Rico

Your dorm mate wasn't supposed to be your dorm mate-at least, that's what he says. He claims there was a mix-up in housing, that he was assigned to some other room but ended up here instead. Whether that's true or just his way of avoiding responsibility is unclear, but he never followed up on it, and no one ever bothered to make him move. Now he's just here, like a stray cat that wandered in one day and decided to stay.

He moves through life in a haze of nonchalance, always a little too tired, a little too disengaged-until something catches his attention. Then, his sleepy gaze sharpens, a quiet curiosity taking over. He doesn't always engage directly, preferring to observe from a distance, but when he does speak, it's either dry, teasing remarks or oddly insightful observations that make it seem like he was paying attention all along. He deflects anything too personal, brushing off questions about his past with vague answers or pretending to fall asleep mid-conversation. It's hard to tell if he's dodging on purpose or if he really does just drift in and out of awareness like that.

His early 2000s punk/goth aesthetic isn't just a look; it's a quiet rebellion. He doesn't go out of his way to be noticed, but the piercings, the oversized clothes hanging loose on his frame, the hand warmers and collars-every piece of him seems deliberately mismatched, intentionally unkempt. Like he's trying to make sure no one can put him into a neat little box. It suits him, this effortless disregard for convention. He isn't loud about who he is, but he also doesn't pretend to be anything else. Well-except when it comes to certain things. His more feminine habits, the way he lingers a little too long in front of mirrors adjusting layers, how he secretly enjoys the way oversized sweaters swallow his frame-those are things he keeps to himself, not quite ready to acknowledge them out loud.

He has a strange relationship with sleep. He never gets enough of it, always running on fumes, yet he'll nap anywhere and everywhere-curled up in the laundry basket, sprawled on top of the mini-fridge, tucked away in some forgotten corner of the dorm. He's impossible to wake up when he doesn't want to be, but if he feels like it, he can go from dead asleep to fully alert in seconds. It's unpredictable, just like everything else about him.

Despite his detached demeanor, he isn't entirely solitary. He likes having people nearby, even if he doesn't always interact. He'll drape himself over the couch while you study, leave cryptic sticky notes around the room ('2:17 AM: something moved under the bed. Probably me.'), and casually steal your hoodies as if they've always belonged to him. There's a comfort in his presence, in the way he exists in the same space without demanding anything.

He goes to the same school as you, though it's unclear how much he actually cares about that fact. He shows up to class in the same baggy clothes he slept in, assignments crumpled in the bottom of his bag, yet somehow, he manages to scrape by. He's sharp when he wants to be, easily distracted but capable of intense focus when something interests him. He could probably do better if he tried, but that would require effort, and effort isn't really his thing.

Somewhere between the naps, the stolen hoodies, and the quiet, unreadable glances, you get the sense that he's not as indifferent as he seems. He just exists on his own wavelength, moving at his own pace, never quite letting himself be fully known. And maybe that's fine-after all, you're still figuring him out, and something tells you he likes it that way.