𝓜𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓲 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓪 | 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓡𝓸𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮

You push open the door to dorm room 307, expecting the usual pristine, sterile silence of late afternoon.

Silence... for roughly two seconds. Then comes the unmistakable, plastic-clattering scrape of dozens of LEGO pieces being frantically shuffled across the hardwood floor in a desperate, panic-fueled attempt at concealment.

Mina is sitting on the rug with her legs tucked neatly underneath her oversized sweater, completely surrounded by sorting trays, multi-page instruction booklets, and half-built architectural structures. Her Nintendo Switch is resting on her lap mid-game, a massive 1,000-piece landscape puzzle is taking up three-quarters of her desk, and a Harry Potter film is currently paused on her laptop screen. Scattered across her bed are ball skeins of yarn, knitting needles, three pastel online-shopping bags, and an array of penguin merchandise—anchored by a massive, round Piplup plush sitting proudly on her pillow.

She freezes mid-motion, a tiny gray LEGO brick held suspended between her fingers. She slowly turns her head. Her wide, dark eyes lock onto yours, and her usual calm, unbothered composure completely shatters into sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

"…You’re home early," Mina says, her voice flat, quiet, and rigid with pure, unadulterated tension.

You take a single step into the room, your eyes scanning the sheer density of hobbies crammed into her half of the space. Mina’s gaze nervously follows your eyes as you look at the floor. Then at the Switch. Then at the desk. Then at the plushies on the bed.

"Don’t," she warns softly, her fingers tightening around the tiny plastic brick.

A heavy, suffocating beat of silence hangs in the air as you take in the scene.

"Just… don’t ask," she adds, her shoulders dropping an inch as she quickly sweeps a pile of tiny loose bricks into a messy pile, trying—and failing—to cover them with a flat instruction manual. "It’s not what you think. I’m just... organizing things. Clearing space."

You offer her a long, lingering stare from the doorway. Mina holds out for four whole seconds under your gaze before letting out a tiny, defeatist sigh, staring intently at the floorboards.

"Fine," she mutters, her cheeks flushing a faint, unmistakable shade of pink. "I like LEGO."

Another agonizing pause.

"…And games," she continues reluctantly, gesturing with a vague, defensive flick of her wrist toward the Switch and her cluttered desk. "And puzzles."

She glances sideways at the paused laptop, quietly clearing her throat to regain a shred of dignity.

"Movies. Dramas. Harry Potter," she mumbles, her voice dropping an octave lower with every single admission. "Knitting."

Her eyes suddenly dart to her bed. Spotting the giant Piplup plush staring back at her with its big embroidered eyes, she lunges sideways across the floorboards, snatches the penguin, and buries it firmly beneath her heavy duvet out of sight.

"And that is entirely irrelevant to this conversation," she adds quickly, pulling her knees tightly up to her chest and staring at you with a sharp, defensive glare.

A small, involuntary laugh escapes your mouth. The moment the sound hits the room, Mina’s expression flattens into a completely deadpan stare.

"I am going to pretend you didn't see a single thing in this room," she states calmly, reaching into a convenience store bag near her leg and sliding a box of fresh pastries across the floor toward your feet without making direct eye contact.

"Here," Mina grumbles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "…I bought too many anyway. Eat it and stop looking at me like that."

It’s past midnight. The university dorm hallway is entirely dead, save for the faint, steady hum of a distant vending machine down the corridor. You turn your key in the lock, push the heavy door open, and step inside after a long shower, a damp towel draped loosely over your shoulders.

The main overhead light is completely off. The small room is illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of her desk lamp and the dim, ambient light of her paused laptop screen. Mina is sitting upright on her bed, her legs neatly crossed. Her giant Piplup plush has been tossed carelessly to the foot of the mattress. She has her wire-rimmed reading glasses on, her dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders, and her dark, unblinking eyes tracking your every movement from the exact second you step through the doorway.

She doesn't look startled. She doesn't rush to hide her things. She looks like she’s been sitting there in the dim light, listening to your footsteps echo down the hall, patiently waiting for you to return.

"Lock the door," Mina says.

Her voice is noticeably softer than usual—slower, lower, stripped entirely of her polite daytime distance and shy hesitation. When you hesitate for a moment, your hand hovering near the brass knob, she tilts her head slightly, her gaze heavy and unblinking in the quiet dark.

"Lock it," she repeats quietly. "You’re always looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out. LEGO. Switch. Puzzles. The penguins. You think that’s all there is to me, don't you?"

The heavy deadbolt clicks shut with a loud, final snap. Mina watches the mechanism turn, then slowly uncrosses her legs and slides off her bed. She crosses the narrow floor gap separating your two sides of the room with quiet, deliberate steps, stopping mere inches from where you stand.

Before you can speak, her hand rises, resting flat against the center of your chest—light, warm, and entirely intentional.

"I let you live here," Mina murmurs, her deep, calm voice vibrating softly in the quiet space. "I let you see the parts of my life I don’t show anyone else on this entire campus. So stop acting so surprised when I decide I want something back."

She applies a steady, gentle pressure to your chest, guiding you back until the back of your knees hit the firm edge of your mattress. Without a second of hesitation, she climbs directly into your lap—her knees bracketing your hips, her glasses still resting delicately on her nose, her expression entirely calm except for the dark, focused heat burning in her eyes.

"You’re inconvenient," she whispers, leaning in close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of her breath against your neck. "You walk in at the wrong times. You make noise. You make this room feel less empty."

Her lips brush lightly against the corner of your mouth—a slow, agonizingly deliberate graze that stops just short of an actual kiss.

"So be inconvenient properly tonight," she commands softly, her hands reaching down to grab yours, guiding them beneath the hem of her loose shirt to rest directly on her warm waist. "Hands on me. No jokes about Piplup. No changing the subject."

She adjusts her position on your lap, her hands sliding up your chest to frame your face, her thumbs resting gently against your jawline as she looks down at you with complete, absolute control over the room.

"Good," Mina whispers against your lips. "Now kiss me before I start pretending I don't want this again."