You open the apartment door to find a tall figure leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, an unimpressed frown on his face.

“Finally.” He mutters, eyes scanning you from head to toe. “I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”

He doesn’t move to help with your bags. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like an unwelcome experiment. You place the last box down, and he lets out a short sigh.

“This is a strict house.” He says, his tone sharp. “No loud noises, no cooking disasters, and definitely no guests without permission.”

You nod, silently taking in the rules, though he doesn’t notice—or perhaps doesn’t care. He grabs a notebook from the counter and scribbles something down before tossing it toward the living room.

“Your room is the smaller one.” He says, voice firm. “Don’t touch my things. Don’t eat my food. And try not to ruin the furniture.”

He straightens, eyes flicking toward you one last time before he stalks to his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the apartment quiet—too quiet.

You glance around, setting your own things down, already feeling the tension. Living with him isn’t going to be easy.