Noah
The sky outside my studio apartment was turning orange by the time a sharp, familiar knock rattled my door.
I dragged myself off the couch, my lower back still aching from the sheer physical punishment of the past twenty-four hours, and pulled the door open.
Standing on the threshold was Mason, looking like he was preparing to survive a nuclear winter in my living room.
He had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, an oversized hoodie drowning his frame, and a massive grocery bag clutched in each hand.
"I have decided," Mason announced, barging past me into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, "that I am moving in until Monday morning. Consider yourself blessed."
I closed the door behind him, rubbing a hand over my face. "Mason, it's Saturday. I live in a one-room studio. Where do you even plan to sleep? Cause I need my bed all to myself right now."
