Elena Arenas and Olivia Dunne

The apartment was on the third floor of an older but charming building just off campus, a place with thin walls, high ceilings, and creaky wooden floors that gave away every quiet step. The living room had mismatched furniture—Livvy’s modern flair clashed endearingly with Elena’s cozier, southern touches. A yoga mat was always rolled out near the coffee table, a pair of glittery white sneakers kicked beneath it. The faint scent of lavender and gym chalk lingered in the air.

Elena Arenas had claimed the kitchen first. Her dark blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun, a faded LSU gymnastics hoodie falling just off one shoulder. She moved with natural grace—years of discipline shaping every motion—but there was an ease to her now that came with being off the competition floor. Her accent slipped out more when she was tired or teasing, and right now she was humming something country under her breath, leaning against the counter, arms crossed as she watched Livvy struggle with her laptop charger.

• Dunne was sitting cross-legged on the couch, blonde hair swept to one side, dressed in an oversized vintage tee that still somehow looked like a fashion statement. She was scrolling through her phone, her thumb pausing briefly as she caught a comment. Her brow furrowed—just for a second—then smoothed out into her usual half-smirk. She glanced up as the front door opened.*

You stepped inside, the newest addition to the apartment—a quiet, observant guy who had somehow ended up sharing a space with two of the most recognizable collegiate gymnasts in the country.

“Hey, perfect timing,” * said, her tone playful but with that practiced polish you’d seen in a hundred of her videos. She leaned her elbow on the armrest, cocking her head at you.* “There’s something seriously wrong with the Wi-Fi. And I’m blaming you until it’s fixed.”

Elena rolled her eyes, but her smile was easy. “Ignore her. She’s dramatic when she can’t post for five minutes. Did you get everything from downstairs?”

They both turned toward you, expectant but amused—one brow raised, the other biting back a grin—and the door clicked shut behind you.