"Look at us, couple of losers. We both got dumped."
"I'm fine. It was six months ago so..."
(Jess and Nick, 1x01 "Pilot")

Nick blinked his eyes open and was immediately overwhelmed with light that burned his eyes. He was definitely not in his room. The kink in his neck attested to that. He sat up a bit more and blinked a few more times. He was in the living room, lying flat on his back across the couch. He looked down over his body and saw that he didn't have a blanket or pajamas, but instead was still in his jeans and button down. He hadn't even bothered to remove his shoes.

He tried to sit up more, but his head began to pound so he laid back instead, rubbing at his temples. He then noticed the distinct bitter taste in his mouth of old beer.

He was hungover. He should've know.

As he closed his eyes and rubbed his head, he tried to remember what exactly had happened last night.

He remembered coming home from a night shift at the bar. Schmidt and Coach were already in bed. He didn't remember feeling particularly upset or happy. There hadn't been anything special about it, had there? He had just gone to his room and…

Oh wait.

Nick suddenly realized that all the couch's pillows were either on the floor or by his feet. So then what was propping his head up?

He reached up and pulled the item out from behind his neck. It was a folded up floral cardigan. It suddenly came rushing back to him.

He had gone into his room, completely beat and ready for bed. It had been a long shift and he had to help wrestle a drunk man out of the establishment who had been peeing on the barstools.

However, when he opened his closet to pull out hangers for his clothes, he suddenly came across the cardigan. He normally wouldn't have gone through the effort of actually hanging up his things, but they WERE still kind of wet from spilled alcohol from wrestling the guy and he remembered Schmidt telling him that the best way to avoid wrinkles was to hang them up and it WAS his favorite shirt so…

Big mistake. He vowed to never hang up any of his clothes again. That closet was filled with nightmares. Specifically, memories of his ex-girlfriend Caroline.

Every time he thought he was doing a little bit better, something like this happened and he immediately relapsed. He was like a Caroline addict.

He had fallen asleep drinking himself into a stupor and crying into a cardigan, wondering why she had left and wishing she would come back. The way he acted sometimes, anyone would've thought she died tragically and hadn't merely dumped him like a sweaty old t-shirt.

Schmidt and Coach were always telling him he needed to move on and had even tried to introduce him to other girls, but nothing and no one could compare. He just couldn't pull himself out of the Caroline mindset. She was the most beautiful, most interesting, most funny, most sophisticated, most EVERYTHING girl he had ever met and for some reason— even if it was just for a little while— she liked him back. He knew for a fact he would never meet anyone else like her. He was going to die alone.

Just as Nick was beginning to feel like he was going to need another drink (even if it was the morning), Schmidt walked into the room, fully dressed in his suit and ready for work. He spotted Nick on the couch and rolled his eyes.

"Sleeping on the couch, Nick?" he asked and he started the coffee maker, "Honestly, don't you know how bad that is for your spine? You'll get all out of alignment."

He opened a cupboard, pulled out a mug, and rinsed it out. Nick didn't understand that at all. Wasn't the cup already clean?

Schmidt continued. "Of course back alignment is the least of your problems. If I could list the things in your life that need fixing…" He sighed heavily before picking up an empty beer bottle from out of the sink. "What? What is this? Nick! What have I told you about leaving your trash everywhere?"

Nick hid the cardigan under one of the couch cushions as Schmidt stomped over to the trash and made a scene of dropping the bottle into it. He could tell Schmidt was in one of his moods, ready to tell Nick off for every little thing. The last thing he needed was more ammunition.

They were silent for a few moments as the coffee maker finished and Schmidt poured some into his extra clean mug and took a sip. He then grinned at Nick. "I've made a decision… we're going to get a new roommate."

This Nick did not expect at all. "We're what?"

"A roommate, Nick," Schmidt repeated, still smiling.

"Why do we need another roommate?" Nick asked uncomfortably, "Aren't three of us enough?"

"Please!" Schmidt scoffed as he took another sip of coffee, "With Coach getting so serious with that girl… what's her name? Mary? Melanie? Madeline?"

"Malia," Nick said trying not to roll his eyes.

"What a weird name," Schmidt said, "Is it foreign, do you think?"

"It's a completely normal name."

"Anyways, with Coach getting serious with her, there's the possibility of him moving out soon…"

Nick scoffed, but Schmidt continued, "Plus you barely make the rent. I'm constantly covering for you."

Nick scoffed again. "Please. I've missed once. Maybe twice."

"Nineteen times, Nicholas Miller."

"What?"

"Nineteen times since we moved into this loft eight years ago. I counted." He pulled out a piece of paper that looked like a spread sheet.

"You counted?"

"One has to be thorough when deciding if we need a new roommate or not and based on these numbers, we do."

Nick snorted, but did not have a retort. He just rolled his eyes and laid back on the couch, muttering curses under his breath.

"I've already written out the ad," Schmidt said, "I'm going to put it on Craigslist."

"Craigslist?" Nick questioned. He didn't even realize Schmidt looked at anything beyond People's Magazine or Better Homes and Gardens.

"I want this to be seen by the people," he said, putting special emphasis on the word "people" as though "people" were some strange exotic species.

"Did you want to read it first?" Schmidt asked as he pulled out another piece of paper.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Why did you print it out if you're putting it on Craigslist?"

"Isn't Craigslist a newspaper?" Schmidt asked.

Nick sighed heavily, deciding not to correct him. Maybe by the time he figured out how Craigslist worked, he would change his mind about getting a roommate. With a grunt, he stood up and held out his hand. "Alright, let me see it."

Schmidt grinned and handed the paper to him. Nick blinked through the haze of his hangover and squinted at the small print.

"Wanted: one new roommate to live in one beautiful, luxurious, and swanky upper level loft apartment. Includes polished hardwood floors, a structure built from sun-soaked wood, a paint job with a beigey tint, and large open windows with a lovely view of the city. Amenities include rooftop access for pleasurable tanning, a washer and dryer (special fabric softener compartment included), and more."

"And more?" Nick read.

"There was a word limit," Schmidt said.

"You don't even mention how many roommates are living here. You just talk about our "beautiful upper level loft.""

"So?" Schmidt asked, unfazed.

"You're gonna attract weirdos." The last thing Nick needed was another Schmidt living around him. One was plenty.

"Weirdos? How could this possibly attract weirdos? Our loft IS beautiful! Just because you try to ruin it with all your filth and sloppy habits doesn't mean it doesn't have some merit."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying, Schmidt. Your wording is a little…"

"What?"

Nick sighed, giving up. It was no use trying to explain this stuff to Schmidt. "Nothing. Go ahead and post it."

Schmidt smiled. "Great!"

He practically skipped out the door, clutching the ad in his hand. Nick sighed and sat back down on the couch. If that ad ever got posted, there was no way any sane normal guy would respond to it. They were going to end up with either a creep, a gay man, or even a girl.