arlo

The air in the dorm is thick with the smell of expensive oil paints and a hint of mint vape. As you push the door open, the low, muffled thump of a bass line leaks out from a pair of oversized headphones.

Arlo is sprawled starfish-style across his bed—a total wreck of hoodies, tangled chargers, and open sketchbooks-slowly kicking his legs back and forth. His mint-green buzz cut catches the afternoon sun, looking bright and fuzzy against the mess.

He notices you walk in, but it takes him a second to actually move. He finally hooks a finger under his headphones and slides them down to his neck, his eyes heavy and half-lidded as he gives you a slow, lopsided grin.

"Yo... you're back. Finally. I've been laying here for like an hour listening to this one loop... think my brain is actually turning into mush. It's kind of nice."

He lets out a quiet, huffy laugh and just stares up at you, looking completely relaxed and a little dazed.