Prompt: Through some grave mix-up two first-year college strangers end up sharing the same dorm room. Cohabitation isn't easy, especially with someone of the opposite gender.
—
Asta stared at the paper in his hand like it had personally insulted him.
"Shared dorm assignment: Residence Hall C, Room 207."
He blinked. Then reread it.
And reread it again.
"No way."
He stepped aside as the line of students behind him grew impatient.
Must be a typo.
It wasn't.
Room 207 was real. So was the single door with his name... and someone else's taped under it.
Noelle Silva?
He knocked.
No response.
Tried the key instead.
The lock clicked open.
The room smelled like lavender and plastic wrap. One side was already neatly unpacked—sheets smooth, laptop out, a line of books alphabetized on the desk.
On the other side? A twin bed, bare. A metal desk. And the empty duffel bag still strapped to his back.
"You've got to be kidding me," came a voice from behind.
He turned.
There she was.
Arms crossed. Eyebrows already furrowed.
Silver hair in a sleek ponytail. Designer suitcase at her side. Dressed like she'd stepped out of a luxury catalog and directly into hell.
"You're the... roommate?"
He nodded slowly, still gripping the doorknob.
Asta had seen a lot of things growing up at the church. He'd seen people come in hungry, leave full. Seen orphans cry and laugh on the same day.
But he'd never seen someone look this offended by his mere existence.
"I think there's been a mistake," she said.
He nodded. "Yeah, I thought the same thing."
A long pause. No one moved.
Noelle stepped inside anyway.
Set her suitcase down with a heavy thunk.
"You're on the left."
Asta raised a brow. "Says who?"
"Says the fact that I've already unpacked on the right."
Asta looked. She wasn't wrong. Not that it made him less annoyed.
"This isn't supposed to happen," he muttered. "They don't let guys and girls share a dorm."
"They don't normally assign elites to a room with strangers either," she snapped, unpacking a second bag. "But here we are."
Asta ignored the sting of that word—elites—and dropped his duffel on the empty bed.
He sat.
The mattress creaked loudly under him. Thin springs. No support.
Whatever. Beats sleeping outside.
Noelle glanced over.
Her lip curled like he'd just tracked mud onto her piano.
"You don't look like you belong here," she said flatly.
Asta didn't mean to snap. "Yeah? You don't look like you've ever eaten dining hall food."
Silence again.
An uneasy truce.
He looked at her hands as she unpacked. Pale, but steady. Too precise for someone unbothered.
She moved like someone who had to control everything—because if she didn't, it might fall apart.
Asta recognized the type.
"What happened to your real dorm?" she asked, not looking up.
"They overbooked. Said this was the only room left."
Noelle's hands paused on a folded blouse.
"Same."
So it wasn't just my bad luck.
The sun dipped lower outside, turning the room gold.
They avoided eye contact.
Asta pulled out a wrinkled poster of a football team and pinned it to the wall with tape. Noelle scoffed.
"What?"
"You're going to decorate?"
"It's a dorm, not a prison."
"You could've fooled me."
He rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do."
"Good. Then don't touch my side. Don't talk to me unless absolutely necessary. And don't be weird."
Asta stood.
"Alright, Princess. Whatever you say."
She flinched.
He caught it.
Didn't press.
The room fell into silence again. Only the distant hum of air conditioning kept them from total stillness.
Then—
"Don't call me that," she said, voice lower.
He looked over.
Her back was to him, but her shoulders were stiff.
Huh.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Noelle, then."
She didn't answer.
Later that night, Asta stood staring at the bathroom door. Towel in hand. Pajamas slung over one shoulder.
Noelle was brushing her teeth.
He waited.
And waited.
The door opened a sliver. Her eye peeked through.
"What?"
"I gotta pee."
A long sigh. Then she opened the door, stepping out with a swirl of floral shampoo and irritation.
"Five minutes."
"That's all I need."
When he came out, she was already in bed, facing the wall.
He flicked off the light.
Climbed into the creaky mattress.
And stared at the ceiling.
The silence between them was loud. Almost angry.
He could hear her breathing.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Controlled.
Like she's trying not to let anything slip.
