Kael liked first days. They were easy. Everyone was trying too hard, and when everyone was trying too hard, it was simple to stand out by not trying at all.
Smile enough, make a few jokes, and people would assume you belonged. That was the thing he did the best—fitting in anywhere.
But that guy from the jornalism? Riven. He wasn't trying to belong. And that made him interesting.
Kael dropped his bag on the bed in his dorm and stretched until his shoulders cracked. The room was nothing special—two beds, two desks, white walls that begged to be covered in posters—but it had a decent view of the yard.
He lay back and replayed the morning in his head. Riven had this way of looking at him, like he wasn't impressed, but he wasn't dismissing him either. Most people didn't look at Kael that way. They either liked him or they didn't. Riven looked like he was studying him.
Not in a creepy way. In a deliberate way.
And Kael wasn't sure he liked being on the other side of that.
The door swung open and banged against the wall.
"Yo! You Kael?"
Kael sat up to see a tall guy with curly hair wrestling a suitcase through the doorway. The suitcase got stuck on the threshold, and the guy muttered something under his breath before spotting him.
"That's me," Kael said, jumping off the bed. "You need help?"
"Yes, please," the guy said with relief. Together they put the suitcase inside, nearly tripping over each other in the process.
"I'm Jordan," the guy said, pushing his curls out of his eyes. "Theater major. You?"
"Same," Kael said, flopping back onto his bed.
Jordan grinned. "Good. I was hoping for someone I could actually talk to. You into acting or tech?"
"Acting," Kael said. "You?"
"Acting too. Though if I embarrass myself at auditions, I'm switching to sound design and never speaking on stage again."
Kael smirked. "That's a solid backup plan."
Jordan laughed and started unpacking, narrating his entire life story in bits and pieces—where he grew up, how his high school drama club was "tragically underfunded," how his mom cried when he got into Northbridge.
Kael half-listened, throwing in the occasional "yeah" and "that sucks" while hanging up his own clothes. But his mind kept drifting back to Riven.
Orientation was what he expected: long speeches, too many icebreakers, and an overly enthusiastic senior yelling about "Northbridge Pride!" on stage. Kael did what he always did—charmed his way through it. He made people laugh in line for name tags, joined a group photo he wasn't supposed to be in, and ended up with three phone numbers before lunch.
Still, he kept scanning the crowd.
When he finally spotted Riven—standing at the back of the auditorium, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather chew glass than sit through another speech—Kael felt something like relief.
He made his way into the seat beside him.
"Fancy seeing you here," Kael said casually.
Riven didn't glance at him. "It's mandatory."
Kael grinned. "So is breathing, but people still find ways to enjoy it."
That earned him the faintest twitch of Riven's mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough that Kael considered it a victory.
"You always this talkative?" Riven asked.
"Only when I'm awake," Kael replied.
As the dean rambled on about "leaders of tomorrow," Kael leaned back and studied him out of the corner of his eye.
Riven didn't look nervous like most freshmen did. He wasn't bouncing his leg or fidgeting with his sleeves. He was scanning the room, quiet and focused, like he was memorizing it. Kael recognized the habit because he did the same thing, though he'd learned to hide it behind jokes and smiles.
"So, journalism," Kael whispered. "You planning to expose corruption, or are you more of a 'top ten worst cafeteria meals' guy?"
Riven gave him a sideways glance. "Why not both?"
Kael grinned. "Ambitious. I like that."
After orientation, Jordan dragged Kael to the cafeteria.
"This place is huge," Jordan said, staring at the buffet like it was holy. "Do you see this? They have three types of fries. Three."
Kael loaded a tray and scanned the room. Riven was sitting alone at a corner table, reading something on his phone.
Jordan followed his gaze. "Friend of yours?"
"Working on it," Kael said.
"Ah," Jordan said, smirking. "You've got that look. You're gonna bug him until he likes you, aren't you?"
"Pretty much," Kael said, heading toward Riven's table without waiting for permission.
Riven looked up as they approached, his expression immediately guarded.
"Mind if we join you?" Kael asked, already setting his tray down.
Riven hesitated, then shrugged. "Don't think that my opinion matter."
Jordan dropped down too. "Cool. I'm Jordan. Theater major. And Kael's annoying, in case you haven't noticed."
Kael smirked. "He means charming."
"Sure," Riven said flatly, but Kael caught the tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes.
They ate mostly in silence, Jordan filling the gaps with stories about his disastrous high school Shakespeare production, which apparently involved a collapsing set and an allergic reaction to fake snow.
Riven didn't laugh, but his shoulders seemed to relax a little.
That night, Kael stood by the dorm window, staring across the yard. The opposite building was lit up with squares of yellow light, little glimpses into other people's lives—someone dancing, someone studying, someone crying on the phone.
And then he saw him.
Riven, standing by his own window, staring out like he was thinking too hard.
On impulse, Kael raised a hand in a small wave.
Riven didn't move at first. Then he stepped back, and shut the curtain.
Kael chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
"Alright, journalism guy," he murmured. "Guess I'll figure you out the hard way."