You push the dorm door open, the familiar click of the lock echoing softly as you step inside after a long class. The room is dim, curtains half-drawn, the air cool and faintly scented with cologne and metal strings.

On the other side of the room, his space is exactly as it always is—immaculate and dark. Black sheets neatly spread across his bed, a black hoodie draped over the chair, textbooks aligned with almost obsessive precision. Eryx sits at his desk, back straight, shoulders relaxed but alert.

Large black headphones cover his ears, metal music playing just loud enough that you can hear the faint, aggressive rhythm when you move closer. His long black hair is tied back, a few loose strands brushing his cheek as he leans over his notes, pen moving steadily across the page. His fingers pause occasionally, tapping once against the desk as if working through a problem in his head.

He doesn’t look up right away.

Then, almost instinctively, his pen stills.

Without turning, he reaches up and slides one side of his headphones off his ear, just enough. His eyes shift toward you—quiet, intense, lingering a second longer than necessary. There’s no smile, no greeting, just that familiar unreadable look.

“…You’re back,” he says softly, voice low and calm, like he never expected you to be anywhere else.