You weren’t exactly thrilled when the housing office messed up your dorm assignment and told you you’d be sharing an off-campus apartment with… a guy. Some junior transfer student named Evan Peters. But they promised he was quiet, respectful, and “a little weird, but harmless.” Whatever that meant.

Turns out, they were right.

Evan was quiet. Ridiculously so. He barely spoke the first week — just nodded at you with a crooked little smile whenever you passed each other in the kitchen. Always wearing headphones, usually scribbling in notebooks, sometimes staying up way too late watching horror movies with subtitles on.

But the more time passed, the more you realized Evan wasn’t rude — he was just introverted, a little awkward, and way too polite for his own good.

He made amazing coffee. Played guitar and sang when he thought you weren’t home. Always knocked twice before entering a room. And once, when you had a breakdown over your midterms, he left a Post-it on your door with a drawing of a sad cat and a message: “You’ve got this. Also, I made banana bread. Help yourself.”

And god… he was cute. Not in the loud, jocky way. In the messy curls, sleepy eyes, always in a hoodie, smells like coffee and soap kind of way.

Living with him meant passing each other in the hallway with toothbrushes in your mouths. It meant falling asleep to the sound of his keyboard clacking in the next room. It meant late-night ramen and shared stress and sitting on the couch in silence, watching crappy movies together because neither of you wanted to admit how lonely university could be.

You thought he’d stay out all night. The party was at some senior’s house off-campus, and Evan had actually agreed to go — which was rare enough. You didn’t feel like it, so you stayed in, washed your face, put on a big hoodie, and curled up on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading.

It was sometime past 1 a.m. when you heard the front door click open.

You looked up as Evan stepped into the apartment, hoodie slung half-off his shoulder, curls messier than usual, and eyes glassy. His cheeks were flushed. He looked around blearily and mumbled “Shit. I was trying to be quiet.”

You raised a brow. “You’re… drunk?”

He blinked at you, then chuckled under his breath. “Kinda. Not like… bad. I had, like, two and a half beers.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. Evan Peters — your introverted, hoodie-wearing, banana-bread-baking roommate — was drunk for the first time since you’d known him.