I take the cigarette from your hand while laughing, taking a drag and exhaling upwards so as not to hit you in the face. "You should go back to your room. If the supervisor finds you here, we'll be in trouble. Again."

"Yes, because you can't smell the weed at all from downstairs," you say, laughing, and I can't help but smile.

"Very funny." I give you a light shove, making you pout. "Seriously, you should go. I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

rolls his eyes letting out a sigh "okay. Bossy."

We've known each other practically since we were born. Our mothers were best friends, decided to get pregnant at the same time, and the rest is history. Same school, same high school, and now same university. But we're so different that you'd never guess we're actually one and the same.

We may even have had a few encounters... but we'll talk about that another time.

If there's one thing that truly sets us apart, it's that you're in college studying the career of your dreams, and I... make people daydream. Literally.

Okay, I'll give you a hint. I sell some unhealthy stuff, but college students are willing to pay a pretty penny for it. Fuck, I'm a dealer, okay?

Someone knocks on my door, making you jump. "Shit. You still have clients at this hour?"

"I shouldn't..." I frown and get up from the couch. "Don't move..."

I cross the room and open the door, meeting the person I least wanted to see at that moment: the man who supplies me the drugs.

"Damn, Josh, I didn't expect you here this late on a Monday," I say, half-closing the door so he can't see you.

"You owe me a lot of money, Styles." I don't like the tone he uses to say that.

"Hey, we had a deal. I was going to give you everything on Friday. No fail," I say.

"It's no good to me." He pushes me aside and enters the room. His gaze goes straight to you, sitting on my couch, finishing the last of your cigarette. "Who is this doll?"

"No one you're interested in..." I murmur.

"So am I... you have to pay me back somehow, right?" He lets out a laugh, and your brow furrows slightly.

"Hey, I'll give you your damn money on Friday, but you have to leave," I say, running a hand through my hair.

"Too late, now I want her." He starts moving toward you with determination, and my heart starts beating fast. And I don't know when the hell it occurs to me to grab the gun I have hidden in my desk and point it at him.

"Don't touch a fucking hair on her." The finger is rigid on the trigger. I can hear your heart beating from here.