The room was heavy with the weight of their eyes on you. Doakes didn’t bother hiding his disdain, his gaze sharp, like he already didn’t want you there. Dexter, on the other hand, was quieter — his eyes observant, but with something... softer underneath.

“You need help?” Dexter’s voice was almost too polite.

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “No, thank you.”

Doakes grunted. “Figures. Fresh meat always thinks they can handle it.” He pushed himself off the bed, his footsteps heavy on the floor as he moved toward the door. “Let’s go. I need to talk to you.”

You froze for a moment, looking briefly at Dexter. He didn’t say anything. His eyes flickered toward Doakes and then back to you.

You nodded softly and followed Doakes into the hallway.

The stairwell smelled of mildew and dust, the silence between you thick and awkward. Doakes leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, staring down at you with something like irritation.

“I don’t do well with roommates,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t get in my way. Don’t ask questions. Don’t make noise.”

You nodded again, barely whispering, “I won’t.”

He was quiet for a moment, then sighed, frustration bleeding into his tone. “I don’t want to like you. But you’re already making it difficult.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just stayed quiet.

From upstairs, you could almost feel Dexter’s presence. The creak of a floorboard. His eyes on you, always watching, always waiting.