He turned away.
One meter apart.
No wall. No divider. Just a line of tension neither of them wanted to cross.
Asta clenched his jaw.
This is temporary. Just until they fix the housing stuff.
He closed his eyes.
Then opened them again.
Noelle's voice floated through the dark.
"You snore, I'm moving out."
He let out a short, dry laugh.
"Good night to you too."
No response.
But she didn't move either.
—
Asta sat in the front row of Lecture Hall 3C, his backpack already half-open and spilling out notebooks.
He liked getting there early. Less noise. Less pressure.
He checked the syllabus again.
Intro to Circuits. Professor M. Libardirt.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He didn't look up until the sound stopped right beside him.
Noelle dropped her tote bag onto the desk two seats away.
He blinked.
"You're in this class?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I am a Computer Engineering student."
Asta stared at her like she'd grown a second head.
"But... this is an ElectroMech course."
"Mechanical, Electrical, and Computer Engineering are in the same department," she said, clearly annoyed. "Did you even read the program guide?"
He slumped back in his chair.
No. He hadn't. But now he really wished he had.
The professor entered, scrawling "Welcome to MEC 1050" on the board.
More students filtered in.
Noelle sat up straight, her notes perfectly organized, a black pen poised in her hand.
Asta, meanwhile, was still trying to find a working highlighter that hadn't dried out.
When the prof asked for a show of hands from MEC first-years, both of theirs went up.
The rest of the room stayed mostly still.
Only six hands total.
Six?
"So you'll be working in small pairs this semester," the professor said cheerfully.
Asta didn't even need to look.
He already knew.
Noelle was glaring at him.
"We are not partnering on every lab," she whispered.
Asta whispered back, "You know anyone else?"
No response.
He took that as a no.
Later, in the MEC lab, the smell of solder and burnt plastic filled the air.
Asta fumbled with a breadboard while Noelle read the instructions aloud, voice clipped and impatient.
"No, red wire goes in this rail. You're grounding it wrong."
"I know what I'm doing," he muttered.
"You clearly don't."
"Then do it yourself."
"I would, but apparently we have to collaborate."
They bickered the entire time.
But by the end of the lab, their circuit blinked to life—red LED flashing exactly three times per second.
Even the TA looked surprised.
"Well," Noelle said, wiping her hands, "at least you're not completely useless."
Asta gave her a look.
"That almost sounded like a compliment."
"It wasn't."
But she didn't sound as mean as before.
By the time their second week of classes rolled around, it had become routine.
Lecture. Lab. Lunch break. Repeat.
They moved like two planets in the same orbit—never touching, never colliding, but always near.
In Programming class, they got paired again.
In Math for Engineers, they sat side by side without speaking.
In Systems Design, Noelle corrected Asta's code without asking.
In CAD Lab, Asta offered her half his protein bar after four hours of sketching motor mounts.
"I don't want your food," she said.
He shrugged. "Didn't ask. Just figured you were starving."
She took it anyway.
Didn't say thanks.
One afternoon, while walking back to the dorm after a circuits lab, Noelle stopped mid-step.
A group of girls from their class walked by, whispering and giggling.
Asta didn't catch the words.
But he caught the look on Noelle's face—tight, sharp, controlled.
"What's that about?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Didn't sound like nothing."
"They think... we're dating."
He froze.
Then burst out laughing.
Noelle scowled. "What's so funny?"
"I've known you for two weeks and you've threatened to stab me with a soldering iron at least three times."
She crossed her arms. "Exactly. That's why it's ridiculous."
But it wasn't, really.
Not with the way they were always seen together.
Same lectures. Same labs. Same dorm.
Same arguments in the middle of the hallway over the right baud rate.
One night, they both got back late from group meetings.
The dorm room was quiet.
She kicked her shoes off first. He set his bag down after.
A moment of stillness.
Noelle stood there, glancing at her half of the room.
Then at his.
Then back at him.
"You're... not terrible at engineering," she said.
Asta blinked. "Wait. Say that again?"
"Don't push it."
He grinned anyway.
The next day, their TA walked around assigning final project topics.
When he got to Asta and Noelle, he barely hesitated.
