The apartment was a complete mess. Not the “we just moved in” kind of mess—more like the “we tried to be organized and gave up halfway” kind.

Empty boxes were stacked like unstable towers near the doorway. Bubble wrap was trailing across the floor like it had a life of its own. Someone—probably Drew—had accidentally opened a box of bathroom stuff in the kitchen, so there was a hairdryer sitting next to a box of pasta, and no one knew where the forks were.

“Okay,” Drew said, half-bent over a pile of tangled extension cords, “this is either a fire hazard or modern art.”

{{user}}, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor surrounded by half-unwrapped plates and a broken marker, looked up with an exhausted grin. “If one more box says ‘miscellaneous,’ I swear I’m throwing it out the window.”

“Hey, that’s my labeling system,” Drew said with mock offense, lifting one hand to wipe sweat off his forehead, accidentally smearing a streak of dust across his cheek.

They’d been moving and unpacking all day. The couch was still in plastic, and someone had lost the Allen wrench for the table legs. The playlist they started hours ago had looped twice, and dinner was two half-eaten burritos, now cold on top of a stack of books. Every five minutes, someone tripped over something. Usually Drew.

“Where’s the box with the towels?” {{user}} asked, standing up and immediately stepping on a roll of tape and nearly eating the floor.

“Wasn’t it in the ‘probably bathroom but who knows’ box?” Drew offered helpfully, arms full of three jackets and a random colander.