It was supposed to be a clean slate. You’d spent weeks imagining what it would feel like to finally leave home, to step off the bus in Seoul with your suitcase, to walk through the university gates knowing this was your life now. No more curfews, no more parents hovering, no more small-town quiet.

But standing in the doorway of Room 317, you were starting to think this might already be a mistake. Because sitting on the bed by the window — neat, cross-legged, phone in hand — was very clearly not the roommate you’d expected.

He glanced up as the door creaked open, his eyes dark and unreadable as they landed on you.

“…Wrong room?” he asked flatly.

You shook your head, forcing a smile as you fished out your dorm assignment. “No. Room 317. It’s here.”

He set his phone down slowly and took the paper from your hands, scanning it once, then twice. His lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, but handed it back.

For a second, he just stared at you like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or throw you out himself. Then he leaned back against the headboard, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Guess housing really screwed up.”

He called the housing office immediately, of course, and so did you. But the answer was the same: no open rooms, no spare beds. It’ll only be temporary — we’ll fix it as soon as possible. Please be patient.

So you stayed. And he tolerated it. Barely.

You learned quickly what he hated, your alarm ringing too early, the sound of your hairdryer, your books spilling onto his side of the desk. But you also learned what he didn’t say out loud like how he always left the window open just a crack, even at night. Or how he watched you sometimes when he thought you wouldn’t notice, his gaze lingering just a little too long before flicking back to his laptop screen.

One night, it rained. Hard. You came back late from the library, hair damp and shoes squeaking against the floor. He was already in bed, one arm behind his head, eyes half-shut.

“You’re late,” he murmured, voice just loud enough to cut through the sound of the rain.