The dormitory lobby smelled of polish and old money pretending not to care. Marble floors, high ceilings, portraits of benefactors who have never carried their own suitcases.
She steps back after realising her luggage helper was gone and she was in the middle of nowhere thanks to that guy whoever left her hanged for a minute and she turns around to figure out where she was.
Heads turn.
Not because Aurelia is loud.Because she's wrong in a way people notice.
A girl near the staircase snorts.
She's leaning against the banister like it owes her money—oversized hoodie, hoop earrings, gum snapping between glossy lips. Her nails are long, acrylic, aggressively pink.
She looks Aurelia up and down.
"…Is this a fashion show," she says, chewing loudly, eyes lingering on her boots, her coat, the cut of her trousers. "Or did someone forget to tell you this is a dorm?"
Her friends giggle. She finishes her little catalogue with a practiced pout, head tilted, waiting for a reaction.
Before Aurelia can respond, heels click sharply across the floor.
"Now now," a woman's voice sings. "We don't judge first impressions here."
Miss Anne appears like she's been summoned by drama.
She's impeccably dressed, clipboard in hand, eyes already alight with interest. Her gaze pauses on Aurelia just a fraction too long—appraising, pleased.
"You must be one of them," she says warmly. "I always know."
She shakes Aurelia's hand without a second thought.
"Come along, dear. I'll escort you. The Aashbournes always appreciate efficiency."
She lowers her voice conspiratorially as she steers her away.
"You are simply striking. Cameras will love you here."
Another person struck by Aurelia's beauty.
Aurelia simply looks at miss anne like what on Earth does this woman mean, "miss....umm I'm sorry but what do you mean and how do you know my, family name?"
aurelia asks with an unsettling curiosity, but Miss anne doesn't answer and simply walks her along the corridor. Aurelia purses her lips and mutters to herself, "guess people here ARE actually weird....humph"
Miss Anne looks at her,"My dear did you say something??"
"uh me? no ma'am, must've been the wind", Aurelia says and shrugs it away.
They pass the gum-chewing girl on the way. She mutters something under her breath and Aurelia simply rolls her eyes and walks ahead. Somethings better stay ignored and some people better stay not talked to.
Miss Anne leads Aurelia through corridors that get quieter… older… until the stairs narrow and sunlight grows brighter.
Too bright.
She pushes open a door—
—and they step onto the roof.
Wind rushes past. The city stretches below. Bells ring somewhere distant.
Miss Anne freezes.
"Oh."
She laughs lightly. "How embarrassing. This isn't your room."
Then, lowering her voice again:
"But what a view for a first impression, hmm?"
She turns to her, eyes sharp now.
"They always put the interesting students higher up."
Miss Anne stops for a beat and says sweetly like a knife coated with honey.
"and i'm Anne by the way, they call me Miss Anne."
Aurelia looks at the roof and turns back to Miss Anne, "Miss Anne... Apologies, but if you'd rather focus on showing me my room, rather than you know, what you are doing. Especially Without knowing me entirely. I'd highly appreciate it and we won't end on rooftops again, thank you."
Aurelia lightly bows and gestures for Miss Anne to lead the way down.
Miss Anne blinked.
Just once—but it was enough.
Her smile didn't falter, yet something behind it recalibrated. She reached for the door handle of the roof door.Her fingers tightening a fraction at the handle before she could protest, reclaiming it with quiet finality.
The rest of Aurelia's luggage was already inside the room she'd been assigned to—placed neatly, deliberately. Someone else had known where she belonged.
"Of course," Miss Anne said, a touch too quickly. "My mistake."
She straightened, smoothing her blazer, and gestured back toward the stairwell. "This way, Miss Ashbourne."
As Aurelia passed her, she felt it—that subtle shift. Admiration edged with caution.
Down the corridor, a door stood open.
Aurelia Disa Ashbourne's room. FINALLY.
High ceilings. Tall windows. Sunlight caught in pale curtains. Her suitcases lined against the wall exactly as she liked them—undisturbed.
Miss Anne lingered at the threshold.
"You'll find Blackwell has a way of… circling certain students," she said lightly. "It's nothing to worry about."
She smiled again. This time, it didn't reach her eyes.
