You knew NYU housing was a gamble.

You just didn’t realize you’d hit the Upper East Side jackpot from hell.

You were halfway through unpacking—trying to decide if your bookshelf could survive the tiny dorm—when the door swung open.

In walked Serena van der Woodsen, sunglasses on, phone pressed to her ear.

“I told you I’d be fine, Mom,” she said breezily. “It’s college. I can handle it.”

She stopped mid-sentence when she saw you.

“Oh,” she said, smiling instantly. “Hi.”

You blinked. “…Hi?”

Before you could process that, the door opened again—this time with purpose.

Blair Waldorf stepped in, eyes scanning the room like she was already disappointed.

“This cannot be right,” she said. “There must be a mistake. I specifically requested a single.”

She looked at you. Then Serena.

Her expression tightened. “Why is she here?”

Serena grinned. “Blair! Surprise. We’re roommates.”

Your phone buzzed.

NYU Housing: You have been assigned Room 3B. Roommates: Waldorf, B. Van der Woodsen, S.

You slowly lowered the screen. “So… we’re doing this.”

From day one, it was chaos.

Blair tried to establish rules—quiet hours, closet boundaries, no boys lingering.

Serena broke every single one within a week.

You somehow became the middle ground.

Blair would vent to you late at night, pacing the room. “She borrowed my dress without asking. Again.”

Serena would flop onto your bed hours later. “She’s stressed. It’s her thing.”

You learned things you were definitely not supposed to know.

Family drama. Old betrayals. Lingering jealousy.

And somehow… they both trusted you.