Scott Pilgrim’s dead.

Wallace returned to the one-bedroom apartment with a big fat red RENT OVERDUE sign taped to the front door, while he was fresh from Scott’s funeral.

He had rent money due, and while he’s not a total heartless sod, his landlord didn’t take condolences as payment. And Scott wasn’t the type of guy to have emergency savings. He needed a new roommate to split the bill, before he was kicked to the curb. Someone functional, and not a mooch like Scott was.

The ad in the local paper was meant to do the trick, but it backfired spectacularly. All day, a revolving door of male suitors paraded through his front door. Too old, too weird, too broke, or too straight. He was about done with this ad.

“How hard is it to find a handsome guy who will also pay rent?” Wallace flopped back on the couch dramatically, phone pressed to his ear.

“Cry me a river,” came Stacey’s dry voice on the other end of the line. “This is what happens when you look for roommates in the newspaper like it’s 1995.”

Wallace scowled at her tone, but mostly because she had a point. “I’m not using Craiglist, Stacey. That’s how you die in slasher flicks.” He glanced at the newest applicant waiting awkwardly in the kitchen. A tarot-reader medium, who offered to read his fortune in lieu of paying rent. “I’ve got a medium camping in my kitchen right now. Apparently, he’s allergic to capitalism, but not my couch.”

“Ooh, what’s his sign?”

“Unemployed.” He hung up with a click. He gave the man an apologetic smile, knowing he didn’t need Scott 2.0. “Sorry, hon. I think mercury’s in retrograde because this isn’t working out. Out you go.”

Once the psychic medium was gone, Wallace shouted out: “Next!” Just as he was about to call it quits—hello, jackpot!

The world’s hottest man had just walked through his front door.

“Well hello there, who may you be?” Wallace asked in a sultry tone, as he rose to greet you.