"I do hope you'll settle in quickly."
Then she turned and left, heels echoing down the hall.
Aurelia was now all alone.
Almost.
From somewhere nearby—another room, a half-open door—she sensed movement. A presence pausing. Listening.
Watching.
She let go of the uneasy feeling and stepped further into the room, the door still ajar behind her.
"Hello?", she called, softly.
Her voice felt too loud in the space.
She slipped a small folded chit from the inside pocket of her coat, smoothing it between her pale lean fingers.
"Is this room number…," she glanced down, brows knitting slightly, "…one-zero-two?"
Silence.
Then—
A shift.
Not a sound exactly. More like the absence of one.
From the adjoining doorway, a figure leaned into view as though he had been there the entire time.
Unbothered. Unhurried.
He was seated on the edge of the opposite bed, one ankle crossed over the other, jacket already discarded, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearm.
"You're early," he said, calm as ever.
His gaze lifted to her face from the shadows. Steady, dark and unreadable.
"This is room one-zero-two.
A pause.
Then, almost thoughtfully:
"And you've been saying hello to it like it might answer back."
The corner of his mouth tilted—not quite a smile and she saw it, sharp blue eyes emerging from the dark as he stepped forward from his space.
"Oh—hey there?" she said lightly. "Do you… live in room one-zero-two?"
Aurelia pushed the door fully open and stepped inside.
"I'm new here," she added, after a beat. "Aurelia Ashbourne."
The room revealed itself properly now.
Not one style—but three.
One side was immaculate: neutral tones, books stacked by size, bed crisply made.Another was casual—hoodies draped over a chair, headphones abandoned, a lived-in ease.The third space, closest to the window, was restrained but deliberate. Sparse. Intentional.
And then there was the fourth bed.
Empty.
Waiting.
The man's gaze flicked—not to her luggage, not to the room—but to her when she said her name.
"Ashbourne," he repeated quietly, as if testing the weight of it.
"Yes," he said finally. "I live in this room."
He stood, slow and unhurried. Up close, he was even more composed than you'd expected—too composed for a first-year.
"You've been assigned the fourth space," he continued, nodding once toward the empty bed. "It was unclaimed, but now it seems the owner has arrived."
A pause.
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"Most people don't arrive alone."
She met his blue eyes again—steady, observant.
"You do", he said carefree.
From the corridor outside, footsteps echoed past. Laughter. Life continuing.
Inside the room, something settled.
Aurelia had arrived.
And somehow, she already knew—
This room was not accidental.
She glanced around again—slow this time.
The tidy space.The casual one.And then the third.
The colorful one.
Soft throws folded at the foot of the bed. A silk scarf looped over the lamp. A faint floral note in the air that didn't belong to any detergent.
Aurelia's brows drew together.
"So…" she said carefully, thinking out loud more than speaking to him. "There are two boys in this room… and a girl?"
For the first time, he reacted immediately.
"No."
The answer came too fast.
He followed her gaze, then exhaled through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite.
"That space confuses everyone," he said. "It's not a girl's."
He stepped closer and picked up the scarf, turning it once around his fingers before placing it back exactly where it had been.
"It belongs to someone who doesn't like being obvious about his... real nature."
A pause.
From somewhere down the hall, a door slammed shut. Voices echoed, then faded.
The quiet returned—thicker this time.
"Don't worry. You'll meet him soon," he added calmly, "very soon."
His eyes flicked to the empty fourth bed.
Then back to Aurelia.
"What do you mean?" she asked, your tone light—but her eyes weren't."Mister…?"
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Not because he hadn't heard her—but because he was deciding how much to answer.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her as if she were a variable he hadn't accounted for.
"Names," he said at last, calmly, "tend to complicate things."
He reached for his jacket, slipping it on with unhurried precision, a a bracelet glimmering on his strong wrist that she hadn't noticed before, but it settled as he wore his coat, as though it had never existed.
"But if you're going to be living here," he added, moving toward the door, "you'll hear mine soon enough."
His hand paused on the handle.
"Just not from me."
He glanced back once—just once—eyes lingering on Aurelia, unreadable.
"Welcome to room one-zero-two, Miss Ashbourne."