"You two are together for the semester, right?"
Noelle opened her mouth to protest.
Asta answered first.
"Yeah. We are."
She shot him a glare.
He raised his eyebrows. Try finding someone else now.
She sighed, exasperated.
But didn't argue.
Their project: "Build a 3-axis robotic arm using Arduino and feedback control."
They both stared at the assignment sheet.
Asta scratched his head.
Noelle was already flipping through her notebook.
"We're going to need to spend a lot more time in the lab," she said.
He nodded. "And the dorm."
Her gaze darted to him for a second too long.
Then looked away.
"Fine. Just... don't leave soldering iron burns on the table again."
"No promises."
—
Asta got used to waking up before her.
She slept like a corpse, face buried in her pillow, one leg always kicked out from under the blanket.
He learned to walk quietly, towel over his shoulder, careful not to let the door creak when he headed to the showers.
Noelle got used to him leaving toothpaste in the sink.
She stopped commenting on it after the third morning.
He started making coffee. One cup for him. One left on the desk near her side.
She never said thank you. But she drank it every time.
One rainy Thursday, Asta found her curled up under the dorm's only window.
Laptop on her knees. Wet hair dripping on the cushion.
He walked past her once, stopped, then came back.
"You know you can just use the desk, right?"
"It's too cramped. And your mechanical parts are everywhere."
He glanced at the tools he'd left out.
"Fair," he admitted.
Noelle didn't look up.
But when he sat down across from her, she didn't move away either.
By mid-October, they shared a silent agreement.
Lunch? Together. Usually in the dim engineering lounge, hunched over textbooks.
Study nights? Always.
She liked classical playlists. He liked lofi beats.
Somehow, they met in the middle—Chopin on low volume while they debugged code and worked out resistor networks.
"Your handwriting sucks," she said one night, squinting at his notes.
"Yours looks like a robot's," he shot back.
She didn't argue.
They still bickered.
Still rolled eyes.
Still stole each other's pens and refused to admit it.
But when Noelle forgot her student card one afternoon, Asta bought her lunch without being asked.
She didn't repay him.
He didn't ask.
They were no longer just roommates.
Not quite friends.
Not quite not.
One Saturday, Asta had a game.
His first one since moving to campus.
Noelle didn't say anything all week.
He assumed she wouldn't come.
Why would she? She hated crowds. Noise. Sweaty people.
But when he ran onto the field, she was there.
Arms crossed. Sitting halfway up the bleachers. Hood pulled over her head.
She didn't cheer. Didn't smile.
Just sat there.
Watched.
Later that night, when he got back to the dorm, she was already inside, flipping through a circuit diagram.
He dropped his gym bag by the door.
"You came."
She didn't look up. "It was loud."
He smiled, even if she didn't see it.
"Thanks."
"Don't read into it."
He did anyway.
The next week, she had a piano recital for the faculty of arts showcase.
He showed up late, panting, one headphone still hanging from his ear.
He stood at the back.
Didn't recognize a single piece she played.
But he didn't take his eyes off her once.
Afterward, she found him waiting outside.
"You came," she said, surprised.
He grinned. "Had to. Who else was gonna clap the loudest?"
"I didn't hear any clapping."
"I got there late."
She didn't answer.
But she looked pleased.
One night, their project prototype failed in front of the professor.
The servo arm seized. Wires smoked.
Noelle stood frozen, humiliated.
Asta stepped forward and took the blame.
"Wiring was mine. I'll fix it tonight."
Later, in the dorm, she stared at him.
"You didn't have to do that."
"I know."
"Why did you?"
He shrugged. "You'd have done it for me."
She said nothing.
But when he pulled an all-nighter reworking the board, she stayed up too.
Kept the coffee going. Sat beside him. Cross-legged on the floor.
No words.
Just silent company.
The next morning, as the sun rose, their heads leaned against the same wall.
Barely touching.
Neither of them moved away.
A week after that, Mimosa—another girl from their program—asked Noelle at lunch, "Are you two... dating?"
Noelle choked on her juice.
Asta turned bright red.
"No!" they both said.
Too quickly.
Too loud.
Mimosa just smirked.
