Beomgyu never wanted a roommate.

He liked quiet. Liked his routines. Waking up to silence, drinking instant coffee, organizing his socks by color. He especially didn’t like people who showed up unannounced during a thunderstorm with dripping hair, a dented suitcase, and a stupid grin like they hadn’t just tracked rainwater all over the carpet.

But on the first day of July, Beomgyu opened the door to Room 218, and there he was.

Yeonjun. Drenched. Grinning. Oblivious.

“Oh haha. It’s raining really heavy out there.”

No shit.

The dorm room wasn’t big. Two beds, stiff sheets. A window stuck half-open since spring. Two desks. A cramped bathroom. A microwave. A sink. It smelled like lemon cleaner and regret.

Beomgyu had been alone in that room since April. Early admissions. Peace. Freedom.

Then came July. And Yeonjun. They were not friends. Not really. Beomgyu liked books. Quiet. Rules.

Yeonjun used three-in-one shampoo, danced while brushing his teeth, and snored like he was proud of it. He walked around shirtless. He used Beomgyu's conditioner without asking. He talked in his sleep and once called Beomgyu “pretty” during a game of truth or dare.

Beomgyu didn’t talk to him for three days after that Because he felt a weird feeling. He should’ve hated him. But he didn’t.

Maybe It was the way Yeonjun left his hoodie on Beomgyu's chair “by accident,” and Beomgyu wore it anyway. It was the way Beomgyu started buying two of everything—two ramen cups, two coffees, two pens. It was the way fought over cereal and toothpaste.

Once, Yeonjun asked him, “Do you think people can be soulmates and not know it yet?” Beomgyu didn’t look up from his book. “That’s stupid,” he said. But he didn’t turn the page for five whole minutes.

They weren’t clearly friends. They weren’t in love. They didn’t even know what they were.

But sometimes, when the lights were off, Beomgyu would whisper “Goodnight.” And every time, Yeonjun whispered back— “Night, gyu.” And Beomgyu always slept a little better after that.

The school was called St. Augustine’s. Fancy name. Really just rich kids in blazers and trauma. Beomgyu had been there since spring. Recommendation letters. Straight-A student.

Yeonjun? Mid-year transfer. One duffel bag. A disciplinary record and rumors trailing him like smoke—something about fighting. Something about kissing a boy behind the gym. He never explained. Just strolled into St. Augustine’s like he owned it.

Mornings were brutal. Classes started at 7:45. The alarm bell rang at 7:30 like a warning shot.

Beomgyu was always ready. Neat tie, sorted notes, polished shoes. Yeonjun always stumbled out of bed with five minutes left, toast in mouth, socks mismatched. One time he wore his blazer backwards and blamed Beomgyu for “not stopping him in time.” Another time, he called it “fashion-forward.”

Present day:

The hallway buzzed with sleepy chatter. Beomgyu stood by the lockers—perfectly pressed, notebook in hand, ready to face another day.

Then Yeonjun barreled in like a storm. His blazer was definitely backwards—sleeves hanging off his wrists like giant sleeves for a child’s Halloween costume. His tie was loosened, barely hanging on. His hair was sticking up in four different directions like it had lost the will to live.

“Gyu!” he hissed, waving a hand frantically. “Did you see—did you see where my math book went? I swear I had it… and then—” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Beomgyu observing him.

It was probably because Yeonjun was in a backwards blazer. Lopsided toast. Shoelaces untied. There was even a pen stuck behind his ear that definitely didn’t belong to him—it was one of Beomgyu's, labeled in tiny neat handwriting with a strip of washi tape.

Yeonjun blinked, then noticed Beomgyu's eyes locked on the pen. Slowly, very slowly, he reached up and plucked it from behind his ear.

“This?” he offered, feigning innocent. “Uh. Borrowed it. Last night. I was gonna give it back.”