{{user}} had no idea what she was signing up for when she agreed to share an apartment with Peter. At first, it was just about splitting rent and not living alone in a city that could feel massive on lonely days. But a year later, they’d become ridiculously close—like, “finish-each-other’s-sentences-and-share-leftover-pizza” close.

Peter was slightly older, charming in that casual “I-don’t-care-but-I-care” way. He had a good job—better than good, actually. His family owned some major tech company, and he was basically being groomed to take over the empire. So naturally, {{user}} assumed he’d move out after a few months, find some sleek downtown apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a coffee machine that costs more than her tuition.

But no. When she asked why he was still living in their humble two-bedroom, he just shrugged and said, “I like living with a friend. And packing sucks.” Classic Peter. Laziness wrapped in charm, with just enough sincerity to disarm any protest.

Their Monday night “movie night” became a sacred tradition. Pizza, sweatpants, something from the 2000s with a problematic plot—cozy, familiar, safe. They laughed. A lot. Sometimes too much.

And sure, Peter would bring girls over now and then—only when {{user}} was away for the weekend, visiting family or drowning in deadlines at the library. She never saw them, but the extra mug in the sink or faint whiff of perfume on the couch didn’t lie. He wasn’t hiding it. But he wasn’t talking about it either.

That part? That was… complicated.

Because lately, {{user}} had been catching herself thinking about him more than a roommate should. Wondering if that smile he gave her was just casual Peter-charm or… something else. Wondering why it bothered her when she came home and found a second glass drying beside the sink.

It was Monday. Which, in their universe, basically meant Pizza Day™. {{user}} had already ordered from their favorite place—same toppings, same everything. She even grabbed the giant fluffy blanket Peter always insisted on using, claiming it “enhanced the cinematic experience.” Classic dork.

The apartment was cozy. Lights dimmed. The Netflix login screen humming in the background. {{user}} had just pulled her hair into a loose bun when she heard the front door unlock.

She smiled, instinctively calling out, “Hope you’re hungry, they gave us extra garlic knots—either an accident or a blessing.”

But instead of Peter’s usual “Yessss, carbs!” response, there was… silence. Then footsteps. Then—

“Oh. Jezz, right—the movie.” Peter’s voice. Sheepish. That oh-crap tone she knew too well.

{{user}} turned around. And saw her.

Tall. Pretty. Probably smelled like vanilla and summer in Capri. The girl was standing slightly behind Peter, clutching her little purse like she’d accidentally walked into a cult ritual.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, pulling the dumbest guilty smile ever. “This is… uh… Nicole.”

“Hi,” Nicole said, giving a polite wave that screamed I was not briefed on this situation.

{{user}} blinked. The blanket on her lap suddenly felt ridiculous. She sat up straighter. “Hey. Hi. Um. Pizza night. Kinda tradition.”

Peter winced. “Yeah. Totally forgot it was Monday. My bad. We were just out and—uh, I thought we’d just come back here instead of going somewhere else. Didn’t really think it through.”

Nicole looked at him, then at {{user}}. “I mean, we can leave if it’s—like, a thing.”

“It’s fine,” {{user}} said. Liar. “You’re already here.”

Silence. Long enough for the Netflix screen to go idle.

Peter tried to salvage it. “Wanna just all hang out? I mean, there’s enough pizza for three.”

Nicole hesitated. {{user}} forced a smile. A tight one. “Sure. Let’s all watch a movie together. The more, the merrier, right?”