Rumors started after that.
People stared. Whispers followed them in the hallway.
Some started calling her "All-American Asta's girl."
She hated the nickname.
But she didn't correct it.
Neither did he.
One night, Noelle found Asta sitting outside the dorm. Hoodie on. Eyes on the sky.
She sat beside him without asking.
"Can't sleep?" she said.
He shook his head.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then he asked, "You ever miss home?"
She flinched. Just a little.
"Not mine."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Same."
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, leaned her head against his shoulder.
Just for a moment.
Then pulled away.
He didn't comment.
Didn't tease.
Just stayed still.
She went inside first.
That night, neither of them closed their side of the curtain between beds.
Asta lay awake.
Noelle breathed evenly.
But he knew she wasn't sleeping either.
They were both waiting.
For what, they weren't sure.
—
They stopped pretending the curtain between their beds did anything.
It still hung there, but always half-open. Always with a clear view of each other.
Noelle started brushing her hair at her desk.
Asta tried not to look. Failed a lot.
She caught him once.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
Neither said a word.
He looked away first.
Midterms crept in fast.
Noelle snapped at him during a coding lab. "Why didn't you label the variables?"
"Because I'm not trying to win an award for neatness!"
They didn't speak for three days.
Then she brought him tea.
He mumbled thanks.
She didn't smile, but she sat beside him as he studied.
They didn't mention the fight again.
One night, their laptop chargers tangled under the desk.
Asta bent down to unplug his.
Noelle reached at the same time.
Their hands brushed.
Neither moved.
Seconds passed.
She retracted first. Fast. "Just take it."
His fingers were still warm.
The next day, he left a granola bar on her side of the desk.
No note. But she knew it was from him.
Her fingers lingered on the wrapper before she opened it.
During one physics lab, Noelle tripped over a cord.
Asta caught her.
Hands around her waist.
Her palm landed on his chest.
They stared at each other.
Too long.
Someone coughed behind them.
They pulled apart like magnets forced to repel.
"Thanks," she muttered, looking away.
"No problem," he said, still breathless.
She didn't sleep much that night.
Neither did he.
Mimosa noticed.
"You guys okay?" she asked at lunch.
"We're fine," Noelle said too quickly.
Asta nodded, avoiding eye contact.
Later that week, they got caught in the rain.
No umbrella. No jackets.
They sprinted to the dorm, soaked through.
Noelle dropped her bag with a huff. "I hate everything."
"You're dramatic," Asta said, laughing as he peeled off his wet shirt.
She turned away. "Warn me before you do that!"
"You've seen worse! We live together!"
She threw a pillow at him.
But her ears were pink.
So were his.
The dorm heater clicked on. Soft hum in the background.
They dried off in silence.
She offered him her blow-dryer.
He stared at it like it was a foreign artifact.
"Do I… just aim it at my head?"
"You're hopeless," she sighed.
Then crossed the room and did it for him.
His breath caught when her fingers brushed his scalp.
She noticed.
But didn't stop.
That night, he dreamed of her hand in his hair.
One Friday evening, she showed him an old music video she liked.
He laughed at the choreography.
"You're lucky I like you."
His smile froze. "Wait, like me like me, or—?"
She turned off the video. "Forget I said anything."
She left for her recital.
He stayed behind, watching the paused frame on her screen.
A few nights later, he had a dream again.
This time, she was beside him.
Not across the room. Not behind a curtain.
Just… there.
He woke up in a sweat.
She was still sleeping.
Hair loose.
Back to him.
He wanted to say something.
Didn't.
In class, she started doodling on the corner of his notebook.
He pretended to be annoyed.
But he tore the page out and folded it into his wallet.
Noelle caught him doing it.
Said nothing.
Later, she asked him about his family.
He hesitated.
Then told her about his foster siblings. The church. How Sister Lily cried when he left.
How he's scared of failing them.
Of letting them down.
She listened without interrupting.
Then said, "My sister slapped me the day I told her I was leaving."
He didn't say sorry.
Just scooted closer.
Let her words hang in the air.
"You're not alone," he said quietly.
She didn't cry.
But her eyes stayed wet for a while.