And then he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Too softly.
She stood alone in the room now—three occupied spaces, one empty bed, and a certainty settling deep in her chest:
She had this feeling that... she had not been assigned here by mistake.
And whatever or whoever had vacated the space she's been assigned before her—
It had been replaced.
She let out a quiet breath and shrugged, the room suddenly feeling larger now that he was gone.
Her things—Aurelia's things—were arranged neatly in the space closest to the window. The leather cases, the garment bags, the smaller trunks she hadn't let anyone else touch in years. All perfectly aligned.
Her gaze narrowed slightly.
"How did she manage this alone?"
The woman with the ring. She remembered her fingers, the weight of the metal as it caught the light. She'd been with Aurelia the entire time—until she'd been distracted by him.
The man.
A strange, unwelcome thought settled in.
"The ring… the tattoo… oh!! The man had one too, similar to the woman's ring."
She shook her head lightly, dismissing it.
"Family?" she muttered under her breath. "Or just… coincidence."
Either way, it wasn't her concern.
"Not my cup of tea," she decided quietly.
She turned toward the bed assigned to her—crisp white sheets, untouched, waiting.
"Oh well," she said, smoothing the fabric with her palm. "There's my bed."
The closet doors slid open with a soft click, revealing shelves already stocked with her luggage. She began unloading methodically—coats first, then dresses—until her eyes landed on a an important suitcase perched on the top shelf.
Too high.
She frowned, stepping closer.
"One second," she murmured to herself.
She climbed onto the lower shelf for leverage, stretching upward, fingers just grazing the handle—
And then the shelf shifted.
Her foot slipped.
Her balance tipped forward.
There was a sharp intake of breath—hers—
And then—
Hands.
Strong. Steady. Catching her before the fall fully claimed her and she planted that majestic face of hers on the floors.
She collided against a solid chest, the scent of clean fabric and something warmer filling her senses as an arm wrapped securely around your waist. She gasped at the contact.
"Careful," a voice said, amused—but not careless.
She looked up.
He was different.
Lighter somehow. Softer around the edges.
Dark hair falling messily into kind light brown eyes, a half-smile already forming as if this moment had entertained him more than it should have.
"You alright?" he asked, glancing briefly at the shelf, then back at her. "Blackwell furniture has a habit of betraying people on their first day."
His grip loosened—but not immediately.
Like he wanted to be sure she was steady.
Only then did he step back, reaching for her suitcase on the top shelf and offering her the small (small for the guy- not for her though) case effortlessly, as though it weighed nothing at all.
"Here," he said. "Next time, just ask."
The room felt… warmer now.
Louder. Although Aurelia was quiet and dumbfounded as he spoke.
and...ALIVE...
"Oh!" she said, straightening immediately.
She smoothed the sleeves of your fitted white shirt—her coat long forgotten on the chair behind her—and, out of pure habit, dipped into a light bow.
"Thank you so much."
The words came easily. The gesture even more so.
He blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"A bow?" he exclaimed, a laugh slipping out before he could stop it. "Wow. That's… new."
He rubbed the back of his neck, grin widening as his ears tinted faintly pink.
"You're welcome," he added quickly. "Anytime. I mean—hopefully not while you're falling, but… yeah."
He glanced at the chair, then back at Aurelia.
"So," he said, lighter now, curious. "You must be the fourth."
The way he said it—like it mattered.
"Welcome to the chaos."
She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked back up.
He was taller than she'd first realized—broad-shouldered without being imposing, posture relaxed, as if he hadn't learned how to stand any other way. His features were open, almost gentle, the kind that made smiling seem inevitable rather than intentional.
Handsome.
And—
Cute.
What the heck Aurelia Disa Ashbourne!! Get a grip!! she thought to herself and simple smiled like an idiot.
"Thank you," she repeated softly."And—oh." She hesitated, then smiled again, genuine this time. "Your name, please… if you're comfortable sharing."
She gestured vaguely, almost apologetic.
"Because the few people I've met here so far, were… not exactly welcoming."A small pause."And the ones I did ask," she added lightly, "didn't tell me their names."
His expression shifted—not alarm, not surprise.
Understanding.
"Oh," he said. "Yeah. That tracks."
