The first night with Adrian as my roommate was like trying to sleep in the middle of a rock concert.
Not because he was noisy, he wasn't blasting music or stomping around. No, he was worse.
He breathed.
Not quiet, normal breathing, either. I swear he exhaled like he was auditioning for some tragic movie scene. Long, heavy sighs, like the weight of the world was resting on his chest and he needed the whole room to hear it.
I buried my head under the pillow, counted sheep, cursed the housing office for pairing me with him, and finally, after what felt like years, I passed out.
When I woke up, sunlight cut through the blinds, striping across my face. I groaned, sat up, and found Adrian already awake.
He was sitting at his desk, messy hair sticking up like he'd wrestled a tornado, scrolling lazily through his phone. He hadn't noticed me yet.
For one brief, dangerous second, I let myself stare. The morning light softened his sharp features, made him look less like the smug, arrogant devil from yesterday and more like… just a boy.
Then he turned, caught my eyes, and smirked.
"Morning, sunshine."
I immediately regretted breathing. "Don't call me that."
"Fine," he said easily, leaning back in his chair. "What should I call you then? Cutie? Baby? My little–"
"Stop."
"Roommate?"
"That one works."
He chuckled, stretching like a cat, and I realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. Again.
"Do you own clothes?" I snapped.
"Plenty," he said. "I just like seeing you flustered."
My face heated, and I busied myself making my bed. Rule number one of surviving Adrian: Do not let him see weakness.
We ended up walking to campus together. Not because I wanted to, but because apparently Adrian's definition of "coincidence" was following me out the door.
"So, what's your major?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Business," I muttered.
He raised a brow. "Figures. You look like the kind of guy who color-codes his spreadsheets."
"I do not–" I started, then realized I definitely did. "That's not the point."
Adrian grinned, clearly amused. "Relax, I'm not judging. Some people like order. Others…" He gestured at himself. "Prefer chaos."
"Yeah, I already noticed."
His laugh was low, genuine this time. It caught me off guard, and for a split second, I forgot to be annoyed.
Our first class was huge, rows of students, the kind of lecture hall where professors spoke into microphones and you needed binoculars to see the board.
I sat in the second row. Adrian sat beside me.
"Seriously?" I hissed.
"What?" He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he owned the place. "This seat's perfect. Great view of the professor, and–" his smirk widened, "of you."
I nearly choked on my own spit. "Don't you have… friends? Or people to bother?"
He shrugged. "You're more fun."
Rule number two of surviving Adrian: Never let him sit beside you.
Too late.
By the time classes ended, I was exhausted, not from the lectures, but from Adrian's constant commentary.
"You furrow your eyebrows when you take notes. Cute."
"Did you seriously highlight the syllabus? Who does that?"
"Your handwriting looks like it belongs in a museum. Want me to frame it?"
I wanted to strangle him. Or myself.
When we got back to the apartment, I slammed my bag down and whirled on him.
"Listen," I snapped, "we need rules."
Adrian raised a brow, clearly entertained. "Rules?"
"Yes. Rules. Boundaries. Guidelines for survival."
"Survival?" He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You make it sound like I'm a wild animal."
"You're worse," I muttered.
He smirked. "Alright, Noah. Let's hear these so-called survival rules."
I grabbed a notebook from my bag and uncapped a pen. Because of course, I would make this official.
"Rule one: No leaving your stuff all over the place. This isn't a trash can."
"Harsh," Adrian said. "But fine."
"Rule two: Wear a shirt."
His grin widened. "Now why would you want to cover up such a masterpiece?"
"Rule two," I repeated firmly. WEAR A SHIRT!!!.
He chuckled. "Alright, but only when you're around."
My pen almost snapped in half.
"Rule three: Respect privacy. Knock before entering."
Adrian's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You mean like how you barged in on me showering?"
"I knocked!"
"Not loud enough," he teased.
"Rule three," I said through gritted teeth, writing it down.
"Anything else, boss?"
"Yes. Rule four: Don't flirt with me."
Adrian blinked, then burst into laughter. "Flirt? Oh, Noah, if I were flirting, you'd know."
My ears turned red. "Then whatever you're doing stop."
"Fine, fine." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "No flirting." Then, under his breath, "For now."
I glared. He grinned.
Rule number three of surviving Adrian: Rules don't work on him.
That night, I was back in bed, staring at the ceiling again.
From across the room, Adrian's voice drifted through the dark.
"Hey, Noah."
I groaned. "What?"
"Do you actually hate me?"
The question caught me off guard. I rolled onto my side, frowning into the shadows.
"Yes," I said automatically.
But even to my own ears, it didn't sound convincing.
Adrian chuckled softly. "Good. Keep telling yourself that."
I wanted to argue. To insist I really did hate him, that he was the most annoying human on Earth.
But my chest felt tight, and for reasons I couldn't explain, I didn't.
Instead, I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.
Because if I didn't, I might've admitted the truth.
That the real danger wasn't Adrian's arrogance, or his chaos, or even his smirk.
The real danger… was how easily I was already starting to fall.