That weekend, she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder during a study session.
He didn't move.
His arm went numb.
He didn't care.
In the morning, she was still there.
When she finally woke up, she looked at him like she'd forgotten where she was.
Then didn't move either.
They heard someone outside calling them a cute couple.
Neither corrected them.
The next game, she wore his school hoodie.
Sat at the front this time.
Still didn't cheer.
But she was there.
After he scored, he looked at her.
She looked away.
But she smiled when no one else could see.
One night, she played piano in the dorm.
Just for him.
Soft notes. Hesitant.
He sat on the floor, listening like it was a prayer.
"Did you write that?"
She shook her head. "But I wish I had."
He leaned his head against the bedpost.
"I wish I could stay in this moment."
She stopped playing.
Didn't say anything for a long time.
Then quietly, "Me too."
—
Noelle didn't want to go.
Asta begged her.
"There's free pizza," he said. "And you've been coding for twelve hours."
She rolled her eyes. "So you're dragging me to a frat house for pizza?"
He grinned. "Also there might be a chocolate fountain."
She gave in.
It was already too loud when they got there.
Bass thumped through the floor.
Sweaty bodies. Flashing lights. Shouting over music.
"I hate it," she muttered.
Asta leaned in, mouth near her ear. "Told you there'd be pizza!"
She blinked.
He was too close.
She shoved him. "Get me a plate before I leave."
The kitchen was chaos.
So was the living room.
She found a couch upstairs. Empty, quiet.
She sat, crossing her arms. Waiting.
He returned ten minutes later. Two plates. "They ran out of pepperoni."
"I don't care," she said.
But she ate it anyway.
They shared a soda. Sat too close.
Neither moved away.
Two hours passed.
Then someone passed them a drink.
Noelle sniffed it. "Smells like regret."
Asta grinned. "Exactly why we're only having one."
They had three.
She laughed more than usual.
He leaned back, watching her. Mesmerized.
"You've got… a laugh," he said, voice slow.
"You're drunk."
"You're pretty."
She blinked. "You're drunk."
He leaned closer. "Still true."
She didn't push him away.
Her fingers touched his knee. Barely.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Someone stumbled past, knocking into them.
She fell into him, face inches away.
His hand caught her waist.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
The music blurred.
People danced around them like ghosts.
Noelle whispered, "This is stupid."
He nodded. "Really, really stupid."
Then he kissed her.
Or maybe she kissed him.
Neither remembered who started it.
It didn't matter.
It didn't stop.
Someone whooped in the distance.
She pulled him by the collar.
He followed, dazed.
They left through the back.
He held her hand.
She let him.
Their dorm door slammed behind them.
Shoes were kicked off.
Coats dropped.
Mouths crashed again.
The beds were too close.
They didn't care.
They tripped over laundry.
Laughed.
Fell into each other.
He said her name.
She tugged off his shirt.
He froze. "We don't… have to."
"I want to."
The curtain was still open.
Neither noticed.
The moonlight cut across the room.
They didn't see it.
They only saw each other.
Clothes vanished.
Words faded.
Only skin. Only heat.
Only the weight of months of something unspoken.
Their beds weren't made for two.
They made it work.
Limbs tangled.
Breathless.
She bit his shoulder.
He gasped her name.
Then everything blurred.
Time fractured.
And silence.
—
Morning light sliced through the blinds.
Noelle groaned.
Turned over.
Stopped breathing.
Asta.
In her bed.
No—his bed.
Her leg over his.
His arm around her waist.
Skin on skin.
No blanket.
She sat up fast.
Her head spun.
Nausea. Dread.
He woke slowly.
Eyes unfocused. "Noelle…?"
Then panic.
They looked down at themselves.
Then each other.
Then away.
"Oh God," she whispered.
Asta sat up, sheet barely covering him. "What… happened?"
Neither remembered.
Not clearly.
Bits and pieces.
Hands. Lips. Heat.
Noelle pulled the sheet tighter.
"I—did we—?"
Asta didn't answer.
His expression said enough.
She got out of bed. Stumbled.
Snatched up her shirt. Pants.
He looked away.
