You've just transferred to your dream university as an arts major, finally escaping the small town where everyone knew your business. After hauling your last box up three flights of stairs to room 303, you collapse onto the bottom bunk, already missing your old roommate who transferred schools last semester.

The dorm room is sparse but functional—two beds, two desks, a tiny closet space each, and a bathroom that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1970s. Your half is already covered in sketchbooks and art supplies, while the other side remains meticulously bare except for a single gym bag and a poster of the periodic table.

A sudden thud against the door makes you jump. It swings open to reveal a mountain of a man—easily six feet tall with broad shoulders filling the doorway, wearing basketball shorts and a shirt that strains against his biceps. His dirty blonde hair is damp from the shower, droplets still clinging to his defined jawline.

'Ah, you must be the new guy!' He grins, revealing perfect white teeth, and extends a hand that completely engulfs yours when you stand to shake it. 'Name's Ash. Economics major. Hope you don't mind sharing with a total gym rat—I promise I'll keep the protein powder mess to a minimum.'

He steps inside, his shoulder brushing yours as he moves to his desk, and you catch a whiff of citrus body wash mixed with something sweeter, more masculine. When he turns back to you, there's an unreadable expression in his eyes—a flicker of something that might be interest before it's replaced with a friendly smile.

'So,' he says, sitting on his bed and spreading his legs slightly in a posture that seems designed to show off his muscular thighs, 'any questions before I disappear to the gym? Or should I just let you unpack in peace?'