"Move in with me," he says, my mind immediately racing in response to his words. He can't be serious; he must be caught up in the moment of the day. Why would he want me to move in?
"Are you serious?" I ask him. His eyes pour into mine, his head nodding microscopically.
"Very serious," his voice answers, his tone slightly stern and focused, almost like he's in business mode, making a deal.
"You realize that if I moved in, I'd be here a lot, like all the time, always in your space..." I begin to trail off, trying to picture how this would all work.
"Yes, I thought about that." His lips turn upwards into a half-smile. He's thought this through; how long has he been thinking about this?
"This is your place, your Bachelor Pad." My head turns to look at the surroundings. The place that once struck me as a museum feels slightly more homely than when I first entered. He now has a plant that he, or more likely the maids, have been keeping alive for weeks. The piece of art that his friend made hangs in the entryway. I feel less afraid to move around the place, even though I have only entered a few of its rooms.
"Well, I'm not a bachelor, so I have no need for a bachelor pad anymore," he clarifies, and it was secretly the answer I had been hoping for. No longer does he classify himself as a single man. Even though in my mind we have been exclusive for quite some time, it still is nice sometimes to hear the clarification. It signifies a change in lifestyle, and not one I've forced him to make or inadvertently guilt-tripped him into but one he's made because he wants to. Another thought occurs to me as I look down at the keys in my hand; there are two.
"You need two keys to get in?" I've only ever seen him use one, along with a 6-digit code. A sheepish smile crosses his face as he too looks down at the keys.