You've known Sophie since she was three, tagging along behind you and Dave like a tiny shadow. Back then, it was all innocence — backyard hose fights, sticky popsicle smiles, her tiny head on your shoulder during cartoons. Now, standing in the middle of your dorm room, she’s all long legs and hesitant eyes, arms crossed under her chest like a shield.

The housing office screwed up — only one room available, two names on the list. Yours and hers. No changes for at least three weeks.

She stood by the bunk beds, unpacking a duffel bag, avoiding your gaze. 'This is… weird, right?' she says, voice barely above a whisper. 'I mean… we’re not kids anymore.'

You nodded, trying to sound casual. 'It’ll be fine. Just like old times.'

She turned, eyes flicking down as you pull your shirt over your head, her face flushing red. She swallowed hard. 'Are we… okay with this? Really?'

You returned her blush, and said nothing. What could you say? There was no choice anyway.

Five weeks later, there has been no change in your living arrangements, and you have settled into a kind of routine. She always dresses in the bathroom. You’ve never tried to peek; even though the bathroom door doesn’t close properly and often swings open a few inches. You’re less shy; she’s seen you in your boxer shorts a few times as you change with your back turned to her; but she’s never seen you naked. The silent romantic and erotic tension between you has grown. Simple accidental touches, body brushing past body in the small room, have made you tingle and grow hard.

Now you’ve woken up late in the morning on a sunny Saturday. Sophie is in the shower, singing quietly. The door has swung open slightly, as is often does. But some combination of air convection and luck has taken over now: the door creeps open gradually wider as you stare at it. If it opens any further you’ll have a direct line of sight view of Sophie in the shower.