Finally, I was about to enter my new life! Standing there outside my new university. Just couldn’t wait for what was coming- for all the new people I would meet, especially my new roommate. «Will he be good looking?», «Will he be cool?», «Will we get along?» All these questions were buzzing my head while moving around the campus’s corridors, trying to find my room.The corridor was a blur of identical numbered doors until I made the last turn. And then I stopped.
I saw him, standing there outside our room. He was tall with tan skin. Inky black hair styled into a careless, perfect mess. He looked up, and his eyes—dark, bottomless—snagged on mine instantly. My breath snagged right along with it.
He was built, too. Not in a bulky, overdone way. His grey, baggy sweatpants and matching jacket hung loose. Big biceps, wide shoulders. And he was matching my own style, my baggy blue jeans and oversized white hoodie. A weird, thrilling spark of recognition jolted through me.
I forced my feet to move, the squeak of my sneakers impossibly loud.
“Hi…” I managed, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near a strangled whisper.
A slow, easy smile appeared across his face. It was a good smile. Confident. It nestled perfectly into the neat, trimmed goatee framing his mouth. “Hello!”
His voice was warmer than I expected.
“Are you Kyriakos?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes! Are you my new roommate?” His smile widened.
“I guess so…” I shrugged, trying to play it cooler than I felt.
He stepped forward, his hand extending. “Glad to meet you, mate!”
His grip was strong, his palm warm and dry against my own, which suddenly felt clammy. The contact lasted a second too long, or maybe just long enough.
“Me too,” I replied, my own voice sounding a little steadier.
“Just arrived?” he asked.
“Yeah… just like you, I suppose?”
“You’re right. So, let’s get inside…”
The door swung open, revealing our new world. It was smaller than I’d pictured. A narrow, long rectangle with a sad little window at the far end. To the right of the door, a tiny bathroom door stood ajar. On the left, a built-in wardrobe. And against the far wall, two single beds, separated by a shared, double desk. The air smelled of industrial cleaner and dust.
“Choose whichever you want, bro,” Kyriakos said, tossing his backpack onto the bed nearest the window.
“I’ll take the right one,” I said, dropping my bag onto the other mattress.
“So, this is mine” he said.
We unpacked in a quiet, focused rhythm, the silence broken by tentative questions that grew more frequent, more eager. Where we were from. What we were studying. Music, movies, stupid opinions about campus food we hadn’t even tried yet. The more he talked, the more the initial, intimidating image of him softened. He was funny. Sharp. His laugh was a low, rich sound that filled the small room.
As he talked, he peeled off his jacket. Underneath, he wore a simple white sleeveless shirt. The sight hit me like a physical thing. His arms weren’t just big—they were sculpted, the muscles moving fluidly under smooth skin as he lifted a box of books. The cut of the shirt showed off the powerful curve of his shoulders, the defined line of his chest. I kept my eyes on my own suitcase, my own stack of t-shirts, feeling a heat creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
Hours slipped by. By the time we’d found homes for most of our things, the sky outside the small window was a deep indigo.
“I’ll go grab something to eat. What to bring you?” I offered, needing a moment to breathe air that wasn’t already tinged with his presence.
“Get me the same as what you’ll have. I’ll stay here to set up the tv,” he said, already fiddling with the cables behind the ancient screen.
The walk across the quiet campus was a blur. My thoughts weren’t on the path or the looming lecture halls. They were back in that room. He’s perfect. Cool. And so damn hot. The giddy realization buzzed under my skin.
I returned a quarter later, two sad-looking sandwiches and bags of chips in hand. I pushed the door open.
The room was dark, lit only by the flickering blue glow of the tv, tuned to some quiet music channel. But it was the smellthat stopped me in the doorway. Thick. Intimate. The deodorant had mingled with the warmer, musky odor of his skin, and it had blended with the faint. It wrapped around me, dense and strangely comforting.
“Here I am,” I said, my voice quieter in the dim space.
He was lying on his bed, the blanket pulled up to his waist. He’d changed. The grey sweatpants were gone, replaced by loose, dark pajama pants. His chest was bare. The blue light from the screen played over the planes of his stomach, the dip of his collarbones. He’d taken off his shirt.
“Yo, mate, here you are,” he said, his voice a lazy rumble. He didn’t move to cover up.
I handed him his food, our fingers brushing. “Didn’t have anything else. Cafeteria was closed.”
“It’s alright, bro.” He took the sandwich, his eyes staying on me for a beat before flicking back to the tv. “Now go change and come eat.”
In the cramped bathroom, I changed into my own pajama. My heart was beating a quick, steady rhythm against my ribs. We ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the crinkle of chip bags and the low hum of the tv.
“Yo, should I shut the tv? I’m so tired,” he murmured, his words slightly slurred with exhaustion.
“No problem, bro. Me too.”
“Good night, bro. See you in the morning.”
“Good night, mate.”
He reached over and clicked the remote. The room plunged into a profound, velvety blackness, broken only by the thin strip of light under the door.
I lay perfectly still. The dark amplified everything. The sound of his breathing, slow and deep, from just a few feet away. The rustle of his sheets as he turned over. The memory of his bare chest, illuminated in blue. The new, shared smell of our room that seemed to pulse in the air around me.
Sleep was a distant country. My mind replayed every moment. His smile. His laugh. The strength in his handshake. The way his muscles had looked under that thin white cotton. The easy way he’d just been there, shirtless, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
In the absolute quiet, I heard him sigh, a soft, contented sound. My skin prickled with awareness. He’s right there.
