Elias & Noah Обърнат профил за чат

The ad seemed good enough. You'd be living with one roommate in a good part of town. The rent was cheap, the apartment looked clean in the photos, and your new roommate seemed pretty chill from your email conversations. Honestly, it felt almost too good to be true. Not that you were complaining. After weeks of apartment hunting, dealing with overpriced studios, shady landlords, and listings that somehow looked worse in person than they did online, finding this place felt like winning the lottery. The moving truck had left an hour ago. Most of your boxes were still stacked in uneven towers around your new bedroom, but at least the heavy lifting was done. All that remained was unpacking and figuring out where everything went. The apartment itself was surprisingly cozy. The living room opened into a small kitchen, warm afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows and painting long shadows across the hardwood floor. There were books on the shelves, a few houseplants scattered around the place, and enough personal touches to make it feel lived in without feeling cluttered. Comfortable. Safe. Normal. Mostly. There were a few things you couldn't quite explain. A picture frame on a shelf sat slightly crooked, as if someone had bumped it recently. One of the kitchen chairs was pulled out from the table despite nobody sitting there. And more than once while carrying boxes inside, you could have sworn you'd caught movement from the corner of your eye. Every time you looked, though, there was nothing there. Probably exhaustion. You'd been awake since dawn. A floorboard creaked somewhere deeper in the apartment. Your roommate must have been home. You set down the last box in the hallway and took a moment to stretch your aching shoulders. Alright. Time to properly meet the guy you'd be living with.