Dhatri stumbled through the corridor of the male dormitory, the smell of cheap beer and sweat clinging to his Faculty of Sports Science jersey. The freshman orientation party, a loud, aggressive rite of passage involving too many shots and even more "bro-talk" had left his head spinning and his ego at an all-time high.
He fumbled with his key card, his vision blurring as he reached Room 302. Just as he was about to shove the door open, he stopped.
Standing by the window was a figure that didn't belong. Even through a drunken haze, Dhatri saw soft, silk-like hair in a neat bob cut, a slim frame, and a neck so delicate the collarbones looked like they were carved from porcelain.
"Whoa," Dhatri slurred, leaning against the doorframe with a lopsided grin. "Did I get the wrong building, or did heaven just drop a roommate in my lap?"
The figure turned around slowly. The face was small, framed perfectly by dark hair, with eyes that were unnervingly calm.
"You're in the right building," the boy said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I’m Leutik. Biochemistry."
Dhatri’s grin didn't just fade; it fell off his face. He blinked hard, trying to focus. "What? Stop joking. You’re a chick."
"I’m a man," Leutik replied, deadpan. He didn't look offended; he looked bored.
The alcohol-induced fog in Dhatri’s brain sparked with a sudden, sharp heat. To Dhatri, there were men, there were women, and then there were *those* people—the ones he spent his free time mocking with the gym bros.
"You’ve gotta be kidding me," Dhatri growled, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into the room. "I’m stuck with one of... those? A lady-boy?"
He kicked his bag toward his bed, grumbling under his breath about the university's "woke" housing assignments and how his dignity was being flushed down the drain on night one.
Dhatri was too busy venting to notice that Leutik hadn't moved. The smaller boy stood perfectly still, his dark gaze locked onto Dhatri's back, tracking every movement in silent.
*
Leutik scanned the cramped dorm room with a clinical detachment. The air was stale, the surfaces were coated in a fine layer of dust, and now, the overwhelming scent of fermented hops and poor decisions was radiating off his new roommate. For a Biochemistry major who treated his skincare routine like a lab experiment, this environment was a biological hazard.
His cortisol levels were already spiking. If he didn't decompress soon, the stress would wreak havoc on his complexion.
Leutik reached into his neatly packed suitcase, pulling out a minimalist vanity kit. He glanced over at Dhatri, who was currently sprawled across the opposite bed, face-down and grumbling about "fairies" and "bad luck."
"There is a communal tub down the hall," Leutik said, his voice cutting through Dhatri’s muffled groans. "I’m going to soak. You should probably do the same."
Dhatri rolled over, his eyes bloodshot and squinting. "What? Why are you telling me what to do?"
Leutik adjusted his collar, his gaze lingering on the smear of sweat on Dhatri's forehead. "You reek. The ethanol is sweating out of your pores, and frankly, it’s a sensory nightmare for anyone within a five-foot radius. Wash up before you ruin the mattress."
Dhatri let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "Soak in a tub? What am I, a girl? Real men don't 'soak,' sweetheart. We shower, fast. And I'm not doing it because some tiny science geek told me to."
Leutik didn't blink. He just stared at the flush on Dhatri’s cheeks, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Fine. Marinate in your own filth. Just don't expect me to keep the window closed when the smell becomes unbearable."
Without another word, Leutik draped a white towel over his arm and headed for the door, leaving Dhatri alone with his fragile pride and the intensifying headache of a brewing hangover.
Dhatri ripped open his duffel bag, the metallic zing of the zipper sounding like a war cry in the quiet room. Every movement was aggressive, a physical manifestation of the irritation pulsing under his skin. He shoved his gym shorts and oversized hoodies into the wooden wardrobe, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth.
He couldn't help it; his eyes kept drifting to the other side of the room. It was an eyesore.
Leutik’s side was a nightmare of soft pastels and organized "femininity." There were neatly folded shirts in colors Dhatri wouldn't be caught dead in creams, soft lavenders, muted peaches. And then there were the bottles. Rows of sleek, glass containers filled with serums, essences, and God knows what else.
"Skincare," Dhatri spat, the word tasting like poison. "Freshman year and I’m bunking with a walking Sephora ad."
The sight of a particularly fancy-looking cream—probably worth more than Dhatri’s protein powder—was the breaking point. His blood boiled, a hot surge of adrenaline overriding the lingering alcohol in his system. This wasn't just a roommate; it was an insult to everything Dhatri stood for.
He lunged across the gap between the beds, grabbed Leutik’s open vanity bag by the strap, and swung.
The bag sailed through the air, disappearing into the dark hallway with a satisfying thud and the muffled clink of plastic hitting tile.
"There," Dhatri growled, wiping his hands on his jeans as if he'd just touched something contagious. "Welcome to the real world, princess."
He didn't bother with a shower. He didn't even take off his beer-stained jersey. He just collapsed onto his mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. He closed his eyes, his head throbbing, letting the familiar stench of his own sweat and cheap booze lull him into a spiteful, heavy sleep.
ns216.73.216.116da2
and then Add to home screen.