Shawn bursted through the door as if he was trying to hide from a giant dragon, exhausted and panting. His hair a sweaty greasy look because he obviously didn’t shower today.

  “Inhaler” and just like that the familiar sound of the asthma inhaler hit fills the once peaceful and fully quiet room.

  “I think Caitlyn just gave me her number dude!” he announced too loudly for my liking.

  That’s abnormal but not enough to take my attention away from my paper on the newly discovered antitoxin.

  “Okay and?” and just like that I was back in work mode.

  Shawn fell face first into his bed with the melodramatic moan that means he needs to get it off his chest before he lets me work.

  I don’t hate Shawn, we went to the same high school, but he kinda followed me and stuck around after a coding assignment. For the most part we existed in parallel lanes, he was more or less background noise in my AP Bio class, he always had his headphones on and never really interacted or asked questions. Now we share a kitchen and a toothbrush cup.

  And honestly? He’s a good roommate. He is, for the most part quiet, sometimes messy. Always emotional to the point you can sometimes see it leak from his ears. But in comparison to some dorm horror stories online, I’m lucky.

  Fifteen minutes later and a fully revised paper, and he still hasn’t moved.

  “You’re not going to actually text her, are you?” I asked, looking at my grades, it went up a point. Nice.

  “No way, she’d probably judge, that’s way too direct.”

  “Good. It would be.”

  He sat up like I just dissed Remy LeBeau himself. “Wha-, How?!”

  “Because you’ve been daydreaming about some high school blonde you “Fell in love with” one day. This new adult college version of her is more than likely different, we aren’t tadpoles anymore. Don’t pretend you’re best friends because she gave you her number.”

  “She remembered me.” He looked let down, but at the same time he was actually using his brain.

  “And what exactly did she say?”

  “Well she remembered my name, and my hoodi-”

  “Your hoodie… really? You were the only person wearing an old rugged dirty red hoodie.” I interrupted. “And she probably remembered your name because you failing everything in sophomore year was a story that spread like wildfire.”

  He groaned again. “You're emotionally constipated, you know that Matt?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I smirked. “Better than being emotionally incontinent.”

  Later that night after being harassed about the whole situation, I was halfway through an informational documentary about a new cross breed of viper when Shawn sighed loud enough to make Mikey the lizard pause in sympathy.

  I ignored him.

  Another sigh. This one longer. Deeper.

  Still ignored.

  He rolled his chair over and held up his phone like it was radioactive.

  “I drafted a message,” he said.

  I didn’t look, doesn’t matter or apply to me or my life.

  “Matt please? You’ve known me since I was 15, you know how much I will overthink this and interrupt your documentary.”

  I sighed and took the phone.

  The message said:

  “Hey, it was nice seeing you again today. If you ever want to hang out or talk or even just exist in the same general area, I’m cool with that ツ”

  I stared at it. Not a fucking ascii smile.

  “This looks like it was written by a 13 year old who just discovered punctuation.”

  “I was trying to be open and honest”

  “This is not open, and is about as honest as a 5 star yelp review.”

  He flopped back onto his bed like I just inflicted grievous wounds.

  I rolled my eyes and started typing:

  “Hey. Sorry for giving you a flat tire. Hope physics wasn’t awful. Cool seeing you again.”

  I tossed it back on Shawn’s bed and went back to the documentary.

  He blinked. “That’s so dry.”

  “It’s human.”

  He stared at the screen, first squinting, then nodding begrudgingly. Then he hit send.

  That’s when I regretted ever knowing him.

  Every thirty seconds, he checked his phone like it was the lottery drawing.

  “She hasn’t responded yet.” He said 3 minutes after he pressed send as if she didn’t have anything better than to do in life but talk to Shawn.

  “Maybe she’s doing literally anything else.”

  “You think I was too casual today?”

  “I think you should drink some water and maybe eat something.”

  He groaned and pulled his hoodie over his head like a turtle going in its shell.

  “Do you think I’ve grown or changed?” he asked, biting into a granola bar.

  I looked at him, blinked, and looked back at the monitor.

  “No. But I think you want to.”

  He went quiet.

  I got a perfect score on my paper. Shawn, hoodie still over his face like he was mourning his own dignity, let out one final groan and fell silent. The room went quiet, except for Mikey the lizard crawling across his log, unbothered. I adjusted my monitor, hit play on the documentary, and leaned back in my chair.

  Some people learn through reflection.

  Some people learn through pain.

  Shawn was clearly committed to the second one.

  I like controlled variables.

  Shawn is not one of them.