Bully Roomate (lookalike/doppelganger story)

Sol was used to the chaos of living with Kate by now—or at least, he thought he was. At 5’4” and scrawny, with arms that couldn’t lift much more than a bag of groceries, he was no match for his towering, larger-than-life roommate. Kate stood an impossible 20 feet tall, a statuesque goddess of curves and confidence, her presence filling their cramped apartment like a storm cloud. Her dark brown hair, tied in that signature high side ponytail, swung like a pendulum when she moved, and her purple tank top strained against her ridiculously busty frame. She was beautiful, undeniably, with a face that could’ve launched a thousand fanarts—but she knew it, and she loved it.

“God, Sol, you’re so lucky to live with someone as perfect as me,” she’d say, lounging on the couch (which groaned under her weight), her long legs sprawled across the cushions. She smirked, flexing an arm that could probably crush a car. “I mean, look at me—tall, gorgeous, strong, and a YouTube star. You should be thanking me for even letting you bask in my glow.” Her voice carried that playful lilt she used in her videos, but here, it dripped with self-obsession.

Sol, meanwhile, scurried around like a mouse, fetching her snacks or cleaning up the messes she left behind. “Kate, can you at least put your dishes in the sink?” he’d mutter, voice small.

She’d laugh—a loud, booming sound that rattled the windows. “Oh, Sol, you’re so cute when you try to act tough. Dishes are your job, shortstack. I’m too busy being amazing.” Then she’d stretch, her curvy silhouette blocking out the light, and add, “Besides, my subs would riot if they knew I was doing manual labor. I’ve got a brand to maintain.”

It wasn’t just teasing; it was a power trip. She’d order him to grab her filming gear—“Careful with that camera, it’s worth more than you”—or demand he cook dinner while she recorded her latest storytime video, narrating some exaggerated tale of her greatness. “Today, my pathetic little roommate tried to stand up to me—hilarious, right?” she’d say into the mic, winking at her audience of millions. Sol couldn’t fight back. She was too big, too strong, and way too full of herself. He just sighed and obeyed.

But then the rent notice came. The monthly payment loomed over them like a guillotine—way too much for two broke twentysomethings, even with Kate’s YouTube cash (most of which she spent on custom outfits). Sol, desperate, had an idea. “What if we get another roommate?” he suggested one morning, clutching the bill. “Split the cost three ways. It’d be cheaper for us both.”

Kate, sprawled across the floor in nothing but her underwear (a sight that made Sol blush and look away), snorted. “Another person in my kingdom? They’d have to worship me as much as you do, Sol. But fine, go for it. Just don’t expect me to lift a finger.”

So Sol posted an ad online: “Roommate wanted. Spacious apartment, friendly vibes, $500/month. Contact Sol.” He didn’t mention the 20-foot narcissist who’d probably scare anyone sane away. To his shock, someone replied within hours—a girl named… Kate. Same spelling, same vibe from her message: “Hey, I’m a YouTuber too! Sounds like a blast. I’m in.” Sol blinked at the name, unease prickling his spine. Just a coincidence, he told himself. Kate’s not that unique a name.

The day the new roommate arrived, Sol spent all morning cleaning. He scrubbed the kitchen, vacuumed the rugs, and hid Kate’s piles of filming props, desperate to make the place look normal. Kate, naturally, did nothing. She lounged on the couch in her lacy purple underwear, scrolling X and cackling at her own posts. “Look at this fan art of me, Sol—gorgeous, right? Oh, you’re sweating so much. Don’t embarrass me in front of the newbie.”

“Kate, can you at least put some clothes on?” he pleaded, dragging a mop across the floor.

She grinned, all teeth. “Why? I’m a work of art. They’ll love me.” Before he could argue, a knock echoed through the apartment.

Sol froze. Kate sat up, intrigued. He shuffled to the door, heart pounding, and opened it—and his jaw dropped.

Standing there—or rather, towering there—was another Kate. She was 20 feet tall, just like his roommate, with the same curvy, busty frame, the same cascading brown ponytail, the same flawless face. She wore an identical purple tank top and smirked with the same narcissistic glee. “Hey, losers,” she said, her voice a mirror of the Kate behind him. “I’m Kate. You must be Sol. Cute place—needs more me, though.”

Sol turned, wide-eyed, to his Kate, who’d stood up and was staring at the newcomer with a mix of shock and delight. “No way,” Original Kate said, stepping closer. “You’re… me?”

New Kate tilted her head, sizing her up. “Obviously. But hotter. And stronger.” She flexed, her biceps rippling.

Original Kate laughed. “Oh, please, I’m the OG goddess here. Look at these curves.” She posed, thrusting out her chest.

Sol, sandwiched between two giant, identical egomaniacs, felt his soul leave his body. “Uh… hi? Welcome? I’ll… get your bags?”

“Aw, he’s so obedient already,” New Kate cooed, patting his head with a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Good boy.”

Days passed, and Sol’s life became a nightmare squared. The two Kates were perfectly identical—not just in looks, but in every way. They wore matching purple outfits (ordered in bulk, apparently), synced their YouTube upload schedules, and even finished each other’s sentences. “God, I’m so—” Original Kate would start. “—amazing,” New Kate would finish, and they’d cackle in unison. They’d sit together, filming collab videos—“Two Kates, twice the perfection!”—while Sol fetched their lights, adjusted their mics, and cooked their meals.

Their bullying doubled too. “Sol, my coffee’s cold—redo it,” Original Kate would bark, lounging on the couch. “Yeah, and grab me a smoothie while you’re at it,” New Kate would add, sprawled beside her. They’d tease him mercilessly: “Look at him scurrying—such a little ant!” or “Bet he wishes he could be half as cool as us.” When he tripped carrying their filming gear, they’d laugh so hard the walls shook, high-fiving over his head.

Sometimes, they’d get eerily in sync. One morning, Original Kate said, “I’m craving—” and New Kate cut in, “—pizza. Extra cheese.” They’d stare at each other, grin, and say, “Jinx!” before ordering Sol to call it in. It was like they shared a brain—a loud, narcissistic, domineering brain.

Sol couldn’t escape. They were too big, too strong, and too coordinated. Once, he tried sneaking out for a break, but they caught him—Original Kate blocked the door with her leg, New Kate scooped him up like a doll. “Where you going, shortstack?” they said together, smirking. “You’re ours.”

The rent was cheaper, sure, but the cost to Sol’s sanity? Priceless. He was trapped, a tiny servant to two towering, identical tyrants who lived to flex their power—and their subscriber counts—over him. And as they planned their next video (“How We Rule This Apartment”), Sol could only sigh and grab the camera.