On “Roommates”, Hilary Duff delivers an unflinching dispatch from inside long-term love, crafting a sleek, synth-pop confession rooted in desire, domesticity, and the quiet negotiations that define adult intimacy. Released as the second single from her forthcoming album ‘luck… or something,’ the track captures the tension between routine and yearning, where carpools and grocery lists coexist with the ache to feel wanted again. Explicit without being gratuitous, “Roommates” finds Duff reclaiming passion as something lived, earned, and deeply human, a reminder that growing up doesn’t mean growing numb.

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Stream: “Roommates” – Hilary Duff

It’s that ache for a wilder, freer time – before the days were swallowed by carpools, budget talks, grocery runs and letting old or new insecurities slip in. It’s the restless hum of wanting to find your way back – to your rhythm, to your person, to yourself.

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Hilary Duff has always had a knack for timing, but with “Roommates,” she’s arriving not just on cue, but fashionably late, wine in hand, heels kicked off, ready to tell the truth.

Following the confident reintroduction of comeback single “Mature,” Duff’s second release ahead of her long-awaited sixth studio album luck… or something feels like a knowing wink across the room, playful, provocative, and very much in control.

It’s her first album in over a decade, but “Roommates” makes it abundantly clear: Hilary Duff hasn’t been quietly waiting in the wings. She’s been living.

I can barely mention it
without causing some ego trauma
But I know you’re sensing
how I’m tryna give you hints
Physical affection goes a
long way with me, I don’t wanna
Quietly resent you,
I just want the easy fix

But life is life-ing
and pressure is pressuring me
Oh, I wish that I could
catch you in the right light

Built on a sleek pop and synth-pop framework, “Roommates” shimmers with that late-night glow, the kind that feels best experienced with city lights blurring past a taxi window. Co-written by Duff alongside her husband, GRAMMY® Award-winning songwriter and producer Matthew Koma (Winnetka Bowling League), and Brian Phillips, the track benefits from an intimacy that can’t be faked. Co-produced by Koma and Phillips, it’s polished without being precious, glossy without losing grit. This is pop music for adults who still remember the thrill of sneaking out, but now have a calendar full of obligations and a drawer full of receipts.

“Roommates” doesn’t shy away from explicitness, in the lyric department, but what’s striking is how purposeful it feels. This isn’t sex for shock value; it’s sex as language, as communication, as a barometer for emotional closeness. Duff sings candidly about the frustration of emotional and physical distance creeping into a long-term relationship, articulating the quiet resentments that can build when desire goes unspoken. “I can barely mention it without causing some ego trauma,” she admits, landing the line with a mix of tenderness and exasperation. It’s the sound of someone who knows exactly what they want, and is tired of pretending they don’t.

There’s a refreshing emotional intelligence threaded throughout the song.

When Duff sings, “Physical affection goes a long way with me,” it’s not framed as an ultimatum, but as a plea for reconnection. “Roommates” understands that intimacy isn’t just about bodies, but about attention, about being seen, chosen, and touched with intention. The “easy fix” she longs for isn’t really easy at all; it’s the vulnerability of asking for closeness in a world that’s constantly pulling couples apart.

The chorus is where “Roommates” really bears its teeth and flashes its smile. Singing about getting caught up in the back of a dive bar before sneaking home late and waking up the roommates, Duff taps into a kind of reckless nostalgia that feels deliciously real. It’s flirty, a little messy, and buzzing with desire. But nestled between those images of stolen moments and late-night chaos is something softer: “The butterflies from holding your hand.” That line alone captures the song’s emotional thesis, the ache to rediscover not just passion, but the spark that made everything else matter in the first place.

I only want the beginning, I don’t want the end
Want the part where you say, “Goddamn”
Back of the dive bar, giving you head
Then sneak home late, wake up your roommates
I want the highlights, ten out of ten
The butterflies from holding your hand
Before we swept us under the bed
And we became practically roommates
I’m touching myself by the front door
But you don’t even look my way no more

What makes “Roommates” resonate so deeply is how it reframes the concept of adulthood.

Duff isn’t longing to escape her life; she’s longing to feel fully alive within it. When she sings about becoming “practically roommates,” it’s not a condemnation of domesticity, but a recognition of how easily romance can be buried under routine. The song acknowledges carpools, budget talks, grocery runs, all the unsexy scaffolding of modern love, without dismissing them. Instead, it asks the tantalising question: What if we could have all of it?

Duff’s vocal performance is quietly magnetic. She doesn’t oversell the drama or belt for validation; she leans into restraint, letting the weight of the lyrics do the work. There’s confidence in her delivery, but also warmth, a sense that she’s inviting the listener into the conversation, not preaching from a podium. It’s this balance that makes the song feel so flirtatious. ‘Roommates’ doesn’t demand attention; it earns it, slowly, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile.

Maybe like the stars at noon
You won’t come out until you’re ready
But here I am telling you
don’t put off the night too long
And I know we would laugh
if I tried walking in in something sexy
But I don’t wanna beg you,
I know you know what I want

But life is life-ing
and pressure is pressuring me
Oh, I wish that I could
catch you in the right light

I only want the beginning, I don’t want the end
Want the part where you say, “Goddamn”
Back of the dive bar, giving you head
Then sneak home late, wake up your roommates
Want the highlights, ten out of ten
The butterflies from holding your hand
Before we swept us under the bed
And we became practically roommates
I’m touching myself looking at porn
‘Cause you don’t even look my way no more

In her own words, Duff describes “Roommates” as “that ache for a wilder, freer time,” and the track captures that restless hum beautifully.

It’s about finding your way back, to your rhythm, your person, yourself, without pretending that life hasn’t changed. There’s something deeply sexy about that honesty. In an era where pop often leans toward either escapism or oversharing, ‘Roommates’ occupies a more nuanced middle ground: grounded, self-aware, and deliciously human.

I wanna stay your new girl
Always-think-I’m-cute girl
Only in the whole world
I’m paranoid of new girls
All the shiny cute girls
God, it makes my head swirl

As a preview of luck… or something, “Roommates” suggests an album unafraid of complexity, one that embraces maturity without losing mischief. Hilary Duff isn’t rewriting her past; she’s expanding on it, colouring outside the lines with intention and joy. If “Mature” was the announcement, “Roommates” is the flirtatious follow-up text that keeps you thinking long after your phone’s been put down. February 20 suddenly feels very far away, and if this is what growing up sounds like, consider us utterly obsessed.

I only want the beginning, I don’t want the end
Want the part where you say, “Goddamn”
Back of a dive bar, giving you head
Then sneak home late, wake up your roommates
Want the highlights, ten out of ten
The butterflies from holding your hand
Before we swept us under the bed
And we became practically roommates
I’m touching myself by the front door
But you don’t even look my way no more

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