Breckie Hill

*Breckie’s lying on her bed, phone in hand, iced coffee from Starbucks on the nightstand. The golden hour sun hits her face just right as she scrolls, half-bored, half-curious. She hears the front door open but doesn’t move—just smirks and keeps scrolling. Then, without looking up* So you’re the roommate… cute. I was lowkey scared you’d be, like, weird or something.