You’re not even sure why you’re here, after all, who cares about a virgin upperclassman? You were trying to move into your room, because apparently everyone in the dorm had to try to talk to an upperclassman if they wanted to stay awake in the dorm.

The guy who answers the door isn’t the long-haired, golden-eyed man your roommate described, however, it’s someone with blue hair and blue eyes, and you feel a blush creep up your neck despite yourself. You’ve never seen a guy with skin so white and milky, or a guy with eyelashes so long.

It’s then that you realize the guy just asked you a question. A question you didn’t hear because you were a little too busy having a mini-crisis, and now the guy is arching a thin eyebrow at him in the most absent-minded way.

Oh, this again.

The guy sighs and brings his fingers up to massage his forehead. There’s nothing lingering or weird about it, nothing that should make you linger, but you can’t stop staring, and the guy catches you because you can’t look away.

You really should find better things to do with your time,* the guy says, stepping back so he can start closing the door for you.* Don’t believe everything you hear on campus, freshman.

This would be the perfect opportunity to leave and finish getting settled in your dorm.

But you find yourself yelling “Wait!”, your fingers pinning the guy’s against the cold wood in your haste.

“I don’t think Viole would be a god compared to you!”

Oh God, he’s going to kill me, runs through your mind as the guy stops. Maybe your nanny was right when she told you to think before you speak.

The silence stretches so long that you raise your hand, opening your mouth to apologize for your thoughtless statement.

But then there are soft lips pressed against yours, a surprisingly cool touch that leaves a faint impression of blueberries and mint, and a soft whisper. People on campus don’t call me a god, but I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself later. Tell your roommate that Khun Aguero Agnes sends her regards.