”

Antonio’s eyes narrowed a fraction, not suspicious, just focused. “It’s an old house. If I vacuum past your room at ten in the morning after a close, you’ll hate me.”

That was annoyingly reasonable.

“I’d survive,” Hakeem said.

“You’d be loud about it.”

Something about the way Antonio said, you’d be loud, sent a dizzying flutter through Hakeem’s stomach.

Antonio gestured towards Hakeem with his mug and said, “When do you usually get in?”

Another practical question wearing the shoes of a threat.

Hakeem made himself lean against the opposite counter like this was all very casual. “After midnight, if I close. Earlier if I don’t.” Hakeem thought it better to leave an air of ambiguity. You know, for safety.

Antonio nodded once.

Well, that’s been noted, Hakeem’s brain said.

Hakeem prided himself on not being a nervous person. He wasn’t exceedingly tall for a man, but he had a trim strength to him that most underestimated. He knew how to defend himself, a skill honed by years growing up as a gay Black and Mexican kid at various schools in Southern California. Those intersecting identities, unfortunately, warranted learning how to throw a punch and protect your jaw.

He considered that would be helpful here… just in case.

“For the front lock,” Antonio added. “The deadbolt sticks if you turn it too far, so if you’re coming in late, I won’t throw the top chain.”

Hakeem hated this because it meant that if Antonio did eventually try to harm him, there would be a clean paper trail of him having behaved helpfully first.

Antonio took another sip. “Did you open your bedroom window yesterday?”

Hakeem stared.

“What?”

“The window.”

“No, I heard the words. I’m just wondering why you want to know if I’ve opened my window.”

Antonio looked at him over the rim of his mug. “Because the upstairs traps heat. If you leave it shut all day, your room gets stale.”

“Oh.”

“And because if you force it without lifting first, the frame jams.”

“Oh,” Hakeem said again, which was quickly becoming his least dignified sound.

Antonio set the mug down in the sink. “Last question and then I promise to stop interrogating: do you lock your bedroom door?”