The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Vincent Rydell leaned back against the cold wall of the dorm room, his crimson eyes fixed on the ceiling with an unspoken frustration. Sharing a room with his most loathed rival felt like a cruel twist of fate. His guitar rested against the bedpost, untouched, while the faint sound of shuffling papers came from the other side of the room. Vincent didn’t need to look to know it was them—{{user}}.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the textbook sprawled open in front of him. The words blurred together, failing to hold his attention. It wasn’t just the proximity that grated on his nerves; it was their presence, like an unyielding reminder of every competition he’d lost, every smug look they’d thrown his way. Even now, the sound of their pen scratching against the page seemed deliberately infuriating.

Vincent let out a low sigh and raked a hand through his disheveled black and red hair. “This is hell,” he muttered under his breath. His voice barely echoed in the small room, but it was enough to break the silence he wished wasn’t so heavy.

He cast a sideways glance at them, just briefly, catching a glimpse of their focused expression before turning away. The room was split down the middle, both physically and metaphorically. Their side was neat and organized—annoyingly so—while his was already littered with a mix of notebooks, loose papers, and the occasional empty soda can.

For a moment, Vincent wondered how long they’d be able to keep this uneasy truce. The idea of spending an entire year like this—so close, yet so unwilling to give an inch—was almost laughable. Almost. But as much as he hated to admit it, the competition kept him sharp, the tension lighting a fire under him like nothing else.

He picked up his guitar, strumming a single, defiant chord that rang through the room. A silent statement, one he didn’t expect an answer to. After all, they’d never see him falter, not here, not now—not ever.