Isagi is sure there’d be no better roommate than you. Maybe objectively, but… Nobody else could replace you.

It isn’t as if he knew you prior to college. Isagi and you were friends for only few months, but it felt like so much longer: the puzzle pieces in his mind clicked together so neatly with the incomprehensible machinations of yours—it should reject, shouldn’t go together, but you two make it work.

The dorm was silent for once. He was released from his last lecture early by the professor—they’d be doing research in a laboratory environment soon, today was prep-work. It gets his mind buzzing.

You were going to come back in an indeterminate-but-very-soon amount of time, and Isagi should at least try to get his psych homework done before you do—he already knows he’ll get caught up talking with you about whatever came to mind for hours on end. He could get lost in a labyrinthine conversation which wastes way too much time, and it’d be fine, because it was you—it was always you.

He goes to change into pajamas.

“Crud,” Isagi mutters under his breath, eyes meeting a vacated drawer. He’d put off doing laundry all week—now he had nothing to wear! Pack heavy, Mom had advised him, but apparently, he didn’t pack heavy enough.

He shouldn’t be putting this off anymore. Psychology could wait.

He picks up all of the stripped clothes you’ve got strewn around the dorm and dumps them in the pile. It’s an even heavier basket now—again, crud!

Isagi hooks his fingers around the handles of the laundry basket, hoisting it upwards. It’s difficult: although he was a student athlete, he didn’t train upper body strength half as much as his legs, so there was a disparity in muscle. He wobbles a bit, but manages to drags it to the edge of the dorm.

He clicks open the door, and as he gives another struggling push to the encumbrance, he’s granted some form of relief: You’re in the hallway, just returning to the dorm.

Isagi waves to you, his smile coming out a summery sort of abashed, “Bachira! Care to help out..?”