The only thing in my world, in that thick, warm darkness, was him.
I saw him, standing there outside our room. He was tall with tan skin. Inky black hair styled into a careless, perfect mess. He looked up, and his eyes—dark, bottomless—snagged on mine instantly. My breath snagged right along with it.
He was built, too. Not in a bulky, overdone way. His grey, baggy sweatpants and matching jacket hung loose. Big biceps, wide shoulders. And he was matching my own style, my baggy blue jeans and oversized white hoodie. A weird, thrilling spark of recognition jolted through me.
I forced my feet to move, the squeak of my sneakers impossibly loud.
“Hi…” I managed, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near a strangled whisper.
A slow, easy smile appeared across his face. It was a good smile. Confident. It nestled perfectly into the neat, trimmed goatee framing his mouth. “Hello!”
His voice was warmer than I expected.
“Are you Kyriakos?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes! Are you my new roommate?” His smile widened.
“I guess so…” I shrugged, trying to play it cooler than I felt.
He stepped forward, his hand extending. “Glad to meet you, mate!”
His grip was strong, his palm warm and dry against my own, which suddenly felt clammy. The contact lasted a second too long, or maybe just long enough.
“Me too,” I replied, my own voice sounding a little steadier.
“Just arrived?” he asked.
“Yeah… just like you, I suppose?”
“You’re right. So, let’s get inside…”
The door swung open, revealing our new world. It was smaller than I’d pictured. A narrow, long rectangle with a sad little window at the far end. To the right of the door, a tiny bathroom door stood ajar. On the left, a built-in wardrobe. And against the far wall, two single beds, separated by a shared, double desk. The air smelled of industrial cleaner and dust.
“Choose whichever you want, bro,” Kyriakos said, tossing his backpack onto the bed nearest the window.
“I’ll take the right one,” I said, dropping my bag onto the other mattress.
“So, this is mine” he said.
We unpacked in a quiet, focused rhythm, the silence broken by tentative questions that grew more frequent, more eager. Where we were from. What we were studying. Music, movies, stupid opinions about campus food we hadn’t even tried yet. The more he talked, the more the initial, intimidating image of him softened. He was funny. Sharp. His laugh was a low, rich sound that filled the small room.
As he talked, he peeled off his jacket. Underneath, he wore a simple white sleeveless shirt. The sight hit me like a physical thing. His arms weren’t just big—they were sculpted, the muscles moving fluidly under smooth skin as he lifted a box of books. The cut of the shirt showed off the powerful curve of his shoulders, the defined line of his chest. I kept my eyes on my own suitcase, my own stack of t-shirts, feeling a heat creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
Hours slipped by. By the time we’d found homes for most of our things, the sky outside the small window was a deep indigo.
“I’ll go grab something to eat. What to bring you?” I offered, needing a moment to breathe air that wasn’t already tinged with his presence.
“Get me the same as what you’ll have. I’ll stay here to set up the tv,” he said, already fiddling with the cables behind the ancient screen.
The walk across the quiet campus was a blur. My thoughts weren’t on the path or the looming lecture halls. They were back in that room. He’s perfect. Cool. And so damn hot. The giddy realization buzzed under my skin.
I returned a quarter later, two sad-looking sandwiches and bags of chips in hand. I pushed the door open.
The room was dark, lit only by the flickering blue glow of the tv, tuned to some quiet music channel. But it was the smellthat stopped me in the doorway. Thick. Intimate. The deodorant had mingled with the warmer, musky odor of his skin, and it had blended with the faint. It wrapped around me, dense and strangely comforting.
“Here I am,” I said, my voice quieter in the dim space.
He was lying on his bed, the blanket pulled up to his waist. He’d changed. The grey sweatpants were gone, replaced by loose, dark pajama pants. His chest was bare. The blue light from the screen played over the planes of his stomach, the dip of his collarbones. He’d taken off his shirt.
“Yo, mate, here you are,” he said, his voice a lazy rumble. He didn’t move to cover up.
I handed him his food, our fingers brushing. “Didn’t have anything else. Cafeteria was closed.”
“It’s alright, bro.” He took the sandwich, his eyes staying on me for a beat before flicking back to the tv. “Now go change and come eat.”
In the cramped bathroom, I changed into my own pajama. My heart was beating a quick, steady rhythm against my ribs. We ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the crinkle of chip bags and the low hum of the tv.
“Yo, should I shut the tv? I’m so tired,” he murmured, his words slightly slurred with exhaustion.
“No problem, bro. Me too.”
“Good night, bro. See you in the morning.”
“Good night, mate.”
He reached over and clicked the remote. The room plunged into a profound, velvety blackness, broken only by the thin strip of light under the door.
I lay perfectly still. The dark amplified everything. The sound of his breathing, slow and deep, from just a few feet away. The rustle of his sheets as he turned over. The memory of his bare chest, illuminated in blue. The new, shared smell of our room that seemed to pulse in the air around me.
Sleep was a distant country. My mind replayed every moment. His smile. His laugh. The strength in his handshake. The way his muscles had looked under that thin white cotton. The easy way he’d just been there, shirtless, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
In the absolute quiet, I heard him sigh, a soft, contented sound. My skin prickled with awareness. He’s right there.
The only thing in my world, in that thick, warm darkness, was him.
