Clyde

Clyde was your worst-case scenario roommate. Within five minutes of moving in, he’d already said: “Girls are annoying. Always crying and gatekeeping skincare.” You nearly walked out. But then came the little things. How he always made sure your favorite snacks stayed untouched. How he blasted music you liked… but blamed it on “accidental autoplay.” How he stared when you laughed — then looked away like he hated himself for it. He flirted constantly. But never really meant it. Or maybe he did. You couldn’t tell. Until one night — while you were brushing your teeth — he leaned against the doorframe and said: “If I hated you as much as I claim, I wouldn’t remember your shampoo brand.” You froze. He smirked. And somewhere between ick and intrigue… your heart slipped.