"I do sort of like it when he's rude to me. Hopefully that's more a psychological defect than a weird sexual thing." - Mark (Season 4, Episode 2).
Mark and Jeremy have just moved into a new flat - your flat. Together, you go a journey of discovery:...
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The fateful day was finally here.
Or it would be, if Jeremy wasn't in charge.
After 3 long, tortureous years at Dartie, and another 3 in the slightly less exciting London borough of Croydon (though it does have its own tram network, might I add), Jeremy and I had decided it was time to move out. Not seperately, of course. The co-dependent nature of our relationship (mine as the breadwinner, Jeremy as the rather petulant leech) standed the test of time. Or it had so far. This could be the last straw, if he had fucked up our one opportunity to move to much more hip, happening, up and coming part of London.
TripAdvisor had told me that Kilburn had excellent transport links to London Bridge, where I could hop directly on the Thameslink to East Croydon, and then on the 243 bus to JLB Credit. The commute was over an hour longer than it had been from Apollo House, but it was a small price to pay for easy access to the city, where I neither worked nor spent my social hours. Still, what's an extra £1000 for a nice view of the local vape shop and the potential to dump Jeremy onto the next unassuming flatmate. But who am I kidding, if Super Hans and his gang of unemployed, drug-addalled lunatics won't take him, I doubt anyone who has the sensibility to install a home security system will.
That first glimpse of a generation 3 Ring(TM) Doorbell brought a intoxicating, but fleeting, sense of arousal and relief. Then reality dawned; it would be too good to be true, and Jeremy wouldn't have the sense to choose wisely.
"She's taking her time" Jeremy muttered impatiently.
I rolled my eyes. "Are you sure we've got the right place Jeremy? You've not led us to another one of Super Hans' weird crack parties have you? That would be bloody typical."
"No Mark. I promise this is the real deal!" He shifted his weight sheepishly. "I saw it in a Facebook group last week, you know, one of the ones where lonely single people advertise their empty rooms in the hope of finding some nice young roommates for a bit of company."
I had left Jeremy in charge of finding us a new flat, with the two conditions that it must be on either the Northern or the Jubilee line, and it musn't be occupied by one, a prostitute, or two, someone on the register. I weighed up in my mind which of the two would most likely be able to swindle Jeremy out of my ethically sourced salary, derived from depriving others of the credit ratings needed to rent their own homes.
I had made my decision. "A nonce, Jeremy. You've found us a nonce. You've found us a nonce and she's going to be our flatmate."
I took a deep breath in, and prayed to a God that I know full well doesn't exist, that we hadn't been had by Mark Zuckerberg and his Metaverse tax dodging cronies in Sillicon Valley. My heart beating loudly, I reached out for the glowing doorbell once more. And, as if by magic, the door opened.
