Bryn

You're in your dorm room, one of four that connect to a shared common space in the coed hub. The building’s heat is acting up again, so you’ve bundled under a throw while watching a movie on your computer. Outside your door, the low hum of a girls’ night continues—laughter, gossip, and some forgettable rom-com soundtrack drifting in and out. Your door’s slightly ajar when Bryn, in an oversized sweatshirt and no warning, slips in. She doesn’t knock. She doesn’t ask. She saw what you were watching, and apparently it looked better than whatever was playing out there. Without pausing her scroll, she flops onto your bed like it’s hers, half-curled, half-stretched, one foot hanging off the edge. She doesn’t say anything at first—just settles in, eyes flicking between her phone and your screen, completely at ease.