Toral dropped her keys into the basket next to the entrance. She still felt the mark on her skin, where her arm bag, which carried her necessities, had cut off the blood.

She walked away from the door, so Sutton could follow her in. He was carrying some paper bags, they had gotten McDonalds on the way, providing the whole flat with dinner.

The narrow hallway was covered in shoes. Colette once had an infamous attack of rage about nobody cleaning up their shoes and placing them together as they were supposed to. It had gone down in the history books, because infuriating Colette was a rarity.

When Toral took off her blue sneakers, she leaned her hand against the wall to stabilise herself. The surface her finger tips were touching was uneven. The walls had been heavily decorated. Pictures, drawings and quotes, they all had found their home somewhere. Toral's favourite picture was the one of Sutton and her in London.

They had gone there for a weekend and didn't have any accommodation, which meant that they slept in public transportation on their way home.

The picture showed them on Piccadilly Circus. Sutton's cheeks were red, because he had consumed too much alcohol and Toral was on her tip toes trying to fake her height.

"Isn't it a bit contradicting?" Sutton asked, as they walked in, "That you go for a long run and then decide to get yourself some french fries?"

"Well," Toral shrugged, "It's all really just a matter of perspective. I worked out so now I treat myself. Also working out isn't really about weight gain or weight loss for me. I just want to stay fit that I can play decently."

"To rip Carton apart on the pitch?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Sutton just didn't want to drop that topic.

"Can we not talk about this?", Toral retorted, "Honestly, I have better to do than to think about him. Imagine if my life revolved around men. How pathetic."

Sutton acted like he was offended by her statement and took off his jacket. He took out a hair band and put his hair into a messy bun.

"But Toral," he protested,"It does! It revolves completely around me. Also, destroying Carton on the field would mean smashing the patriarchy. Aren't we all about that in this household? Like in The Bold Type?"

Sutton had developed an obsessive interest in American TV shows. He had been the one who had suggested watching The Good Place.

Though The Good Place was a flat tradition, Sutton's true burning passion was The Bold Type. Partially because his favourite character was called Sutton.

She was, as the name of the series already gives away, bold. She worked as a fashion expert in a magazine and reviewed everything we had lost when Sex and the City had aired its last episode.

Sutton liked the women on the show, because they reminded him of the bold personalities he was living with.

When Colette and Eleanor had looked for roommates and had multiple contestants come to the flat, each person had to make a good impression.

Sutton didn't want their decision to be random and let coincidence take over, so he had strategically planned how he was going to become a member of the flat.

Like TV show Sutton, he had created a big board, and explained to why he was the best choice they had. Being an addition to a squad, similar to the fierce girls on TV, was his strongest point.

Somehow his talk about mainstream media and his organized drawings on his board had gotten him exactly what he wanted.

Toral walked into their living room. Eleanor was present writing a couple words onto a notebook, she quickly glanced up and nodded to great them.

"Smashing the patriarchy sounds like a good idea to me. Though we have had enough Carton talk now," Toral told him.

"What about Carton? Is he involved with shady business again?" They had now caught Eleanor's attention.

"Oh!" Toral exclaimed, frustrated, "Sutton is just going on about how he would let him father every egg in his non existing uterus."

"No. I never would let him do that, maybe one or two eggs, but definitely not all of them. I actually stay away from straight guys. Though I think Toral should give him a chance. I want him to father every egg in her very real uterus. He kind of looks a bit like Jonathan Rhys Meyers, you know Joe from Bend it like Beckham," Sutton stated.

"The Bend it like Beckham joke is so incredibly old! I can't believe you are bringing this up again. Yes, I am a football player, yes, I am the daughter of Punjabi Sikhs living in the UK, and yes, my best friend might be gay. Although those are the only similarities we share," she sighed loudly, "Also El, can you stop your fantasy about him being a spy?"

Offended, Eleanor crossed her arms. "My accusations are valid and make completely sense. We only know his surname, everyone only knows his surname, like Bond!"

"Everyone knows it's James Bond," Sutton disagreed, smiling into her direction.

"You can't tell me that it's not suspicious that we know nothing about him," Eleanor pointed out.

"We know that he comes home late, and that he sounds incredibly posh when he talks, which probably means he has a posh name that he's embarrassed of. Does anyone know what he studies? Probably also something posh like law, you know to make daddy proud and get a seat in the parliament one day," Toral joked.

