Chapter 10
The plane touched down and we headed straight to my rental nightmare–a shared apartment with two local girls. Tristan’s place was mercifully close
- by.
Reality hat like a sledgehammer. The academic workload was absolutely brutal, and my cooking skills were basically “can be water without burning down the kitchen. Thank god Tristan vras some kind of domestic wizard who could actually cook real food. I tried to play it cool at first, not wanting to be that pathetic friend who constantly mooches meals. But his cooking was legitimately incredible, so I eventually said fuck it and started showing up regularly, paying my debt in dishwashing labor.
Meanwhile, my living situation was actual hell on earth. One roommate turned our place into a nightclub seven days a week–hass pounding until sunrise like some kind of psychological torture. The other one was a walking disaster who left the common areas looking like a tornado hit them.
Zero sleep, garhage food, constant stress. Within a week I looked like an extra from a zombie movie.
During one of my shameless dinner infiltrations, I was bitching about my trainwreck roommates. Tristan just listened, then calmly set down his chopsticks and pushed up his glasses:
“Noa, you could move in here if you want. My roommate just bailed. Room’s empty.”
Heat. Then “Plus, you know, easier meal situation.”
When it came down to basic human survival, the choice was obvious. Besides, Tristan had this whole “celibate mock meets boy scout” energy going on–completely safe, utterly reliable.
Living with him felt like the first smart decision I’d made in months.
After moving in, my life did a complete 180. Real sleep, actual breakfast waiting when I woke up, a space that didn’t look like a fraternity after rush week
The guy was practically OCD–everything spotless without me having to do jack shit..
Our routine became grocery runs and recipe hunting, me chopping vegetables while he worked magic at the stove.
Finally, some fucking peace and stability.
But then there were… moments.
Living with a guy creates these weird intimate flashes. Like laundry day–our underwear hanging side by side on the balcony. I’d grab my stuff while laser focusing on anything else, but my peripheral vision would catch those dark boxer briefs and their.. impressive dimensions.
Or movie nights when intimate scenes would pop up, turning the air thick with awkwardness while we both suddenly found the ceiling fascinating Such a mindfuck compared to living with Lennon
He’d been like an overgrown toddler–clothes everywhere, ordering takeout when hungry, passing out wherever he landed. I’d basically been bis unpaid housekeeper. Living with someone this competent felt like nepping into an alternate universe.
I’d figured living with Mr. Stoic and Silent would be mind numbingly boring. Total opposite–we discovered tons of unexpected common growt
We already worked seamlessly as study partners, griting into heated debates that could rage until 3 AM over some obscure theory,
With ham, conversation just Bowed Ideas, thoughts, everything felt easy.
For the first time in forever, I wasn’t walking or eggshells or managing someone else’s emotions. Leould just… br.
