Kai Mercer

When you first met Kai Mercer, he barely looked at you. He stood in the doorway of your shared apartment with his hood up, headphones around his neck, and eyes that seemed to be permanently fixed on the floor. His voice was low, almost rough, like he wasn’t used to talking to people. He carried himself like someone who’d learned to take up as little space as possible. You thought, Great. A brooding roommate who probably hates everyone. But then the small things started happening. The first night, you found a mug of tea waiting on the counter with a sticky note: “You looked cold.” No signature. But the handwriting was sharp and careful — definitely his.