Roommate Dc Novels & Stories

Jenna blurted out, completely caught off guard. Drake offered a faint smile, as though this was amusing to him. “Looks like I’m your third roommate.” Drake Vexmoor was the third roommate? He leaned casually against the counter, his eyes flicking toward her with the same unreadable depth from before. “Morning,” he said with a slow, amused grin. Jenna blinked. “You… live here?” “Looks like it,” he said simply. “I was told this room was reserved for a special pairing. Seems I got lucky.”

Instead, I sent another message. Me: I’m outside your hostel. Come down. Five minutes. That’s all. Still nothing. I paced under the shelter near the entrance. A girl with bright red hair stepped out, Angelina, her roommate. She spotted me and grinned like she already knew everything. “You must be Wesley,” she said, looking me up and down. “Samantha just came in looking like she got chased by the devil. Or kissed by one.” I gave her a small smile. “That obvious?”

When I came back to the dorm after dinner, Rachel and the others were already in the middle of the hallway, starting on the fondue. The moment I stepped inside, an intense, rich smell hit the back of my throat. As if fondue weren’t enough, Rachel was actually grilling patties over charcoal in a cramped dorm room. Did she not care about carbon monoxide poisoning? When she saw me, she put on a fake look of surprise. "Oh wow, silly me, I totally forgot to invite you, Lila!"

"No, no, no, I don't want to implant a bomb on the toilet later." "I'll still eat some though. C'mon, let's go." Then we went out of the campus dorm after fixing a few more stuff left. While we were walking, Toma noticed something from a distance and talked to me. "Damn. Yuji, I can't believe she's dating Duke." He said, quickly pointing at some place and there I saw Cami with her boyfriend Duke.

The vodka-punch-mess I’m drinking. Then— “Seth would hate this playlist,” Ramon mutters, scrolling through the queue. “Guy’s got the music taste of a divorced dad going through a crisis.” My body tenses before I can think. Cup halfway to my mouth. Tracey glances at me. “You good?” “Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Just didn’t expect… that name to come up.” “Oh. Right. Roommate situation,” she says casually, then turns to the others. “Alex lives with my cousin.”

But that was fine; change was occasionally necessary. She had also seen her place of residence. The roommates shared by two people, equipped with an en-suite bathroom and a small kitchen containing a single-door refrigerator, a stove, and some essential kitchen utensils. Her roommate, a 25-year-old girl named Astrid, seemed like a mature and friendly person.

I'd managed to bank over $19,000. I met my roommate and we worked out the room details, picking beds, closet sides, moving our furniture around. He was also a sophomore, ROTC, and had been going out with a girl the previous year. They hadn't stayed in touch over the summer and he was fretting about getting back together with her. He seemed like a pretty decent guy, and I was hoping we could be friends.

“It’s nine-fifty a month which is about three twenty a piece. Is that much more than you planned for?” I sighed in relief. “Actually a little cheaper. I was going to pay four hundred a month with my other roommate. It was the apartments down on Dove Creek.” Jordan chuckled. “I know that place. It’s quieter here for sure, they have parties there every other weekend, and the landlord is gone a lot.” Jordan gave me the side eye. “Where you from?” he asked. I clutched the handle of my suitcase. I didn’t like to talk about home much, I’d hated high school, and getting out of my parents’ house had been a long time coming. “Zachary,” I said.

Ava Jack’s dorm suite looked like the after photo in a “Clean Your Room, Save Your Life” motivational post. There were two beanbags, three actual chairs, a mini fridge crammed with energy drinks and a shelf that bent under the weight of used anatomy textbooks. The walls were lined with the kind of posters you ordered off social media at two in the morning—half motivational, half ironic. A whiteboard by the door listed a rotating menu of “Roommate Rules,” most of which were variations on “Don’t fuck up the bathroom.”

He’s studying me. “Are you attached to this apartment?” The question hits me off guard. “No,” I say too quickly, too easily. Then I think of Roofus—his instant noodles, his exams, the way he pretends not to worry about money when I know he does. “…Not really,” I amend. “But my roommate kind of needs it.” “Roommate,” Damien repeats. His jaw tightens, just a fraction. “Roofus,” I admit. Honesty seems to be my undoing tonight. “He’s in college. Even with the rent cut, he wouldn’t be able to manage on his own.”