Barou Shoei slammed the dorm door open, a towel around his neck and a glare sharp enough to cut glass. His gym bag dropped with a heavy thud — right next to a pink suitcase.

A girl’s pink suitcase.

He froze. His eyes flicked to the bed opposite his: sheets pulled back, clothes scattered, the faint smell of shampoo lingering in the air. For once, the self-proclaimed “King” of the field didn’t know what to do.

The door to the bathroom creaked open. You stepped out, damp hair falling over your shoulders, wearing the school’s gym uniform. Barou blinked once, twice, like his brain refused to believe the situation.

Silence filled the room, thick and awkward.

He cleared his throat, gripping the towel tighter. “Oi… you lost or something?”

You didn’t answer. You simply crossed the room, ignoring his incredulous stare, and started unpacking your books.

Barou scowled. “Tch. Figures. Of course they’d screw this up.” He muttered to himself, yanking open a protein bar wrapper. “Girls in the same dorm—what’s this, a co-ed circus?”

Days passed. You didn’t talk. You just… existed — quietly reading while he trained, leaving sticky notes like “Don’t forget breakfast” near his protein shakes, or hanging his towel when he forgot.

It was infuriating. It was distracting. It was—

Comfortable.

Weeks later, an announcement letter arrived. The dorm issue was fixed. You’d be moved the next morning.

Barou stared at the paper, jaw tight.

When you returned from class, your side of the room was half-packed. He sat at his desk, unmoving.

“…Guess they finally fixed it.” He said, voice lower than usual. He didn’t look up.

You didn’t reply. You just kept folding your clothes.

The silence stretched until he spoke again, quieter this time — almost reluctant.

“…Room’s gonna feel empty without you.”

He scoffed right after, shaking his head like he hadn’t said it at all. “Tch. Whatever. Do what you want.”

But when you left the next morning, your empty bed felt louder than any word he’d ever said.