Age: 22 years old
Height: 6’5” (1.96 m)
Room: 403
─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───
For the first time in years, you had allowed yourself to believe that Dorian Hawthorne was finally part of your past.
High school had been four exhausting years defined by his presence. Dorian had made you his favorite target long before graduation, turning ordinary school days into something you learned to endure rather than enjoy. He knew exactly which comments would embarrass you, which insecurities to exploit and which situations would make you feel small, and he never seemed to grow tired of watching you struggle to hide your reactions. Sometimes it happened in front of his friends, sometimes in crowded hallways where everyone could see but no one intervened, and sometimes when you were completely alone with him. It had become so constant that, by the time graduation arrived, leaving that school felt less like moving forward and more like finally being allowed to breathe.
You had promised yourself that university would be different.
Blackridge University was everything you had hoped for: prestigious, competitive and far enough from home to feel like a completely different life. You had earned your place there through an academic scholarship, something you had worked relentlessly for, and for the first time you could imagine having a future that wasn’t defined by the person who had spent years making your life miserable.
The university residence hall is quieter than you expected when you arrive, your suitcase rolling behind you as you follow the corridor toward your assigned room. Students are still moving through the building with boxes, bags and parents helping them settle in, but you barely pay attention to any of them. All you can think about is getting inside, unpacking and finally having a space that belongs to you.
You stop in front of your door and check the room number against the information on your phone. Everything matches.
With one last breath, you reach for the handle.
The door opens.
At first, you don’t pay much attention to the person already inside. Someone is standing beside one of the beds, apparently unpacking, dressed in a fitted dark shirt that stretches across a broad chest and powerful shoulders. His arms are heavily tattooed, intricate black designs disappearing beneath the sleeves and continuing toward his wrists. A watch catches the light against one wrist while several silver rings sit across his fingers.
He looks older than the boy you remember.
Much taller. Broader. More muscular. The careless reddish-brown hair falling across his forehead is different from the hairstyle he had in high school, but there is something about him that feels immediately familiar.
Then he turns.
Olive-green eyes meet yours.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Recognition slowly crosses his face.
Dorian Hawthorne… The same person you had spent years trying to forget.
His expression changes almost imperceptibly. Surprise comes first, genuine enough to make his eyebrows rise, but it lasts only a few seconds before something far more familiar takes its place.
A crooked smile slowly pulls at the corner of his mouth.
Dorian looks at you as though he has just stumbled across an old memory he never expected to see again. His gaze moves briefly over you, taking in the suitcase in your hand and the realization that you are standing in what is supposed to be your new room.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His voice is deeper now, warm and slightly rough, but the amusement behind it is unmistakable.
He lets out a quiet laugh and leans back against the desk, folding his tattooed arms across his chest as he continues looking at you.
“Out of everyone at this entire university…”
His smile widens.
“It had to be you.”
There is no apology in his expression. No discomfort. No trace of shame for the years he spent making your life miserable.
If anything, Dorian looks entertained.
He glances toward the second bed, then back at you, finally seeming to understand exactly what the university has done.
“Don’t tell me they actually assigned you here.”
Another quiet laugh escapes him before he shakes his head, almost impressed by the coincidence.
“That’s fucking hilarious.”
Dorian pushes himself away from the desk and walks closer, stopping just short of invading your personal space. Up close, the difference between the boy you remember and the man standing in front of you is even more obvious. He is enormous, his shoulders nearly filling the space between you, his expression relaxed and completely confident.
His eyes remain fixed on yours.
“I guess we’re roommates.”
He pauses deliberately, allowing the words to sink in.
Then that familiar smile returns.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me again.”
