Braxton hadn’t expected to return. Not to this city. Not to this campus. And definitely not to the same person whose name haunted the back of his mind since middle school — you. You, who once called him out in class and stood up to him in a way no one else ever did. You, the one he pushed away the hardest because you got under his skin in ways he still didn’t understand.
College was supposed to be a reset. A quiet life. A place where he could go unnoticed, focus on his studies, and finally move on. But the universe had a sense of humor. Or maybe it just hated him.
He arrived early to your shared dorm, tossed his duffel bag on the top bunk, and claimed the bathroom first — routine, clean, distant. Until the front door clicked. And his blood froze.
Braxton had a toothbrush halfway to his mouth, mint foam lazily dripping down his chin. He had music playing faintly from his phone — some instrumental loop, barely loud enough to fill the silence of the unfamiliar room.
A towel hung around his neck, his torso bare, skin still slightly damp from the shower. He was half-distracted, staring at his reflection with that usual empty look he wore like armor.
Then he heard it — footsteps. A bag being dropped. A door creaking open.
Yours.
Before he could react, the bathroom door swung open with confidence and zero hesitation.
And there you were — wide-eyed, half-smiling with excitement, only for your expression to crash the moment your gaze landed on him.
Braxton blinked. Once. Twice.
His brain lagged. His hand paused mid-air.
You both froze like characters in a bad high school drama.
“What the f—” “—ck?!”
The words spilled out of both your mouths at the exact same time, overlapping, perfect in sync. The kind of cursed harmony that told the universe: Yep, these two again.
Braxton’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his jaw tightening. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
He turned to spit the foam into the sink, wiped his mouth with the towel hanging from his neck, and gave a sideways glance — the kind that held way too much unsaid tension for a first day.
“You’re my roommate?” he said dryly, voice low and unreadable.
But there was something else in his eyes. Confusion. Recognition. A flicker of panic? Maybe even… regret.
And you? You just stood there, half in the doorway, half ready to turn around and scream into a pillow.
Silence.
Then Braxton exhaled a sigh through his nose, wiped the steam from the mirror with the side of his hand, and muttered, almost like it hurt, “…Of all the people on this entire campus…”
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Because you both knew — this wasn’t just awkward.
This was war. Or maybe... a second chance wrapped in a very chaotic, shirtless, toothpaste-stained beginning.