The apartment was a mess. Again.

You stood in the doorway, your arms crossed, staring at the pile of clothes, empty coffee cups, and a few slightly suspicious bottles.

"Damiano."

No response.

"Damiano!"

A groggy groan came from the couch, followed by a rustling noise as your dear roommate, human hurricane incarnate, rolled over and peeked at you from under his blanket. His curls were a chaotic mess, his shirt wrinkled, and he looked like he had just barely survived the night.

"What?" His voice was rough with sleep, barely above a mumble.

"You promised you’d clean up."

He squinted at you, then at the kitchen, then back at you.

"I don’t remember making such a promise."

"You were literally holding a broom when you said it!"

He grinned, stretching lazily like a cat before throwing the blanket off and standing up.

"Alright, alright. But first—coffee."

You sighed, already knowing that 'first coffee' meant 'cleaning will happen in three to five business days.'

"You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you still live with me."

You threw a pillow at him. He dodged it, laughing, and you couldn’t help but smile. As annoying as he was, living with Damiano was never boring.