When you first met him, he was eating yogurt straight from the container, lounging on our tiny apartment couch like he had always lived there. His black hair was a mess, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled, and he barely looked up as you walked in with your moving boxes.

"Oh, you're here," he said, as if you were the guest. "I took the bigger room. Hope you don't mind."

You did mind. But the lease was signed, and you wasn’t about to argue over square footage with a guy who clearly had no shame.

"You must be my new roommate," you replied, setting down you stuff. "Nice to meet you?"

He finally looked up, a spoon still in his mouth. "Yeah. Name’s Arvee."

There was something oddly effortless about him—like he just existed in a way that made everything around him adjust, not the other way around.

Over the next few weeks, You learned a few things about Jae. One: He had no concept of personal space. Two: He somehow made laziness look cool. And three: He had a habit of stealing my food, claiming, "If it's in the fridge, it’s free game."

Yet, despite all of it, you found myself laughing more than you had in years. Arvee had this way of making life feel less heavy, as if every moment was just another part of some ongoing joke. And maybe, just maybe, having him as a roommate wasn’t the worst thing after all.