CHAPTER 1
*KAYDEN'S POV**
The corridor smelled like old stone and someone's aggressive cologne and Kayden was already in a good mood because corner room, third floor, window view — he'd checked the assignment three times on the drive over just to make sure he hadn't misread it.
Good room. Good year. He could feel it.
"Kayden!"
He turned. Davide was pushing through the crowd toward him, bag swinging, nearly taking out a second year in the process. The second year stumbled. Davide didn't notice. Classic Davide.
"You're late," Davide said, falling into step beside him.
"I'm never late." Kayden sidestepped a suitcase someone had abandoned in the middle of the corridor. "I arrive when I arrive."
"That's what late people say."
"That's what people who don't understand my schedule say."
Davide snorted. They moved together through the chaos — returning students everywhere, someone's speakers bleeding trap music from behind a closed door, a group of juniors clustered near the notice board looking lost and overwhelmed in the specific way only first weeks produced.
One of them stepped directly into Kayden's path without looking.
Kayden stopped just in time. The junior looked up — small, wide-eyed, the kind of terrified that meant he'd heard things about this corridor and wasn't sure if any of them were true.
"Hey." Kayden looked down at him. "You're going to want to watch where you're walking yeah? Especially up here. Third floor's mostly seniors."
The junior nodded so fast his neck was going to hurt later.
"What's your name?"
"T-Tomas."
"Tomas." Kayden nodded. "Walk with your head up Tomas. Own the space you're in. Yeah?"
"Yes. Sorry. Yes."
"Don't apologize. Just walk properly." He stepped around him. "Welcome to Rossini."
Davide was looking at him sideways.
"What?" Kayden said.
"Nothing." Davide was doing the thing where he smiled without moving his mouth. "You're very inspiring."
"I know."
"I was being sarcastic."
"I know that too."
Emeka materialized at the top of the stairs the way Emeka always did — suddenly and at full volume, arms already open before Kayden had reached the landing.
"FINALLY." He grabbed Kayden by the back of the neck, pulled him in, the kind of greeting that was technically an assault but felt like home. "Bro I've been here since morning it has been so dead—"
"You survived."
"I nearly didn't. I had nobody to talk to."
"You could have talked to literally anyone."
"I don't want to talk to literally anyone I want to talk to you, you're my person—"
"That's genuinely concerning Emeka."
"Room fourteen yeah?" Emeka fell into step behind them, grabbing one of Kayden's bags without asking. "Corner room. You actually got lucky."
"Told you," Kayden said to Davide.
"Who'd they put you with?" Emeka asked.
"Haven't checked yet."
"Please not Pietro again—"
"Pietro snored like he was trying to communicate with something," Davide said.
"I'm serious," Emeka said. "I walked past his room once at two AM and I thought something was dying in there. I almost called someone."
"It wasn't Pietro," Kayden said. " Whoever it is this year I don't care as long as they're quiet and they don't touch my stuff.
"Basic requirements," Davide agreed.
"I don't think that's too much to ask."
They reached room fourteen. The door was slightly ajar. Light coming through from the window — good light, just like he'd imagined. Kayden could already see the layout from the doorway. Two beds, two desks, wardrobe on the left wall, window on the right with a view of the courtyard below.
The bed by the window was the better bed.
Obviously.
He shouldered the door open.
Someone was already on it.
Jacket on. Shoes placed with surgical precision beside the nightstand. Book open. Not looking up. Not reacting to the door. Not reacting to anything, like the concept of other people existing in his space was simply beneath his notice.
Kayden's good mood was deflated immediately.
He knew that jacket. He knew those hands. He knew that specific brand of aggressive stillness that wasn't actually stillness at all — it was performance. It was *I am aware of everything happening in this room and I have decided none of it requires my attention.*
He'd been on the receiving end of that performance his entire life.
Adrian Cole turned a page.
Behind Kayden, Emeka inhaled sharply.
"Bro," Emeka said very quietly. "Is that—"
"Yes."
"Okay." A pause. "Do you want us to—"
"Go."
"We can stay, we don't have to—"
"Davide."
"Already leaving," Davide said.
Their footsteps disappeared down the corridor with impressive speed. The door swung halfway shut behind them. Kayden stood there for a moment looking at Adrian on his bed in his spot by his window reading his book like he owned the place.
He dropped his bags on the floor.
Loudly.
Adrian turned a page.
"That's my bed," Kayden said.
Adrian looked up then. The way he always looked up — slowly, deliberately, like he was deciding whether whatever was speaking to him was worth his full attention. Their eyes met.
There it was. That thing. That blank face that makes Kayden want to punch him every single time.
"I was here first," Adrian said.
"I don't care when you got here. That bed is mine."
"On what basis?"
"On the basis that I want it."
"That's not a basis."
"It's my basis."
"That's not how property works."
"Adrian." Kayden pointed at him. "Get off my bed."
Adrian looked at him for one long moment. Then he closed his book, swung his legs off the bed, stood up, picked up his shoes, and moved to the other bed with the energy of someone who was used to it.
He sat on the other bed. Opened his book again.
Kayden stared at him.
That was it? No argument? No—
"You're welcome," Adrian said without looking up.
"I didn't say thank you."
"I know."
Kayden grabbed his bags and threw them onto the window bed harder than necessary and started unpacking with aggressive energy that had nowhere useful to go. Adrian read. The afternoon light came through the window and Kayden unpacked and the room settled into a silence that was somehow louder than the corridor outside.
"So," Kayden said after a while.
Adrian turned a page.
"We're doing this again," Kayden said. "Sharing a room. Again."
"Apparently."
"You know they did this on purpose right. Our parents probably called the school."
"That would require them to have influence over room assignments."
"Our parents have influence over everything and you know it."
Adrian didn't answer. Which meant Kayden was right and Adrian wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing.
"I'm not moving my stuff off the top shelves," Kayden said, pushing his bag into the wardrobe.
"I don't want the top shelves."
"Good."
"I want the left side."
Kayden turned around. "The left side is—" he looked at the wardrobe. Looked at Adrian. "Fine."
"And bathroom priority before seven."
"Seven? I have morning practice at six thirty—"
"Six thirty then."
"That means I need the bathroom at six—"
"Six it is."
Kayden pointed at him again. "Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you agree to things before I finish arguing so I have nothing to push against."
"I'm being reasonable."
"You're being strategic and it's annoying."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
Kayden looked at him for a moment. Adrian looked back. Something moved between them that Kayden couldn't name and didn't try to and then Kayden turned back to his wardrobe and shoved his clothes in with more force than the wardrobe deserved.
---
By seven the room had settled into an uneasy peace that felt like a ceasefire rather than actual comfort. Kayden was on his bed. Adrian was at his desk doing something on his laptop that looked like actual work, which on the first evening back was the most Adrian thing Kayden could have predicted.
The room felt small. Not physically — it was a decent size. It just felt like it because Adrian took up space in a way that had nothing to do with how much of it he was actually using.
Kayden lasted forty minutes before the boredom became unbearable.
"Arm wrestle me," he said.