"We know that he's incredibly loud at literally anything he does," Sutton added. "That's not necessarily what a spy needs to be. He's definitely not lowkey."

"I assume he doesn't have a sister, else she would have plucked the fuck out of that eyebrow," Toral continued.

"At least you have something to be mad about. Imagine how powerful he would be, if his eyebrows were trimmed a little," Sutton said, "We stan one smooth-talking, thick browed, body shaped by the gods, charming and highly confident boy, who leaves a trail of broken hearts, in this house."

"No, we fucking don't," Toral retorted, "It almost seems like you are going to ask him to move in soon."

It was as if Eleanor was, for the first time, trulypresent in the conversation, she put her notebook away and folded her hands together.

"Guys, about that. I actually have to tell you something," she began speaking, "The restaurant Colette worked in got shut down, which means Colette can't work there anymore. We have to find a solution. What do you think about getting a lodger?"

"As long as it's not Carton, I don't mind," Toral answered rapidly. "I think it would be nice if we all were involved in the choice of who it is going to be. Let's be real none of us have friends, so we would have to invite a completely stranger in, again. It takes ages to feel comfortable and befriend someone. I don't want to have a sociopath living here, I want to get involved in picking the person out."

"Yeah," Eleanor said, nodding, "I understand completely. Of course you can be involved in picking them out, it's not like Colette and I are the bosses here."

"Official," Sutton added, "It's not like you and Colette are the official bosses here, because you definitely are unofficially. I also want to be involved, by the way. We have to keep up our brand, you know, inclusivity. Toral is from India, your father is from Bahrain, Colette has a french immigrant mother and I'm a jewish homosexual. We have to keep up. I want people to look at us and be like, wow, they really seem like someone wanted to throw every religion, ethnicity and sexuality into a pot and make this so intentionally, awfully diverse as possible."

Eleanor shook her head, laughing. "None of us is truly religious, but if that is your biggest wish, we can do that."

"Thank you," Sutton said, content. He wanted to continue to babble, but he was cut off by the doorbell ringing.

"I'll get it," Toral said and got up. With heavy legs, she walked to the door. She was still wearing her sports clothing, her hair was put into a ponytail that with time had gotten messy.

She assumed that it was just Colette, who had forgotten something or lost her key on the way, but instead she faced two daring blue eyes, as cold as the last circle of hell of Dante's Inferno. His face was glowing, because of sweat, a crooked grin on his lips.

Carton was standing there completely nonchalant, with such a cheeky implicitness, as if this was the most casual thing in the world.

"Why are you ringing my doorbell?" Toral asked him. "Did you run out of milk? Is the fire brigade present?"

He shook his head, "No, they haven't found my mixtape yet," he answered.

Toral frowned, confused, "What are you on about?" The royal blue of his shirt, made him appear vibrant and lively.

"Because it's fire," he said and then proceeded in trying not to laugh at his own joke.

"What the fuck do you want Carton?" Toral asked again, this time with more force in her voice.

"I wanted to thank you for coming to see us play today," he replied.

"I didn't come to see you playing," she corrected, "I was there coincidentally at the same time and was taking a break. I would never come for you."

"Maybe you will, one day. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that you're good, right? Do you want to come and play for the charity match this Friday? One of my mates recently landed in the hospital after a night of drinking and won't make it. So we have a spot free that needs to be filled. Everyone suggestion sucked and I was like, hey, instead of those chaps, who are half-baked, I'm going to ask my neighbor, who might be female, but actually talented."

"Beg," Toral demanded, as confidence overcame her.

"Excuse me?"Carton frowned, his infamous eyebrows looking like a wave.

"Get on your knees and beg," Toral repeated. She was not able to let him experience public humiliation, but at least she could, for once, show him what power meant.

He tilted his head to the side, as if he would look at her for the first time properly and did as he was told. On his knee, he pronounced "I beg you to play for our team."

"That'll do," she said, somewhat proud of what she had managed. "I'll see you on Friday, then," she said, turning around and shutting the door into his face.

Toral walked back to the group and fell onto the couch, devouring her french fries.

"Who was it?" Sutton asked.

Toral looked at him. "Just Colette, she had forgotten to take her umbrella with her."