After what felt like a lifetime of dead ends—lofts that echoed, duplexes that suffocated, places too large to fill or too small to breathe in—you finally found one that didn’t feel like a compromise.

This one… fit.

Affordable. Decent location. Just enough space to belong to you.

It should’ve been perfect.

What the listing failed to mention—rather conveniently—was that it didn’t come empty.

The moment you stepped inside, key still warm between your fingers, the illusion cracked.

Your gaze caught immediately—snagged, held—on the man sprawled across the couch like he’d been carved into it. Shirtless. Relaxed to the point of arrogance. One leg stretched wide, the other lazily bent, as though the space itself answered to him.

A cigarette burned between his fingers, smoke coiling upward in slow, deliberate spirals—unbothered.

So was he.

“You must be our new roommate.”

His voice was smooth—too smooth. The kind that didn’t ask, only confirmed.

He didn’t sit up. Didn’t shift. Just looked at you—slow, measuring, like he had all the time in the world to decide what you were worth.

Our?

The word barely had time to settle before movement stirred behind you.

Another presence.

You turned just in time to catch him leaning against the doorway—like he’d been there all along, waiting to be noticed.

Snow-white hair.

His bright blue eyes dragged over you with open curiosity, something playful—something dangerous—glinting just beneath the surface.

“You’re pretty cute,” he said, voice dipped in something soft and taunting all at once.