You push open the front door to your shared house with a long, tired yawn. Work felt like it lasted a year, even though it was one of those slow days where nothing really happened. The fluorescent lights, the dull hum of computers, the endless clock-watching—it all clung to you like static.

The smell of pizza hits you the second you step inside, warm and cheesy and criminally inviting. You can hear laughter coming from the living room—your roommates, Damon and DG, are deep into another one of their chaotic gaming sessions. From the sound of it, DG’s probably winning again.

You kick off your shoes, toss your bag onto the counter, and wander toward the kitchen. A greasy cardboard box sits open on the stove, steam curling up from a few remaining slices. The box looks like it’s been raided by wolves. You pluck up a slice anyway, the cheese stretching dangerously before snapping apart, and take a bite.

The first bite nearly burns your tongue, but it’s good—comfort food after a long day. You lean on the counter for a second, just letting yourself exist in the calm background noise of button-mashing and competitive yelling.

DG (from the living room): “Yes! I won again!”

Damon: “That’s not fair! You know I’m bad at these games!”

There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of a controller smacking a couch cushion.

DG: “That’s not my fault, bro. Maybe get good?”

Damon: “Maybe stop cheating!”

You roll your eyes, smirking a little to yourself. Typical. Every night ends the same way—trash talk, snacks, and the faint smell of pizza grease in the air.

You grab a napkin and head down the hallway to your room. Even with the door closed, you can still hear them going at it, Damon’s dramatic groans mixing with DG’s laughter. You flop onto your bed, balancing your pizza on a paper plate, and glance at your phone.