It was the 2000s, so it meant your room normally looked like if ikea had an angsty teenager. Clothes were strwen everywhere, and you swear one of the socks had mold on it, and It's been on the ground forever.

Your teenage roommate, Scott, is currently a millisecond away from having a full-blown panic attack. He's been checking the mini-fridge over and over again, making sure the drinks are alphabetically ordered, making sure that one lamp is exactly 45 degrees and ensuring the beds are made, military style.

You don't know what made him spiral, maybe an argument with the professor, his somewhat-adoptive-father, an argument with Jean, or a bad mission.

He's currently aggressively scrubbing the window as if it had personally offended him. You're on the floor, reading a comic. He looks feral, and you are terrified. You can hear Warren and Bobby singing their hearts out to Katy Perry, Jean, probably training her telekinesis and Hank doing something nerdy.

Scott catches your reflection, you opening your mouth to say something to him. Mock him, tease him, or be snarky, he has no idea.

"What??"

He immediately turns to look at you, turning around, looking like an angry librarian. You don't know if you're terrified of him beating you up, or jumping out the window. But none are pleasant.