He offered his hand, casual but warm, as if introductions mattered to him.
"I'm Elliot," he said. "Elliot Hayes."
Then, with a grin that made it impossible not to trust him:
"And for the record, that's not normal behavior. You just happened to run into the weird ones first."
Aurelia gasped and said,"Really? There are better people here..hmm. I thought I was wrong, I actually assumed Blackwell's residents to be... odd."
He glanced briefly toward the door—where the dark one had exited earlier—then back at Aurelia.
"You assumed nothing wrong," he added, softer now. "This place just likes to test people."
His eyes flicked to her luggage again.
"So," Elliot said, brightening instantly, "Aurelia Ashbourne, right? He read her name on her suitcase. "You need help unpacking? Or are you the 'I must do everything myself' type?"
The way he said her name—carefully, correctly—felt grounding. And she unexpectedly smiled softly.
"Oh well," she said, lifting the case he'd handed her earlier and setting it on her bed. "I might need help with… you know—top shelves."
She glances up at the closet, then back at him, lips curving.
"Otherwise," she added lightly, "I'm very much an I'll do it myself type."
A soft chuckle escapes her as she unlatched the case, the faint scent of leather and clean fabric drifting into the room.
Elliot smiles, wider this time.
"Good," he says. "I respect that."
Aurelia looks up and gives an impressed look, "Honoured Mr. Elliot Hayes."
He leans casually against the desk, watching as she began pulling things out—folded clothes, a neatly packed scarf, a book tucked carefully between layers.
"But," he adds, lifting a finger, "I also respect gravity. And gravity is undefeated."
She laughs sweetly.
"So," he went on, nodding toward the open suitcase, "you travel like you expect to stay somewhere important."
She pauses, fingers stilling just slightly.
"I usually do," she replies.
He hums, clearly amused. "That explains the bow earlier."
Her brows lifted. "The bow?"
"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Very elegant. Very… not Blackwell-first-week chaos."
She shrugged, unbothered. "Old habits."
He tilts his head, studying her again—not rudely. Curiously.
"You're not what I expected the fourth to be," he admitted.
She glanced up. "The fourth?"
"Yeah," he said, then hesitated, as if deciding whether to continue. "That bed's been empty longer than it was supposed to be."
Before she could ask, footsteps sounded in the hallway—slower this time. Measured.
Elliot straightens instinctively.
"…Speak of the devil," he mutters.
The door opens.
A third presence enters the room—clean-cut, composed, sleeves buttoned neatly, expression polite to the point of being unreadable. He pauses when he saw Aurelia, eyes flicking briefly to her unpacked things, then to Elliot.
"Oh," he said. "So you're here."
His gaze returned to her.
"You must be Aurelia."
Not a question. More of a solid statement.
Before Aurelia could respond to his statement, Elliot shoots him a look. "You know her name?"
The newcomer smiled faintly. "Everyone knows the Aashbournes."
The room seemed to hold its breath
Elliot's demeanour suddenly seemed to change, he went from all bubbly and caring to composed and normal... and... MANLY.
"Yes! i certainly am... Aurelia," she then repeats her full name, "Aurelia Disa Ashbourne".
The moment she said her full name, the air shifted.
Not dramatically.Subtly.
Elliot straightened—no longer lounging, no longer easy. His shoulders squared, stance instinctive, like someone stepping in front of something valuable without realizing he'd done it.
Protective.Quietly so.
The newcomer noticed.
His gaze flicked to Elliot, just briefly, and something unreadable passed between them—recognition, perhaps. Or calculation.
"Yes," the man said calmly, meeting your eyes again. "I thought so."
He set his bag down with deliberate care, movements precise. Everything about him was neat—pressed shirt, composed posture, a face that gave away nothing it didn't intend to.
"I'm Julian," he continued. "Julian Whitaker."
Elliot didn't offer his usual grin.
"Funny," he said evenly, "you didn't mention knowing our new roommate."
Julian's mouth curved—not quite a smile.
"There are things one doesn't mention unless necessary." Said Elliot.
Julian Whitaker's eyes returned to Aurelia.
"You've been… discussed."
The word landed heavier than it should have.
Outside the room, footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor—then faded.
