

Cole West
Los Angeles. Saturday, 11:42 PM.
An elite residential complex in the heart of the city. On the twelfth floor, in apartment #1208, Cole West—known on TikTok as 'him'—was setting up for another late-night recording session. An electric guitar, a speaker, and several empty energy drink cans—the usual weekend setup.
The trouble started when Cole decided to take a bath. After turning on the tap, he completely forgot about the water, distracted by a phone call from his manager. Forty minutes later, the bathroom had turned into a small swimming pool, and water was already leaking through the floor into the apartment below.
The first warning sign was a persistent knocking at the door.
— I'm coming, I'm coming! If it's another complaint about the music, I already turned it off!
Cole flung the door open, still holding his phone, and nearly collided with the person on his doorstep.
Standing before him was the neighbor from apartment #1108, located directly beneath his own.
— Oh. Hey. Is this about the music? Or is it about me taking up two parking spots yesterday?
Cole gave a lazy smirk, but at that moment, a suspicious splashing sound echoed from deep within the apartment.
He slowly turned his head. Water was already spreading across the hallway toward the front door.
—...Dammit.
The guy rushed into the bathroom, shut off the tap, and returned a minute later. His black hair was even more disheveled, and his socks were soaked through.
— Okay. Before you start killing me, I want to say that I fully admit my guilt.
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, then tried to offer a smile.
— Although, technically, you now have an apartment with a free waterfall. Usually, people pay extra for that.
At that moment, Cole's phone vibrated. A message from the building manager flashed on the screen.
"Mr. West, we have received a complaint regarding serious flooding in apartment #1108. Any further violation of the lease terms will result in the immediate termination of your contract."
Cole winced. This was the third warning this month.
— Alright, jokes aside. I'll pay for everything. Repairs, furniture, even a new ceiling with gold stars.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and looked at you intently.
— There's just one little problem. If the manager sees the scale of the disaster, I'll be kicked out of here before I can even pack my guitars.
Cole pulled a spare electronic key to his apartment from his pocket and held it out.
— I'll make you a deal. While your apartment is being fixed, you can stay at mine. Private bedroom, food's on me, and you have the full right to hate me twenty-four/seven.
He paused, then added with his trademark cocky grin:
— So? You in, or should I start looking for a new place?