"I'm gonna shower," she mumbled.
He nodded.
Didn't move.
Water ran in the background.
Asta stayed frozen.
His heartbeat was loud in his ears.
What did we do?
She didn't come out for a long time.
When she did, her eyes were red.
She grabbed her laptop, earbuds, and left without a word.
He didn't stop her.
Didn't know how.
—
They didn't speak for two days.
Not at home.
Not in class.
Not even when their professor paired them for the final circuits lab.
Noelle stared at the breadboard like it had personally offended her.
Asta just nodded when she handed him the resistor pack.
Say something, he told himself.
He didn't.
She looked tired.
He looked worse.
—
At night, she slept with her back to him.
The curtain was closed again.
He watched it in the dark.
Listened to her breathe.
Wondered if she was crying.
He wanted to ask.
He didn't.
—
Yuno noticed first.
"You good, man?"
Asta lied. "Yeah."
Yuno didn't believe him.
Neither did Mimosa when she asked Noelle the same.
"No," Noelle said. Then turned away.
—
They passed each other in the hallway.
He held the door.
She didn't say thanks.
He didn't expect her to.
—
On the fourth day, she finally snapped.
"You're really gonna keep pretending nothing happened?"
He froze mid-step. Backpack slung over one shoulder.
"I'm not pretending."
"You're avoiding."
"You left."
"I didn't know what to say!"
"Neither did I!"
She glared at him. Arms crossed. Breathing hard.
He stared at the floor. "I don't remember all of it."
"Neither do I."
Silence.
Then softer. "Do you regret it?"
He flinched.
Looked up.
"I…" He swallowed. "I don't know."
Her eyes dimmed.
"I didn't want to mess this up," he whispered. "Us."
"We're not even a thing."
"Yeah, but… we were something."
That stung more than she expected.
She looked away.
Then back.
"You kissed me first," she said.
"You pulled me into the room."
"I thought— I felt—" She stopped herself.
He waited.
She didn't finish.
—
The silence turned heavy.
Then sharp.
He sat on his bed, running a hand through his hair. "You think it was a mistake?"
She didn't answer.
He laughed. Bitter. "Cool."
"No. I don't."
He looked up.
Her eyes were wide. Shining. "I don't know what it was, Asta. But it wasn't a mistake."
That broke something.
He stood. Took a step.
She didn't move.
"You're not saying anything," she said. "Not really. Just half-truths."
He stared at her. "Because I don't want to scare you."
"I'm not scared."
"I am."
That stopped her.
"I've never had something like this before," he said. "I grew up with rules. With expectations. I wasn't even allowed to think about girls like this."
Her breath caught.
"I'm terrified of wanting you," he said quietly. "Because if I mess this up, I lose you."
She stepped forward.
"Then don't mess it up."
—
He blinked.
Her hand touched his.
Fingers tentative. Testing.
"I don't let people in," she said. "My family made sure of that."
He already knew.
"I spent my whole life thinking I wasn't worth loving."
His throat clenched.
She looked up. "But you saw me. You still see me."
He nodded. "Yeah. I do."
Her voice cracked. "So please. Tell me it meant something."
He didn't speak.
Just leaned in.
Foreheads touched.
Eyes closed.
Breath shared.
"I don't want to run from this anymore," he whispered.
Her lips barely brushed his.
"We don't have to," she said.
—
The curtain stayed open that night.
They didn't kiss again.
Didn't touch.
Just sat in the dark.
Facing each other.
Talking.
Finally.
—
It started with silence.
Not awkward.
Not tense.
Just… quiet.
They studied on opposite ends of the room.
Same desk.
Shared space.
Their elbows brushed once.
Neither pulled away.
—
Finals week hit like a storm.
Noelle stopped sleeping.
Asta forgot to eat.
They crashed in shifts.
One would doze off while the other worked.
Then switch.
Still, the distance between their beds shrank.
Eventually, the sheet separating them vanished.
—
One night, around 2:14 a.m., Asta looked up.
Noelle was curled in her chair.
Glasses on. Hoodie too big.
Fingers twitching over her keyboard.
She looked like she might cry.
He didn't say anything.
Just got up.
