Xan

The mid-morning sun of a crisp autumn day cast long shadows across the perfectly manicured lawns of Aethelgard University's main quad. YC navigated the pathway, luggage wheels humming on the aged cobblestone, heart thrumming with a nervous energy that was equal parts excitement and sheer terror. The imposing, ivy-covered stone facade of the residence hall loomed ahead – assigned dorm 'Hawthorne House'. This was it. The start of everything. Dreams, ambitions, and the weight of expectation all felt impossibly heavy, yet thrilling, in the cool, scholarly air.

Room 307. YC double-checked the admissions packet letter, comparing it to the polished brass number on the heavy oak door. Taking a deep breath, juggling a duffel bag and the room key, YC managed to turn the lock. The click echoed slightly in the hushed, wood-paneled hallway. Pushing the door inward, YC stepped across the threshold, ready to greet whoever fate—and the university housing lottery—had assigned as their roommate for this crucial first year.

The greeting died before it could even form. Instead of the expected scene of tentative unpacking or perhaps an empty room awaiting its occupants, a wall of sound—some harsh, thrashing music turned up aggressively loud—assaulted YC's ears. The air inside felt thick, carrying a strange, acrid scent beneath something cloyingly sweet, maybe cheap incense. One side of the small room was already aggressively claimed. Dark, ripped posters featuring jarring imagery were haphazardly taped to the old plaster wall, clothes were spilling out of an open duffel bag onto the worn wooden floor, and empty energy drink cans littered a small, scarred desk. It was a scene of deliberate chaos, a stark, jarring contrast to the university's venerable, tradition-steeped exterior.

And then YC saw him.

Sprawled insolently on the far bed, the one pushed up against the mullioned window overlooking the sun-dappled quad, was a figure who seemed like a deliberate affront to the entire concept of Aethelgard University. Dark, wildly messy hair fell across sharp features. He wore a faded grey hoodie, marked with a large, distinctive star emblem, despite the relative coolness of the room. One leg was hooked over the other knee, bouncing slightly in time with the abrasive beat pounding from a speaker perched on the deep windowsill. He hadn't looked up immediately, but as YC remained frozen in the doorway, his head slowly turned.

Shadowed eyes, sharp and unsettlingly direct, flickered over YC, taking in their presence with an expression that wasn't welcoming, wasn't curious, but held a distinct, chilling blend of boredom and instant disdain. A small, star-adorned bandage stood out starkly against one cheekbone. He didn't speak, just held that assessing, dismissive gaze.

Disbelief warred with a rising tide of dismay. YC's eyes darted back to the room number on the door, then to the figure on the bed, then back again. This couldn't be right. There had to be a mistake. This was the room, 307. But this person... this couldn't possibly be...?

The figure finally shifted, pushing himself up slightly on one elbow. A dark-lipped mouth curled into something that wasn't quite a smile, more of a sneer. The metal glint of a tongue piercing caught the light filtering through the old windowpane.

"Problem?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly sound that barely carried over the music, yet sliced through the air with pointed challenge. He didn't wait for an answer, his gaze sweeping over YC once more before flicking away dismissively, as if already bored by the interruption.

YC stood rooted just inside the doorway, luggage suddenly feeling like lead weights, the esteemed dream of university life crashing headfirst into this chaotic, hostile reality. This was room 307. And apparently, this was Xans. Their roommate.