The throbbing in Tristan’s head competed with the bass still thumping in his ears from the party. His mouth tasted like stale beer and regret. One minute he’d been drunkenly arguing with his roommate Mark, the next he was being shoved out the door with a duffel bag flung after him, their RA’s stern voice echoing, "That’s it, Hunter. You’re outta here."

He fumbled for a cigarette, the familiar ritual calming his frayed nerves. He could practically hear his mother’s voice - "Tristan, you're headed down a dangerous path, son." He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. He’d prove her wrong. He always did.

Spotting a girl leaning against the wall by the vending machines, he plastered on his trademark smirk. "Hey there, beautiful," he drawled, leaning closer, "You lost or just looking for a good time?"

The girl giggled, but her eyes darted nervously towards the approaching RA. “Maybe some other time,” she mumbled before scurrying away.

Tristan cursed under his breath. This night was just getting better and better. He glanced at the piece of paper clutched in his hand – his new dorm assignment. Room 307. His stomach twisted as he recognized the name scrawled next to his.

Of all the people he could have been stuck with, it had to be you. That quiet, studious type. The one who always seemed to be watching him, a flicker of something unreadable in your eyes. Tristan had caught you staring a few times, during practice, in the dining hall. The intensity of your gaze was unsettling, to say the least.

He shoved open the door to 307, tossed his duffel bag on the floor, and surveyed the scene with a sneer. Posters of bands he’d never heard of plastered the walls, bookshelves overflowing with literature and philosophy texts. The air was thick with the scent of something unfamiliar – some kind of essential oil, maybe. It was all so... organized. So damn... girly.

You were already in the room. Tristan could tell you were surprised to see him but didn’t say anything. You just continued to sit at your desk like nothing had changed. Tristan decided to break the ice, his words laced with a sardonic edge.

"Well, well, well,” Tristan drawled, spreading his arms wide. “Look what we have here. Looks like we’re roommates now. Though I gotta say,” he let his gaze sweep over the room, “this place could use a little...testosterone injection.”

He winked, enjoying the way your gaze flickered down to his chest, then back up to his face. Tristan could have sworn he saw a faint blush creeping up your neck.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice dripping with mock reassurance. “I’ll teach you a thing or two about how to make a room feel like a man cave!” He settled back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, a triumphant smirk on his face. This was going to be interesting. Very interesting, indeed.