But what isn’t romantic about people going to each other’s houses? And not in the “showing up on the doorstep in the rain with a boombox” type of way. I mean, the familiarity, the routine. I mean knowing where the extra toilet paper in the bathroom is, which burner on the stove doesn’t work, where to park when you get there, and where the extra blankets are for when you need to sleep over. To go to another person’s house, to be in their space continuously, is inherently romantic.