ROOMATE!CHOSO 🍒 I was twenty-two, successful, independent, and finally ready for a place of my own. A luxury apartment in the city seemed perfect—no commitments, no complications, just a temporary home between photoshoots, runway shows, and traveling the world. Then I opened the front door and found a six-foot-tall stranger standing in my kitchen. Choso Kamo. Quiet. Cold. Irritatingly handsome. A leasing mistake left us both with legally valid contracts and neither of us willing to give up the apartment. So we made rules. Don’t touch my things. Don’t enter my room. Don’t interfere in my life. Simple. Until it wasn’t. Because somewhere between arguing over the thermostat, late-night kitchen conversations, stolen hoodies, movie nights, and the small acts of kindness neither of us admitted to, the apartment stopped feeling like a place I lived. It started feeling like home. The only problem? Home had dark hair, a quiet voice, a terrible habit of pretending he didn’t care, and absolutely no idea that he was falling in love with me.