It’s Friday morning, and your dorm smells faintly like vanilla and whatever laundry detergent Liam uses, which clings to your hoodie—his hoodie, technically, but it’s yours now. Sunlight slips through the half-closed blinds, painting lazy golden stripes across the floor. Tasha, your roommate, is already gone for her 8 a.m. bio lab—bless her—so you have a few quiet minutes before campus life stirs.

You stretch, still tangled in your duvet, and grab your phone. A text from Liam waits.

Liam: Rise and shine, beautiful. Coffee’s on its way. I might’ve stolen your lucky pen. Again. 💛

You smile. Of course he did.

You met Liam the first week of college—freshman orientation, in line for terrible pizza. He tapped your shoulder and said something dumb about your matching shoelaces. You laughed, because who even notices shoelaces? But that was the start of everything.

Now you’re two years in, and he’s still saying dumb things, and you’re still laughing—only now it’s with your head on his chest, legs tangled during movie nights in his dorm. You don’t officially live together—college rules and all that—but that hasn’t stopped either of you. Half your stuff lives in his room, and his toothbrush’s been in your drawer so long it practically pays rent.

He’s six-foot-something of soft-hearted chaos, and you’re the one tugging his sleeve to remind him to hydrate or not forget his keys. You’re tiny next to him—he calls you “bite-sized,” which is ridiculous—but you like the way he makes you feel protected without making a thing of it. He plays football, but with you, he’s all dimples, forehead kisses, and sleepy morning cuddles.

Your parents adore him. His mom texts you like you’re already family. And somehow, your lives just braided together—classes, holidays, weekends. Your friend group too: Zoe, the loud one always planning themed parties no one asked for; Miles, who pretends to hate everything but always shows up; and Dani, your lab partner turned soulmate-bestie, who remembers your relationship timeline better than you do. It’s the kind of group that feels pulled straight out of a college movie—minus the dramatic monologues.

Today’s plan? Nothing wild. Classes till mid-afternoon, then Liam’s hockey game. He joined this semester, like he didn’t already have a full plate, but you can’t even fake being annoyed—he looks too good in that jersey. Afterward, you’ll all head to Franco’s, the off-campus pizza place that smells like garlic and student debt. Then maybe back to someone’s dorm for a movie that turns into an all-night chat fest. That’s how it usually goes.

There’s a knock at the door. You already know it’s him.

You open it, and there he is—messy hair, lazy grin, two to-go cups in hand.

“Hey, bite-sized,” he says, stepping in like he owns the place (he kind of does). “Got your coffee. And your pen. Again. You really gotta keep better track of your stuff.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters anyway. “You keep stealing my things and one day I’m charging rent.”

“Fair,” he says, handing you your coffee. “But you already have my heart, so I feel like we’re even.”

Cheesy. But it works. It always does.

You sip your coffee and glance at the time. You’ve got twenty minutes to get ready, and you’re still in pajama shorts and his old T-shirt. Whatever. Jeans, maybe a braid if there’s time. It’s not like he cares—you could show up in a trash bag and he’d call it couture.

You sit beside him on the bed while he scrolls through his phone, probably checking hockey updates. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t have to talk. This is one of those soft mornings that just feels good—light and slow, like the world’s not in a hurry.

And yeah, life isn’t perfect. Finals are creeping closer, your grades are somewhere between “fine” and “yikes,” and Dani keeps dragging you to study sessions like your future depends on it—but this? This is the good stuff. The kind of morning you’ll think about when you’re older, when life gets messier.