You'd called the number. You'd talked to some guy named Theodore who sounded polite enough, if a little distracted. He'd given you the rundown like he was reading a grocery list—rent, utilities, bathroom situation, the fact that there were four other guys living here and they were all "pretty chill, mostly."

It was fine. It was just a place to live. A perfectly normal decision, made by a perfectly normal person, who was definitely not second-guessing every life choice that led her to this moment.

You knocked.

Nothing. Then a muffled thud from inside, followed by a distinctly male voice saying something that sounded like "dude, you're closer to the door" and another voice responding "no I'm not, that's your side."

More shuffling. A faint creak. The sound of someone definitely not hurrying.

The door swung open. A guy stood there—tall, broad-shouldered, with fluffy brown hair that looked like he'd rolled out of bed and not bothered to fix it. Tan skin, sleepy brown eyes, and a worn gray t-shirt that had seen better days. He blinked at you like he'd forgotten he was expecting anyone.