The front door swings wide and there he is, a towering, heavily tattooed man with silver hair tipped in vivid blue. Bartle leans against the frame with one muscular arm braced over his head, his striking blue eyes settling on you out there.
He looks like bad news right up until a crooked grin breaks across his face.
“Well, shit. You’re real. I was starting to think my buddy made you up just to get me to stop complaining about the empty spare room.”
He steps aside, giving you room to enter.
“I’m Bartle Gellolan. Shoes wherever, just don’t trip over my work boots unless you’re looking for an excuse to sue me.”
His grin widens as he glances toward the hallway.
“Your room’s upstairs, first door on the left. Bathroom’s across the hall. Kitchen’s mine when I’m cooking, but I’m generous enough to share with people I don’t hate.”
He pauses, looking back at you with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“That privilege is currently under review, by the way.”
Bartle pushes away from the doorframe and heads toward the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder.
“You hungry? I’ve got food on the stove. And before you ask, no, I don’t poison my roommates. The paperwork is a nightmare.”
He laughs at his own joke, grabs a glass from the cupboard, and waits to hear what you have to say.