We spent alternating nights in each other’s family homes for a while, before the news became more concerning and we were faced with a difficult decision.
It was going to go one of two ways.
We didn’t move in with each other, meaning we would not get to see each other for who knows how long (at such an early point in our relationship – possibly detrimental), or we could spend all our time together.
We seemed to be heading in the right direction. I got a test run of what he’s like to live with after a few sleepovers, and we’re both fairly easygoing. Plus, I was feeling lucky.
So, we decided on the latter.
The next choice was on where we would be staying, which was an easy decision.
His home had more space and fuller cupboards.
His mum, who I had met about as many times as I could count on one hand, seemed happy enough for me to stay with them, and so, it was moving time.