Updated Feb 24, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Blair
Week one of living together brought reality setting in fast. Cal was a morning person. Blair was not. He was up at 6 AM, loudly making coffee while she tried to sleep. Failing.
“Do you have to be so cheerful this early?”
“It’s a beautiful morning!”
“It’s 6 AM. Morning doesn’t start until 8.”
“Lazy.”
She threw a pillow at him. Welcome to cohabitation.
They had one bathroom. Shared. Cal took forever showers. Used all the hot water.
“Are you serious right now?”
“What?”
“There’s no hot water left!”
“I was in there ten minutes—”
“Twenty. I timed it.”
“That’s… probably accurate.”
Blair’s freezing shower was very unromantic.
Kitchen division was straightforward: Blair cooks, Cal cleans. Except Cal’s version of “clean” was questionable.
“Did you actually wash this pan?”
“Yes.”
“There’s still food on it.”
“That’s seasoning.”
“That’s neglect.”
She rewashed everything. Cal pouted. “I’m trying my best.”
“Try harder. Or I’m not cooking.”
They fought about stupid things. Thermostat settings. Cal liked it cold. Blair liked it warm. Compromise: alternating days. Still annoying.
“I’m freezing.”
“Wear a sweater.”
“Or you could turn up the heat.”
“It’s my day.”
“Thermostat dictator.”
“That’s me.”
Grocery shopping together was a disaster. Cal wanted junk food. Blair wanted healthy food. They compromised by buying both. Cart was chaos. Vegetables and cookies. Quinoa and chips.
“We’re going to gain so much weight,” Blair said.
“Or achieve perfect balance.”
“Doubtful.”
Netflix arguments were constant. Cal wanted action movies. Blair wanted documentaries.
“We’re not watching another explosion fest.”
“We’re not watching another sad animal documentary.”
“Then what do we watch?”
“…cooking shows?”
“Deal.”
They binged the Great British Bake Off. Both obsessed. Common ground found.
Week two brought adjusting. Learning each other’s rhythms. Cal worked out daily at 7 AM. Blair did yoga at 8 AM. They gave each other space. Then coffee together at 9 AM. Routine forming. It was nice. Predictable. Comforting.
Blair learned Cal talks in his sleep. Full conversations. Nonsense. “Pass the puck. No, left. LEFT. Terrible play.” She recorded it, played it back in the morning.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“You exactly sound like that.”
“Delete it.”
“Never. This is gold.”
Cal learned Blair stress cleans. Bad day at work? Apartment’s spotless by evening.
“You cleaned the baseboards.”
“I had a frustrating session.”
“The patient or the baseboards?”
“Both. Now they’re clean.”
He didn’t question it anymore. Just enjoyed the sparkling apartment.
Week three, they hosted their first dinner party. Nash visiting from Seattle. Amanda and coworkers from Vancouver. Blair was stressed.
“What if it’s awkward?”
“It won’t be. Everyone likes us.”
“Separately. What if they don’t like us together?”
“Then they can leave.”
Dinner went perfectly. Everyone mixed. Laughed. Told embarrassing stories.
“Remember when Cal tried to cook for Blair?” Nash started.
“Don’t—” Cal warned.
“He set off the fire alarm. Twice. Same meal.”
Everyone was dying laughing. “I’ve improved!” Cal protested.
“You burned water last week,” Blair added.
“I was distracted!”
After everyone left, they cleaned together. Washing dishes. Putting away chairs. Comfortable silence.
“That was fun,” Cal said.
“It was. We should do it more often.”
“Weekly dinner parties?”
“Monthly. I’m not cleaning like this weekly.”
“Fair.”
Month two brought them fully settled. The apartment felt like home. Their home. Photos on walls. Plants by windows. Shared bookshelves. Evidence of two lives merging. It was beautiful.
Blair noticed Cal’s quirks. He folded laundry meticulously. Everything perfectly creased.
“Why does it matter? It’s getting wrinkled in the drawer.”
“Principle. Doing it right matters.”
“You’re weird.”
“You love it.”
She did.
