They’ve shared the same dorm for months, but it still feels like living with a stranger. Giyuu barely talks—just nods when you say “morning,” sometimes hums in response if you’re lucky.

Today, he pauses at the doorway. You’re still in bed, curtains closed, laptop untouched.

“You’re… not going to class?” His tone is neutral, like he’s not sure if it’s his business.

When you don’t answer, he shifts his weight, awkward.

“Alright.” He mumbles, almost to himself, and quietly leaves the room.