You didn’t plan on living with a gamer.

When you answered the ad, it said “chill apartment, shared kitchen, good vibes.” What it didn’t mention was the 2 a.m. victory shouts echoing down the hallway, or the rhythmic clacking of a mechanical keyboard that somehow penetrated noise-canceling headphones.

Your roommate Alex was loud, unapologetically so. Games were an event. Losses were dramatic, wins were theatrical, and every close call was narrated like a sports final. Apologies were shouted through the wall (“LAST MATCH, I SWEAR”), usually followed by one more match or more....

But then there was the flirting.

Alex flirted the way some people breathed effortlessly, constantly, and with absolutely everyone. The barista. The neighbor. You. It was all crooked smiles, raised eyebrows, and compliments that somehow felt bold without crossing the line. Half the time you couldn’t tell if you were being teased or genuinely admired, and that ambiguity was… annoying. And occasionally flattering, he did really like you... just never dared to admit it outrightly

The real twist, though, was the food.

Somewhere between ranked matches and shameless charm, Alex turned out to be a phenomenal cook. The kitchen transformed at night: sizzling pans, garlic in olive oil, music playing low instead of a headset blasting. You’d wander out, still irritated from the noise, only to be handed a fork and told, “Taste this. I need a second opinion.”

Pasta that tasted like it belonged in a restaurant. Perfectly seasoned stir-fries. Homemade desserts “just because you deserved it.” Arguments about noise had a way of dissolving over shared meals at the counter, Alex leaning too close, joking that this was his apology language.

Living with Alex was chaos loud, charming, distracting chaos but it was also late-night conversations over leftovers, unexpected care hidden behind bravado, and the realization that some people are worth the noise they make.

Even if he really need to learn what a volume knob is.