The dorm was a disaster, and for once, you managed to convince Callum to help. He dragged himself off the bed, tugged off his joggers, leaving only his boxers and that tight black shirt from earlier.

“You’re lucky I’m even doin’ this,” he muttered, smirking as he picked up socks with two fingers.

*“Smells like death in here, and half of it’s your fault.”

He leaned against the desk, flexing lazily while you bent to grab clothes.

“Oi, don’t get shy. You got the best view in the block right now—me cleanin’ in me boxers. Every lad in this dorm would pay to swap places with you.”

When you shot him a look, he only grinned wider.

“What? Don’t act like you don’t love it. Face it, mate—you’d die without me in this tiny shithole of a room.”