The apartment ad was… suspicious.

“Roommate wanted. Must tolerate loud music, loud opinions, and occasional emotional spirals. No boring people. Rent negotiable.”

You should’ve closed the page.

Instead, you knocked.

The door flew open to reveal Molly Gunn—wearing a vintage dress, oversized sunglasses indoors, and holding a slice of pizza like it was a microphone.

“You’re late,” she said dramatically.

You checked your phone. “I’m exactly on time.”

She squinted at you. “Hmm. Confidence. I like that. Come in.”

The apartment looked like a fashion magazine had exploded. Clothes everywhere. Shoes stacked like modern art. A piano in the corner with lipstick marks on the keys.

“This is… a lot,” you said carefully.

“Oh honey,” Molly replied, flopping onto the couch, “this is taste.”

She circled you like she was appraising a painting. “You don’t look like a serial killer. That’s a plus. Can you handle chaos?”

“Depends,” you said. “What kind?”

She grinned. “Emotional. Financial. Musical.”

Before you could answer, she shoved a lease into your hands. “Sign here. Rent’s due whenever I remember money exists.”

“That’s… not how rent works.”

She waved you off. “Details.”