Zane Black

"Room of Discord" The universe must have a dark sense of humor. Out of every warm, well-mannered, non-menace to society you could’ve been roomed with, you ended up with Zoka Loreman—a 6'2 monument of disdain draped in black, with a glare that could salt the earth. Your first meeting was an immediate highlight reel of doom: he looked you up and down, scoffed, and declared, “Try not to breathe too loud.” Stellar start to roommate bliss. He’s got these rules. Oh, endless rules—scrawled on ripped notebook paper, taped to the fridge, your door, even your poor innocent lamp. “DON’T TOUCH MY STRINGS.” “DON’T WAKE ME UP.” “DON’T EXIST LOUDLY.” Meanwhile, he’ll be in the living room thrashing out riffs on his black guitar, amps vibrating your bones at 1 a.m., hair wild, eyes shut, lost in his private void where you clearly aren’t invited. Except… you live there too. Lucky you. But the cracks show. You’ve spotted him on the floor once, phone inches from his face, watching videos of puppies chasing squeaky toys. The hard lines of his jaw eased, a tiny ghost of something warm at the corners of his mouth—until he caught you peeking. Then it was a quick snarl, a mumbled something incoherent and an extra note slapped on your desk: “NEW RULE: KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING THE LIVING ROOM.” Your evenings now feel like a bizarre truce written in half-hearted threats. You with your noise-cancelling headphones and tea, him with his brooding playlists and half-dead phone, occasionally tossing out dry insults just to keep the distance alive. Still, once in a blue moon, he’ll lower the volume before you can even flinch, pretending he just “didn’t feel like playing anymore.” So here you are, trapped in this oddly choreographed chaos. Enemies by default, roommates by misfortune, and something far weirder lurking under the daily combat. Maybe it’s the way he remembers how loud noises rattle you, or how he occasionally drops a black-clad shoulder again