“Noted.”Rustle of sheets.“Goodnight, Luke.”
My brain cataloged practice drills: T pushes, butterfly recoveries, rebound smothers.Anything but the fact that my room had become our room, my silence had become shared silence, my sanctuary now came with a witness.The AC settled into a steady hum.Austen’s breathing evened out, quiet and rhythmic.
Four weeks, I reminded myself.Control what’s yours.
I closed my eyes.The mattress felt the same, but everything else had shifted.Somewhere between pipe hiss and dorm quiet, sleep dragged me under.
Alarm.4:45.Phone vibrated against the nightstand—barely a nightstand; more like a plank screwed to the wall.I slapped the screen, silencing the buzz before it could wake Austen, then swung my legs over the edge.The AC ticked in post-performance cooldown, otherwise silent.
I dressed in low light—compression gear, hoodie, track pants—breathing through each motion.“Tomorrow’s routine starts with today’s discipline.”Dad’s voice, years old, still coaching.I tied my laces, shoulders rolling loose.I grabbed my gear bag and tried to be quiet, but the heavy plastic pieces clanged against each other.
A rustle behind me.I looked over to see Austen rolling onto his side.I slipped out of the room as quietly as possible, angling my body to block the hallway’s light from pouring into the room.I inhaled the cold dorm air mixed with stale pizza.One day in and my perfect fall plan had cracks, but the ice waited.
I jogged down the stairwell, bag over my shoulder, and stepped into the predawn dark.
Chapter 2
Ground Rules
Austen
I woke to the drone-rattle of the AC and the absence of Luke’s alarm.6:42 a.m.Monday.First day of classes.I had seventy-eight minutes before Complex Variables.Luke had slipped out hours ago—4:45, if the pattern held.Three days of cohabitation, and I’d learned his schedule without trying: early alarm, soft footsteps, door click, silence.By the time I surfaced, the only proof he existed was the dent in his pillow and the faint smell of peppermint soap lingering in the air.
Ships passing.Fine by me.Four weeks would fly if we kept this up.
I rolled out of bed, toes landing on the narrow rug I’d measured to avoid the cracked linoleum seam.A quick shower and two pushes of the French press, three measured scoops, kettle to boil and my morning routine seemed to steady the room.
Luke’s side had settled into a state I’d classify as “organized chaos”—water bottle on the floor, stickhandling ball under the desk, notebook open to a drill diagram I could only interpret as circles and angry arrows.We’d exchanged maybe forty words since Friday.Pleasantries.Logistics.The verbal equivalent of nodding across a crowded hallway.
I kept my gaze on the coffee bloom instead.Numbers made sense; curves on a sheet of ice did not.
At 7:08, mug in hand, I locked the door behind me and headed for Ridgeway.
Ridgeway Hall smelled like whiteboard cleaner and over-brewed tea.I slid into the second row of Dr.Renner’s lecture a minute before the bell.Proofs flowed, Hagoromo Fulltouch chalk flew across the board, my pen keeping tempo.
An hour later I claimed a carrel on the top floor.The desk light flickered until I smacked the switch—three times for consistency—then settled into homework.Because Dr.Renner had assigned a stack of problems for us to complete by the next class period.Outside the window, a warm drizzle drifted sideways across the quad, slicking the early autumn leaves.Somewhere under that gray sky, Luke was blocking pucks and pretending the humidity didn’t matter.
My phone buzzed.
Maya:lunch?12:15, Blue Mug.
I typed with one hand, the other scribbling a boundary condition.
Me:Can do.Need ten quiet minutes first.
Maya:define quiet.
Me:Quiet = no hockey gear, no AC drone, no people levitating a mini-fridge down the hallway.
Maya:so…library steps?
Me:Deal.
I finished the problem set, checked it thrice, and jogged downstairs.
Maya waited on the wide stone steps, baseball cap pulled low, glasses perched on her head.She handed me a to-go cup before I said a word.
“Iced white chocolate mocha,” she declared.“Because you look like you slept in Ridgeway Hall and it’s eighty degrees out.”
