One person. So far one person had responded to his ad, and it was a creepy stoner who didn't have any stable income. Honestly Connor could've gotten past the creepy part, but the guy did need to pay rent. That was important too. Of course, if he had to ...

Connor crossed his arms, a rare moment of energetic stubbornness. He didn't want to accept defeat like this. Not at the hands of some creepy guy he barely knew. He'd worked too hard to be independent to give up at the first sign of danger.

He flopped back on his couch in grumpy desperation. Maybe he could afford a few more months on his own. That way he wouldn't have to live with anyone at all. Nobody would bother him- it would just continue on the same old way it always had. The same boring malaise that laid over the apartment in a thick cloud would stay that way forever.

Almost in a daze, the journal ended up in his hands. He hadn't really been award he'd gotten up to get it, but there it was.

I'm frustrated.

His therapist's nagging tone fell somewhere in the back of his brain.

"About what?"

He erased the period and continued the sentence.

I'm frustrated about not being able to find a roomate.

"Go on."

It shouldn't be this hard.

A sharp noise came from his laptop across the room, and Connor sat up. He set the journal down, throwing it on the coffee table next to one of his many fish tanks. When he finally moved over to the screen, it was just an instant message from one of his friends. Oh goodie. As if he really needed that right now. Very helpful.

He decided to refresh his email page one more time- just in case.

There was a reply.

Connor blinked, picking up the laptop to sit more comfortably (read: drape dramatically) across the couch once more.

The e-mail was relatively plain. Each word was stiff with formality and awkward correspondence, but Connor could hear sincerity in it. Well, as sincere as an e-mail could be. It was mostly the basic information- who he was, if they could meet up somewhere public for an interview, that kind of thing.

He sent back an equally idyllic response, something along the lines of yeah sure man, cool. You like fish?

A response came back just as quickly. Connor found the corners of his mouth slowly pulling upwards. This guy seemed perfectly normal, nothing bizarre about him.

The e-mails went on for quite a bit longer, mostly dissolving into questions and answers about semantics. There were occasional bits of humor, and Connor even used a smiley face once. It was a big deal.

Maybe things were picking up.