The office smelled like coffee and old carpet.
Luca leaned on the counter, drumming his fingers. "So… got anything with privacy? I snore. Loudly."
The dorm manager didn't flinch. "Everything's full."
Luca tilted his head. "Even the singles?"
"Especially the singles."
He exhaled slowly. "Okay. So, what? You want me to sleep in the hallway?"
"You're lucky there's a shared unit left," the man replied, tapping the screen in front of him. "Most students confirmed last week."
Luca straightened. "Shared?"
The manager slid a key across the desk. "Room 3B. Don't be picky."
"You'll be with another student," the man added, already turning to his files. "Or you can try the next semester. Maybe you'll be early next time."
He stared at the key like it had betrayed him. "I thought dorm life meant, like, freedom. Not bunking with some math major who judges my playlists."
"That's campus housing. Not a penthouse."
Luca pinched the bridge of his nose. His bag dug into his shoulder.
The fluorescent lights above buzzed like they were mocking him. This wasn't the plan.
He was supposed to sulk in peace, throw a solo pity party, maybe blast music until campus security begged him to stop.
He picked up the key. It was cold in his hand. "This day just keeps getting better."
"No parties," the manager added.
Luca paused at the door. "You're assuming I make friends that fast."
The dorm building smelled cleaner than the office—like lemon disinfectant and too much effort. Room 3B sat at the end of the hallway, near a window that rattled slightly from the wind.
The door creaked open.
Luca stepped in, one brow arched as his eyes scanned the room—two raised beds, matching desks, a shared wardrobe pressed against the far wall.
Not a sock out of place. The air even smelled… sterilized. Like lemon wipes and judgment.
"Wow," he muttered, dragging his suitcase across the floor. "Monastery chic."
Noel didn't look up. Hoodie on, earphones in, eyes locked on the thick book in front of him.
His pencil moved in quiet, precise strokes, as if the arrival of a roommate had been expected—and already dismissed.
Luca dropped his bag near the unclaimed bed. "Hey. Guess we're bunking up."
Silence.
He leaned a little to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the guy's face. "You… human? Or part of the furniture?"
Noel paused mid-sentence, closed his book without a sound, and finally looked up.
"Luca, right?" Voice flat. Calm. Like reading from a script.
Luca smirked. "So you do talk. I was about to check for a pulse."
Noel didn't blink. "Just don't touch my side of the room."
Luca dropped onto the edge of his bed with a dramatic sigh. "This is going to be fun."
Noel turned back to his book. "For you, maybe."
Luca scoffed quietly and looked around like the room might change if he stared long enough.
The walls were off-white, textured like someone had tried to make concrete look cozy.
He stood, wandered over to the shared wardrobe, opened it halfway—Noel's side already had shirts hung with clinical precision. Hangers evenly spaced, labels facing front.
"Neat freak confirmed," he muttered under his breath.
He didn't unpack. Just yanked off his shirt—already half-buttoned to begin with—and tossed it onto the chair. White tank underneath.
He flopped back onto the mattress, letting out a long breath like the day had personally offended him.
The springs groaned.
Across the room, Noel didn't look up, but his pencil stopped moving.
Luca squinted over at him. "You always this… lively?"
Noel turned a page. "Only when strangers throw their shirts around like it's their bedroom."
Luca smirked. "Roommate banter. Cute."
"Not trying to be."
"Guess I'm stuck with the moody, mysterious type." Luca stretched, his vest riding up slightly. "So what's your deal? Clean freak? Study robot? Guy who hates fun?"
Noel finally looked up. Just once. A glance. Sharp, uninterested. "Just don't mess with my side."
Luca held up both hands, eyes half-lidded. "I'm all about boundaries."
"Good." Noel turned back to his book.
A clock on the wall ticked just a little too loud.
Luca lay there for a beat, staring at the ceiling, then to Noel again. "You know, we might actually get along."
No answer. But he didn't shut his book either.
Silence stretched, not comfortable but not hostile either. Something in-between. Luca shifted, fingers tapping against his chest.
"Music?" he asked, reaching for his phone.
Noel didn't respond.
Luca opened his music app and hovered over his playlists—half of them were named things like Sulk Fuel, Breakup Bangers, and Dead Inside But Hot.
He hesitated. Clicked Lowkey Panic. A soft beat hummed through the phone's speaker. Chill, lo-fi, moody—nothing too offensive.
Noel glanced up once, but didn't comment.
Luca tucked the phone beside his pillow and stared at the ceiling.
"So," he muttered, softer this time. "You from around here?"
Still no reply.
He tried again. "Transfer? Freshman? Social experiment gone wrong?"
"Second-year," Noel said flatly. "And I'm not here to make small talk."
That stung more than it should've.
Luca turned his head to the wall. "Cool."
Another long pause.
Luca pulled the pillow under his head, watching Noel through half-lidded eyes. Hoodie.
Glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. A world away, even while sitting five feet across.
He didn't know why he wanted the guy to ask something—anything. Not about his major. Not about where he came from. Just… something.
Instead, he was left with the quiet buzz of the overhead light and the slow, methodical scratching of Noel's pencil.
Luca closed his eyes. Not fully asleep. Not fully present.
Just drifting—somewhere between exhaustion and annoyance, with a vague sense that this year was going to be a lot longer than he thought.