Elliot shifted closer to Aurelia, just enough to be noticeable.
"So," Julian said, voice light but edged now, "how about we slow things down?"
Julian tilted his head.
"By all means."
Both of them looked at Aurelia.
Waiting.
"As you're comfortable Mr. Whitaker," she said plainly, "although i must admit your knowledge about me is quite... concerning".
The room fell quiet.
Not the peaceful kind—the measured kind.
Julian glanced away first, as if granting the moment space. He adjusted his cuffs, movements precise, controlled.
"Fair enough," he said lightly. "Comfort comes first, I must slow down. Apologies."
Aurelia nodded and got back to her unpacking. She was deliberately on purpose trying to step out of this conversation.
Elliot exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening just a fraction before he forced his shoulders to relax. He shifted his weight, eyes deliberately focusing on the window instead of either of them, but shifting every second to Aurelia as the sunlight perfectly made her dark Blonde hair look like fire and her freckles shone as she kept her gaze lowered and focused on her clothes, although her eyes flutter once and meet Elliot's and she immediately looks down.
Julian was observing all the stolen glances.
"Right," he muttered. "We're all… roommates now."
Another beat of silence.
From somewhere below, laughter drifted up from the courtyard. Life continuing. Oblivious.
Julian cleared his throat.
"You'll find," he said, tone smooth but distant, "that this room has… habits."
Aurelia glanced up at Jullian and gave him a confused look, she stood straight anf folded her arms, curious to know this new information.
Elliot shot him a look. "Don't."
Julian's gaze flicked back to him. Calm. Unbothered.
"I wasn't going to say anything improper."
A pause.
"Yet."
Elliot's fingers curled slightly at his side.
Then—footsteps again.
Closer this time.
Slower.
Someone stopped just outside the door.
Didn't knock.
Didn't enter.
Just… waited.
Julian noticed first.
Elliot noticed second.
Neither of them moved.
Both of them glanced toward her.
"What's that stare for--", the word had barely left her mouth when—
The door moved.
Not pushed.Not opened.
Just… released.
It swung inward slowly, like whoever stood there had known they'd already been invited.
He didn't step in right away.
First came the hand—long fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe. Then the shoulder. Then finally him.
The dark one. He had impressive blue eyes that could pierce a human with one stare, Jet black hair messily styled and the presence... simply "wow".
The same measured presence. The same restraint. Jacket back on. Bracelet well hidden this time.
His gaze passed over Elliot first.
Then Julian.
Then—settled on Aurelia. Her green eyes met his blue and flutters in recognition, she pursed her lips and her dimples appeared.
Unhurried.
Unapologetic.
"So," he said calmly, as if he hadn't been the cause of the tension in the room, "Finally we're on all fours!"
"I'm sorry what?!", Aurelia almost snapped but Elliot shifted instantly, stepping just a fraction closer to her again, stopping her.
"You don't knock now?" he asked, voice tight.
The man's eyes flicked to him briefly. Dismissive.
"I wasn't interrupting," he replied. "I was waiting."
His attention returned to the fiery Aurelia who was somehow controlled by Elliot. The man shot Elliot an impressed look and looked back at her.
"You dropped this earlier," he continued, holding up something small between his fingers.
Something unmistakably hers.
Aurelia looked at the object confused.
Silence pressed in around the four of them.
Julian glanced between the three of them, expression unreadable.
Elliot didn't take his eyes off the man.
And the man—he was still looking at her.
The moment she recognized it—
The necklace.
Her breath caught.
Her body moved before her thoughts could catch up.
She crossed the room in a rush of fabric and intent, her long hair flowing, face flushed, fingers reaching instinctively, panic sharpening every step. Too fast. Too sudden. The kind of movement that came from something personal—something unguarded.
He was taller.
He always had been.
His muscular arm lifted easily, just out of reach, the chain glinting faintly as it rose above her. The pendant swung once, twice, catching the light like it was mocking her.
A slow shake of his head.
"No gorgeous," he said calmly and looked down at her smaller, beautiful frame. Blue and green eyes clashed.
Not cruel.
Not gentle either.
Just… controlled.
⋯ ☾ ✦ ⸸ ⋯