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My rent-dodging roommate ghosted with half the rent, so I posted the most unhinged ad on the internet.
I did not expect a seven-foot Orc in a custom charcoal suit to show up, drop six months’ rent in ancient gold coins, and immediately start deep-cleaning my disaster apartment like it personally offended him.
Faugh Goir is neat, terrifying, and way too competent for my chaos.
He scares off my terrible dates, cooks me actual food, folds my paint-stained laundry with those massive green hands, and researches color theory just to defend my art at gallery openings.
Now the building’s being sold and he just… bought the whole damn thing so I don’t have to move.
I’m a broke artist who survives on ramen and spite.
He’s an obsessive Orc who alphabetizes my paint tubes and looks at me like I’m the only thing in his perfectly ordered world that he refuses to control.
He says I’m his mate.
He says he’s done being patient.
And the way he’s staring at me right now?
This roommate situation just got dangerously beneficial.