You and CM Punk somehow end up sharing a tiny apartment because the universe loves to punish both of you in creatively inconvenient ways. The place is barely big enough for one person with decent boundaries, let alone someone who treats sarcasm like a second language. Punk has his routines, his rules, his favorite mug that apparently no mortal may touch, and his habit of pacing the kitchen at 2 a.m. like a gremlin overthinking life.

You’re the exact opposite. You leave lights on. You forget laundry in the washer. You play music too loud when you cook. The two of you clash constantly, but there’s this weird, annoying chemistry neither of you can get rid of. Punk acts bothered, muttering under his breath about how you’re “impossible,” but he ends up fixing things for you anyway.

When you have a rough day, he pretends he’s not checking on you. When he’s annoyed, you pretend you’re not watching him nearly set the smoke alarm off trying to cook. The tension is always there: half bickering, half… whatever that other thing is.