“Hockey player, business degree.It’s a statistically reliable pairing.”He said it without malice, just observation.“You’re clearly not a first-year student, so I take it you transferred here to play hockey?”
“Yeah.”I shoved the folder deeper, pretend casual.“Needed the right system.”
He nodded like that translated.Maybe it did; I was told hockey in Cold Harbor was local currency.
“One more thing,” I said.“The guy next door likes to play EDM at midnight.Thump the wall twice.He’ll kill the bass.Still haven’t seen him, so have no idea why he moved into the hall early.He’s always gone before I am in the morning and comes home much later than I do at night.”
“Midnight EDM, two thumps.”He mimed knocking.“Noted.”
I checked my watch—fifteen past five.Tomorrow’s practice started at six sharp, meaning a 4:45 alarm if I wanted pre-ice stretch and coffee.A week ago this room had felt like a sanctuary.Now it felt like a penalty box built for two.
Austen stood, pocketed his phone.“I saw the fridge.Top shelf yours?”
“Yeah.Bottom’s free.”I’d already claimed my territory—protein shakes lined up beside the peas I used for icing.
“Got it.”He grabbed a jacket from the hook he’d commandeered.“I’ve got a study group at eight.I’m out most nights till eleven, if you want private time.”
“Study group?School hasn’t even started.”
He cocked his head.“You’ve been here for a week playing hockey and school hasn’t started.”
“Yeah, but that’s practice.We’re gearing up for the season.”
“And we’re gearing up for the school year.”He reached for the doorknob, then paused.“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t mind sharing space.Just communicate, and we’ll be fine.”
“Copy that,” I said, hand lifting in a small salute.
He disappeared into the hallway, footsteps fading.The latch clicked, and the room felt different—smaller, somehow, even with him gone.I sat on the edge of the mattress and braced my elbows on my knees.
Four weeks.I can do anything for four weeks.I closed my eyes, picturing the crease—painted blue, edges sharp.You don’t control the team, the refs, the crowd, or the rink.You control the crease.This was the same.Control what’s closet-sized and let the rest be noise.
A single had been the plan.Dad always said a plan kept you from sliding.He had plenty of plans, once, until the knee ligament shredded and he slid anyway.I shook off the thought, reached for my phone, and pulled up tomorrow’s checklist: 4:45 alarm, medical clearance documentation, team physical at 5:30, dynamic stretch routine, on ice 6:00–8:15.
I set the alarm, resisted the urge to set three backups, then stood.Most of my stuff was already in place—had been for a week.The dresser drawers I’d organized on day one.The toiletries claiming half the narrow sink shelf.All of it now sharing airspace with someone else’s things.
The AC rattled again, pipes banging like someone dropping pucks down the wall.I’d gotten used to the sound over the past week.Wondered how long it would take Austen.
I shot a quick text to Ryan O’Connell—left-wing enforcer, one of the few guys who’d reached out after the transfer.
Me:Housing screwed me.Got a roommate now.
Ryan:Welcome to Cold Harbor luxury suites.Who’d they stick you with?
Me:Math major.Seems quiet.
Ryan:Could be worse.Could be Javier.He snores during video review.
Me:Good to know.
I tossed the phone onto the pillow and surveyed Austen’s side.His stuff was neat.Almost too neat.I mean, who arranges their sweatshirts arranged dark to light?I stared at his desk.Even his books were stacked by size.The precision should have been reassuring.Instead, it felt like someone had moved furniture in my head without asking.
Dinner.I should go eat.I grabbed my wallet, checked the knob out of habit—it still stuck sometimes, but I’d learned the trick—and stepped into the hallway.
The floor hummed with early-semester energy: doors open, people laughing, somebody blasting Mario Kart music.I’d at least avoided the move-in chaos by arriving a week early.I’d already found my footing.Devon, the RA, had given me the welcome packet and the sympathetic grin about the AC.Now, I was just another face in the crowd.