Cal noticed Blair’s quirks. She read three books simultaneously. Different genres. Different moods.
“How do you keep them straight?”
“They’re all different. Easy.”
“I can barely track one plot.”
“That’s because you read slowly.”
“I savor.”
“You fall asleep every three pages.”
True.
They developed shared routines. Sunday mornings: farmers market. Tuesday nights: trivia at local bar. Thursdays: cook together, new recipe each week. It was domestic. Boring. Perfect. This was what Blair wanted. Not the grand romance. The quiet one. Daily life. Shared space. Togetherness.
First fight in the apartment came over dishes. Blair asked Cal to do them. He forgot. Three days running. She snapped.
“Why is this so hard? Just wash the dishes!”
“I forgot! I’m busy!”
“I’m busy too! But I still do my part!”
“I’ll do them now—”
“That’s not the point! The point is I asked three times!”
Cal washed dishes silently. Pissed. Blair paced. Also pissed.
They cooled off separately. Cal in the bedroom. Blair in the living room. Both stubborn. After an hour, Cal emerged.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve done them.”
“I’m sorry for yelling. I was frustrated.”
“I’ll set a reminder. So I don’t forget.”
“That would help.”
They hugged. First fight. First makeup. Growing pains.
They learned compromise. Cal’s hockey schedule conflicted with Blair’s work events. They negotiated.
“I’ll skip Tuesday practice for your work gala.”
“And I’ll reschedule my conference call for your game.”
Give and take. Partnership.
Month three brought their anniversary of getting back together. Cal planned something special. Surprised Blair with a dinner reservation. Fancy restaurant. Downtown.
“Why are we so dressed up?”
“It’s a special night.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“One year since we reconciled. Since I drove to Vancouver and refused to let you go.”
Blair teared up. “You remembered.”
“Of course. Best decision I ever made.”
Dinner was perfect. Reminiscing. Laughing. Grateful. “We’ve come so far,” Blair said.
“From firing to this. It’s been a journey.”
“Worth it though.”
“Every second.”
After dinner, Cal was nervous. Fidgeting. Distracted.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… there’s something I want to ask.”
Blair’s heart raced. Is this…? Cal reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small box. Oh my god.
“Blair Sutton. I’ve loved you from the moment you told me to do ten more reps. You’ve challenged me. Changed me. Made me better. I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you—”
He paused. Opened the box. Inside: a key. Not a ring. A key. Blair was confused.
“Will you officially combine our leases? Make this apartment legally ours? Both our names?”
Blair laughed. Relieved. Disappointed. Amused. “You’re such a troll.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. I’ll legally share the apartment.”
He grinned. “Good. Because I already submitted the paperwork.”
“Presumptuous.”
“Confident.”
Walking home, Blair asked: “So no proposal?”
“Not yet. When I propose, you’ll know. It’ll be perfect.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true. I’m planning something. Trust me.”
“I do. But I’m impatient.”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“I hate waiting.”
“I know. Makes it more fun.”
That night, lying in bed, Cal said: “I lied earlier.”
“About?”
He pulled out another box. This one different. Opened it. Ring inside. Beautiful. Simple. Perfect. Blair was crying.
“Cal—”
“I’m not proposing. Not yet. Not officially. But I want you to know. This is real. I bought this ring three months ago. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
“Why wait?”
“Because you deserve perfect. Not rushed. Not convenient. Perfect.”
Blair kissed him. “You’re already perfect.”
“Just wait. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
Blair fell asleep happy. Living with Cal was everything. The annoying morning cheerfulness. The too-long showers. The debates about thermostats. All of it. Because it was real life. Together. Not stolen weekends. Not long-distance calls. Actual life. Waking up together. Going to sleep together. Existing in the same space. Building something. A home. A partnership. A future. This was what she fought for. And it was perfect. Messy. Imperfect. Perfectly perfect.
She looked at Cal sleeping beside her. Snoring softly. Drooling slightly. Not romantic. But hers. All hers. And soon—maybe very soon—he’d propose. Make it official. Forever. She could wait. Because this? Right now? Already felt like forever. And she’d never been happier.
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