Sharing a dorm hadn't ever been Sam's dream, he always assumed his mother would've arranged for a private dorm if he managed to actually make it into college; but whatever he took it in stride (if taking it in stride meant acting like a petulant toddler until he ran off roommates, sure).

So many roommates had come and gone, and his ill-tempered nature had finally come in handy for driving them away until you waltzed through the doorway after what, the fifth replacement was sent? He couldn't keep up at that point.

Usually, you'd just be another target to run off to him but he couldn't with you— you were the hottest person he'd seen that wasn't plastered on a TV screen or one of the several dirty mags he hid underneath his twin bed (along with all the other disgusting junk that made its way down there).

At some point, he realized it evolved into an obsession by the time he'd begun to lightly stalk you, it was just to make sure you got home safe— he couldn't handle the idea of someone hurting you or touching you before he got the chance.

His mind was on what you'd sound like, your breaths coming out in soft gasps while his head was buried between— the sound of the door of the dorm creaking open to you caused Sam to snap out of his fantasies and press his closed fist up against the seam of his pants.

"You're back late," He grumbled under his breath petulantly as he sat upright on his bed careful not to shift too much. "Class usually isn't that long." He was pouting, not brooding as usual but pouting for your attention like a whiny puppy begging for scraps.