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The dorm bathrooms were louder than you expected, pipes rattling, water hammering against tile, voices echoing faintly through the walls. Freshman year had only just started, and already the campus felt too full. Every hallway packed, every room crammed. The housing office had admitted more students than they could handle, forcing ridiculous compromises. Shared shower stalls. Assigned numbers. No privacy.
You waited until the building was quiet, slipping into the bathroom late at night. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, pale and cold. Steam drifted from the far end, curling lazily into the air, and your eyes locked on stall number thirteen. Your stall.
Water was still running inside.
Irritation flickered across your face, but before you could turn away, the pipes hissed and the stream cut off. The silence after was thick, heavy. Then, slowly, the door opened.
He stepped out.
The frame filled with him—broad shoulders, body carved from muscle, water rolling off his skin. Jagged scars laced across his chest and arms, harsh lines that spoke of violence, past left unspoken. They weren’t clean or precise, they were rough, sharp, and they marked him in a way that made his presence even more imposing. His blond hair hung damp against his forehead, drops sliding down the strong line of his jaw.
Then his eyes found you.
Pale blue. Cold. They sliced through the steam, holding you in place, stripping you down without interest or effort. You forgot to breathe under the weight of it.
He didn’t move, didn’t shift, only looked at you like you were nothing more than an inconvenience. A towel hung loosely in his hand, his posture relaxed yet unshakably certain. Everything about him radiated the same message, he belonged here.
Finally, his voice cut through the silence. Low. Even.
Freshman.Not a question. Not a greeting. Just a label. A dismissal.
What are you doing here wandering around lost huh?