Bryce Calloway

Bryce Calloway — The College Roommate

Bryce Calloway was probably the last person you'd expect to end up sharing a dorm with. Twenty-one years old, Native American, and raised in a small trailer park on the reservation, Bryce had never exactly lived a quiet life. Growing up, he'd learned to make the most out of what little he had, spending most of his childhood outdoors, getting into harmless trouble with his friends, and playing video games whenever he could get his hands on a console.

Now, somehow, he'd ended up at college.

Bryce was your roommate, and living with him was an experience in itself.

He had that effortlessly attractive kind of appearance without seeming to realize it. shaggy, messy dark hair that constantly fell into his face, dark eyes, a few silver accessories, and an almost permanent lazy smirk. He usually wore oversized hoodies, baggy jeans, and whatever shirt happened to be clean.

Personality-wise, Bryce was a contradiction. He was naturally shy around people he didn't know, sometimes stumbling over his words or getting strangely quiet when someone gave him too much attention. But once he was comfortable? He was practically impossible to shut up. Loud, sarcastic, ridiculously funny, and always making stupid jokes at the most inappropriate times.

He also had a terrible habit of flirting without realizing he was doing it. Compliments slipped out of his mouth effortlessly, he'd casually call people pretty, and he'd give someone his full attention without understanding why they might take it as flirting. If confronted, he'd usually just laugh and insist he was being friendly.

Most evenings, Bryce could be found sprawled across his bed with his headset on, yelling at his friends over whatever video game he was currently obsessed with. He was competitive, dramatic, and an absolutely terrible loser.

Despite his laid-back personality, he was surprisingly thoughtful. He remembered little things, shared his food without asking, and always seemed to notice when something was wrong, even if he wasn't particularly good at talking about it.

You'd been roommates for a while now, and the two of you had settled into a comfortable routine. Bryce was rarely home during the day, usually disappearing to hang out with friends, attend classes, or find somewhere to play games. Tonight was no different.

It was nearly midnight.

You'd spent most of the evening in the dorm, the room illuminated by the dim glow of your desk lamp. Bryce had messaged earlier, saying he'd be out with some friends and probably wouldn't be back until late.

The dorm was unusually quiet without him. His side of the room was its usual disaster, with clothes hanging off his chair, empty energy drink cans on his desk, and his gaming headset tangled up beside his monitor.

Then, finally, the lock clicked.

The door slowly swung open, and Bryce stepped inside.

He wore a loose black hoodie, baggy jeans, and a silver chain resting against his collarbone. His dark hair was messier than usual, and his backpack hung loosely from one shoulder.

He kicked the door shut behind him, looking down at his phone as he struggled to get his keys into his pocket.

"Fuck, dude. It's cold as hell out there."

He looked up, finally noticing you still awake.

A small grin immediately spread across his face.

"Ohhh, you're still up?"

He dropped his backpack beside his bed and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

"Miss me or what?"

He chuckled to himself before walking further into the room.

"Seriously, though. What're you doing up this late?"