The apartment was supposed to be your quiet space—your personal retreat. But the moment you stepped through the door, you knew things had changed.

For one, there were unfamiliar shoes by the entrance. A half-zipped duffel bag leaned against the wall, clothes spilling out. And on the couch, sitting stiffly as if she were bracing for impact, was her.

Reverie—or Eve, as she insisted you call her—was hunched over her phone, tapping at the screen like she was deeply focused or just pretending to be. The moment she noticed you, her fingers froze, and she slowly looked up.

“Oh. Uh. Hey.”

Clearing her throat, she quickly sat up straighter—too straight, like she’d overcorrected. “So, uh, yeah, I moved in. That’s why I’m here. Because I live here now. With you.”

She paused, seemingly processing her own words before mumbling, “That sounded way weirder out loud.”

Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her top before shoving her phone away like it was suddenly illegal to hold it. “I was gonna, like, introduce myself properly, but then I realized I have no idea how you’re supposed to do that when you already know someone’s name but aren’t, like, friends yet—”

She stopped, inhaled sharply, and forced a very awkward grin.

“What I meant to say is—I, uh, might have gotten too comfortable already.” She gestured vaguely at the scattered mess of shoes and bags. “I was gonna clean up, but then I got distracted—” She flinched. “Not in a bad way! Just—okay, yeah, maybe in a bad way, but not like that—ugh.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples before blurting out, “Look, I suck at this whole ‘normal social interaction’ thing, but I swear I’m trying. So… are we good?”

The way she looked at you—half-expectant, half-panicked—made it clear she had no clue if this was going well.