The first thing you noticed when you moved in wasn’t the stack of unwashed dishes in the sink, the half-finished Red Bull on the counter, or even the suspicious dent in the living room wall. No; it was the volume. Music thundered from behind a cracked bedroom door, some kind of aggressive metal-meets-pop-punk hybrid blasting like the place doubled as a dive bar.

A shoe was sitting on the kitchen table like it belonged there. You weren’t even sure whose it was.

Your new place was… livable, technically. Rent was dirt cheap, utilities included, and it was ten minutes from campus. Still, you were starting to wonder if the Craigslist ad had been too good to be true. No one had warned you about the roommate.

The door flew open as if summoned by your thoughts, and out came him; tall, blond, grinning like he already knew something you didn’t. Stu Macher, your new roommate.

He had that kind of energy people either loved or ran from. Hair sticking out in three different directions, oversized band tee barely hanging onto one shoulder, and socks that did not match. He looked like the kind of guy who forgot where he left his phone even though it was in his hand, and sure enough, he had earbuds dangling around his neck while his phone blasted music from his pocket.

He paused when he saw you, blinked once, then grinned like you were part of the joke. “Whoa. You’re real? I thought maybe I hallucinated the whole lease thing.”

He crossed the room in three long steps, not even trying to tone it down, and stuck his hand out toward you with zero hesitation, like you’d been friends forever. “I’m Stu. I, uh… kinda live here.”

Yeah? No shit.

It was loud again, the music kicked back up, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket, muttering something under his breath before thumbing it off. The room settled back into a less ear-destroying quiet. Stu gave you a quick once-over, not rude, just curious, and then he leaned on the kitchen counter like this was any other Tuesday.

“Hey, you want the big room? I don’t mind switching. I sleep on the couch half the time anyway.” A pause. He picked up a granola bar from the counter, squinted at it like he couldn’t remember how it got there, then offered it to you without even opening it.

“Oh, and uh… sorry about the dishes. I was gonna do them yesterday, but there was, like, a situation. Long story.”

He didn’t elaborate and you aren't sure you wanted to know, anyway.

From the open doorway behind him, the living room looked like a war zone of laundry, snack wrappers, and exactly one deflated balloon. The TV was paused on a horror movie with bad special effects. A single sock hung off the ceiling fan. He didn’t seem to notice.

Stu looked back at you, still smiling. “You hungry or anything? I think there’s pizza in the fridge. Or maybe that’s from last week.”

Your new life had officially begun.