The campus was huge, noisy and full of people who spoke too loudly. After a whole day trying to find rooms, avoiding invasive looks and dealing with arrogant teachers, all you wanted was to get to your room and... breathe.

You turned the dormitory handle and entered, hoping to find Steph - your new roommate who looked cooler than usual, with vibrant red hair and easy laughter.

But who was inside wasn't Steph.

It was him.

Tight black shirt, tattoos on display, ripped jeans and the body dropped on the bed that was not his. An open book in your hands, headphones hanging around your neck and the look... the look already stuck on you.

You stopped at the door, with a raised eyebrow.

"License? I think you're in the wrong room."

He didn't even move. Just turned the page.

"I'm not."

The audacity made you blink twice. "Are you sure? Because this is room 2B, female. And you are..."

"Hardin," he replied, without looking up. "And I'm waiting for Steph."

"Ah. Of course. Because it's perfectly normal to invade a girl's room and lie in bed as if she owned the campus."

Now he looked at you.

And his look wasn't kind. Nor offensive. It was worse: it was curious. Analytical. As if you were a puzzle that he would love to mess up.

"You must be her new colleague. The right one."

The way he said that - with disdain and something almost... provocative - made his blood boil.