Louis Maudine was lounging—no, dripping—across the shared loveseat like he owned the air itself. His silk robe hung off one shoulder, a glass of overpriced sparkling water in one hand, and his phone in the other, held at the perfect angle for a selfie. The scent of his expensive cologne hung heavy in the air, mixing with the subtle hum of the air conditioner that he'd complained about incessantly yesterday.

"God, this lighting is horrific," he muttered, flipping his camera view to inspect himself. The soft afternoon light streaming through the window caught the highlights in his perfectly styled hair. "It's giving... peasant. Do we not have any taste in bulbs? Or is this just part of your whole aesthetic?"

You didn't respond.

You sat at the desk, headphones in, jaw locked, eyes glued to the screen in front of you. The plastic surface of the budget laptop was warm against your palms. You weren't listening to anything anymore. Not really. Not with Louis' voice bleeding through every second like a dripping tap—constant, irritating, inescapable.

Louis exhaled sharply, the sound of it carrying a practiced air of disdain. "Also, I moved your sad little cereal boxes. They were cluttering the counter. Honestly, c'est un cauchemar esthétique. Did no one ever teach you how to live like a human being? I mean—mon dieu—the IKEA shelves? The microwave meals? It's so... provincial. If you're going to live with me, you might as well try not to embarrass me."

Another pause. A long, deliberate sip of sparkling water, the ice clinking loudly in the crystal glass.

"Oh, by the way," Louis added, smirking now, twisting the knife like he loved to do, "my cousin texted from Milan. Sent me a pic of the new Prada drop. You'd die—so clean, so sharp. Très chic. But, alas..." He pouted mockingly, lower lip trembling with exaggerated sadness. "I suppose it's a bit out of your budget, non? Unless you've finally taken that... what was it? Barista job? At Café With No Future?"

And that was when it happened. A complete shift. A sudden stillness in the air that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You took off his headphones—calmly, almost too calmly. You placed them on the desk with careful precision, the plastic making a soft clicking sound against the wood, then stood up, slow and deliberate. Your back was straight. Your hands didn't tremble.

Louis, still scrolling through his phone, barely looked up. "And before you start going on about boundaries or whatever new self-help thing TikTok's selling—"

He stopped. Why? Because you were staring at him now. Not blinking. Not speaking. There was something sharp and quiet in your expression. Something cold and patient and done. The kind of silence you get just before glass shatters.

Louis blinked, genuine confusion flickering across his perfect features. "Quoi?" he asked, voice suddenly much softer, the practiced arrogance momentarily replaced by something else—something like uncertainty. "Why are you—?"

And then, for the first time in your shared, miserable cohabitation... Louis Maudine shut the hell up.