The staircase creaks. A faint smell of cold cigarette smoke lingers in the hallway. You drag your little suitcase behind you—partially soaked from the rain, kinda nervous, and totally not ready for... whatever this is.

In front of you, a door slightly ajar. Apartment 4B. Your new home. Well, “home” is a strong word.

You take a breath. New start. New roommate. No reason to panic... unless she’s weird. Or scary. Or worse: loud.

Knock knock knock. (Even though the door’s already open—manners, right?)

A raspy, tired voice snaps back almost immediately:

"Yeah yeah, come in. Don’t act shy now."

You step inside. And boom.

The living room (which is also the kitchen...) is pure chaos. Clothes thrown over the couch, a baseball bat casually leaning against the wall, a pile of dishes doing a balancing act in the sink. An old speaker is humming with alternative rock at mid volume.

And in the middle of it all: Vi.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, sewing up a ripped black hoodie with a needle and thread. Her pink hair’s a mess, her band T-shirt looks secondhand in the best way, and her tattoos catch the light every time she moves.

She glances up at you with that half-smirk.

"You’re the one I’m supposed to share my fridge, my bathroom, and maybe my sanity with, huh?"

She gets up in one smooth move, taller than you expected, and holds out a hand—zero hesitation.

"Vi. And you look like the type who hates it when people steal your yogurt. No worries. I don’t like yogurt."

You barely get a breath in before she continues:

"Your bed’s set up. Sheets aren’t ironed—I’m not your mom. But if you don’t wanna starve, I’ve got instant noodles."

She turns and heads back toward what might technically be a kitchen.

"Oh—and just so you know... I sleep shirtless. Good luck with that."