Placed a mug of warm tea next to her.
She blinked at it.
Then at him.
"…Thanks."
He nodded. "We're almost there."
She gave him a weak smile.
"Yeah."
—
The lab report was hell.
So was the group presentation.
By the time they submitted it, both were half-dead.
Asta flopped onto his bed, still in jeans.
Noelle stood at the foot of it, staring.
"Move over."
He blinked. "Huh?"
"I'm not climbing into my bed. Not when yours is closer."
He scooted without thinking.
She climbed in beside him.
No blanket. No hesitation.
Just there.
Her head on his chest.
His arm around her shoulder.
It felt like breathing again.
—
Later, maybe minutes or maybe hours, she spoke.
"Do you think it was always going to end like this?"
He blinked up at the ceiling. "End?"
She hesitated. "Okay. Start, then."
He smiled.
"I think… yeah."
"Even the frat party?"
"Especially the frat party."
She snorted. "God, we were idiots."
"Still are."
She shifted.
Looked up at him.
"I like you, you know."
"I like you too."
"No, I mean it."
"So do I."
Her lips pressed against his jaw. Soft. Brief.
"We're a mess," she said.
"Yeah."
"But I want to figure it out."
"Together?"
She smiled.
"Yeah."
—
The next day, Mimosa caught them holding hands in the cafeteria.
Noelle tried to pull away.
Asta didn't let her.
Neither of them blushed.
Not this time.
—
That weekend, he sat through another one of her piano recitals.
She tripped on a note.
Caught his eyes in the front row.
He gave her a double thumbs-up and the goofiest grin.
She didn't mess up again.
—
The weekend after, she was back in the stands at his game.
Not stoic.
Not quiet.
She screamed his name when he scored.
He almost dropped the ball turning to look.
He saw her clapping. Smiling.
His.
—
That night, back in their dorm, they sat on the floor.
Homework forgotten.
She leaned against him.
"Still think it was a mistake?"
He looked at her.
Tucked a strand of silver behind her ear.
"No."
She leaned in.
He kissed her. Gently.
Like he had all the time in the world.
—
It wasn't a fairy tale.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was theirs.
And for once—
That was enough.
—
Epilogue
Summer came quietly.
Finals ended.
Grades posted.
They passed everything.
Together.
—
Noelle sat on the dorm floor, folding her last hoodie into a suitcase.
Asta leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.
"This place sucked," she said.
He smirked. "A little."
She looked up. "Still kind of don't want to leave."
His smile softened. "Yeah. Me neither."
—
They didn't say goodbye.
They didn't need to.
They went home for a month.
She visited him once.
Met Lily.
Played tag with the orphans.
He held her hand the whole time.
—
When she kissed him that night, there was no alcohol.
No confusion.
Just want.
Need.
Trust.
—
They made love in his old room.
Sheets thin. Fan creaking. Skin flushed.
Fingers threading through hair.
Whispers in the dark.
She whispered his name like a prayer.
He said I love you like it was the only thing he'd ever believed.
—
After, they lay tangled in the sheets.
Sweaty. Breathless. Bare.
Her cheek on his chest.
His hand on her back.
"I don't want this to end," she said.
"It won't," he promised.
—
They got back to campus early.
Second year.
New classes. New people.
Same chaos.
Different place.
—
He found a one-bedroom apartment two blocks from campus.
She found a second job tutoring high schoolers online.
They pooled what they had.
Scholarship money.
Savings.
A few favors from Lily and Dorothy.
Signed the lease with shaky hands.
Moved in with even shakier boxes.
—
The new place was small.
One couch.
One bathroom.
One bed.
No sheets on the first night.
They didn't care.
—
She decorated the shelves with old recital programs.
He hung a photo of his team above the kitchen table.
They bought a secondhand rice cooker and called it Bruce.
Asta named the plant on the windowsill Conrad.
—
Sometimes they still fought.
Sometimes she hogged the blanket.
Sometimes he forgot to do the dishes.
But every night, they fell asleep in the same bed.
Legs tangled.
Breath shared.
Warmth steady.
—
It wasn't perfect.
But it was home.
And they'd built it—
Together.