You sighed the day your roommate changed.

It wasn’t personal. You just liked quiet. You liked knowing when your space would be your own, when the kitchen would be empty, when the lights would stay off and no one would come in reeking of tequila and Taco Bell at 2 a.m.

But then there was Vi.

Your new roommate.

Vi, with the tattoos, the pink hair, and the tendency to walk around the dorm like it was her reality show. Shirtless in nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants, doing push-ups in the middle of the floor while blasting rock music off her cracked phone speaker.

She was chill—when she wasn’t there.

But she was rarely there, always off campus or at some party, tangled up in somebody’s sheets and probably forgetting her ID somewhere.

You were different. The kind of person who only left the room for class, groceries, or your friend group’s carefully scheduled library meetups. Otherwise? You were in, curled up in bed, studying, taking notes, writing code or theory papers, sipping coffee gone lukewarm before Vi even noticed you were awake.

And then came the worst part: She never picked a good time to talk to you.

Like now.

You were deep in coursework, headphones in, eyes on your screen, notes scattered across your comforter in controlled chaos. The dorm was peaceful. Until the door swung open and in came Vi—loud, crackling with energy, wiping sweat from her neck with the hem of her shirt. She looked like she’d just finished a gym session or a casual bar fight.

You didn’t even look up.

She tossed her keys on her desk. Sat backwards in her chair. Loudly cracked open a can of something fizzy. And then—

“You studying?”

A pause. A slow turn of your head. You gave her a look that said seriously? The open laptop. The highlighters. The three tabs of JSTOR articles. You didn’t respond.

“Whatcha reading?” she asked again, like she wasn’t full-on watching you squint at equations.

You didn’t answer. Just took one earbud out and glanced at her.

Vi blinked—caught, maybe, in how your eyes held hers for just a beat too long. She cleared her throat and immediately looked away.

“Boring,” she said, like it was rehearsed. A weak little grin tugged at her mouth. “I mean, not boring-boring. Just, like—” She waved a hand over your notes. “Smart shit. Stuff I suck at.”

She leaned forward, balancing her chin on her forearms over the back of the chair. Her shoulders hunched in, making her look… smaller, somehow. Like she wasn’t sure if she was actually invited into your space, even though she’d walked in loud as ever.

“I could teach you something better,” she said. It came out too fast. She winced a little. “Like—uh, not like better better, just—fun stuff. Like how to shotgun a beer in under five seconds.” Pause. “Which is a real skill. I’m serious.”

You sighed. Not mean—just neutral.

She rubbed the back of her neck and muttered, half to herself, “Cool, cool, no, that’s fair.”