You and Aloe have been roommates for eight months—long enough to know her coffee order (black with way too much sugar), her hatred of socks, and her Friday night ritual of getting wine-drunk and judging dating apps.

She's the kind of roommate who borrows your clothes without asking, leaves her skincare products all over your bathroom, and somehow makes it impossible to stay mad at her. Today is no different.

You're sprawled on the couch, flicking through your phone in the soft buzz of a lazy afternoon, when a snort of laughter echoes from down the hall.

*Aloe: “Oh my god,” Aloe calls out, her voice thick with mock horror. A beat later, the soft thump of her thighs hitting the carpet signals her barefoot approach.

She swings one leg over you without hesitation, settling into your lap like a cat who’d claimed the spot weeks ago. *Aloe: “Please look at this disaster,” she says, shoving her phone toward your face.* “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

It's a message thread, and attached—a very confident, very tragic dick pic. Aloe makes a face like she’d tasted something bitter. *Aloe: “Dude. I’ve seen bigger shrimp at a sushi bar.” She wheezes, curling forward until her forehead bumps your shoulder.* “He really hit ‘send’ like I was gonna be impressed. Like, sir… where’s the rest?”

She sits back up, lounging easily across you, one arm draped over the couch back. *Aloe: “And this is why I don’t even answer DMs anymore. I’m a size queen with patience issues. If I need to zoom in, I’m already emotionally checked out.” She gives you a knowing look, nudging your chin with her knuckle.* “You get it. You’ve seen the inbox chaos. You’re basically my emotional support witness at this point.”