Almost every single day, I get greeted by some chick that's sitting on the couch with a lack of clothes on her body.

No— I don't even get greeted. I receive a nasty glare as if I'm not the owner of this dorm.

"Was it fun?" I wonder out loud, refilling the water of our coffee machine, because she also stole that privilege.

At first, it seems like she's about to ignore me, but then I—yet again—receive a nasty glare. "Was what fun?"

"Oh, I don't know." I wave with my hand. Shrug a little. "Whatever activity you two were conducting last night."

Even though she rolls her eyes, her cheeks become red. "Who even are you?"

"I live here."

"Newt lives here."

"I live here with Newt. What about you?"

"What about me?" She sinks back into the couch, as if claiming a territory.

"Where do you live? Or do camp out on another couch every week?"

"Whatever," the girl scoffs, crossing her arms with a pout before she goes back to scrolling on her phone.

I pour my coffee and lean against the counter. "Look, could you at least throw a blanket on or something?"

She scowls again, sitting up a little straighter, adjusting her barely-there top. "Excuse me?"

"I just think that I shouldn't have to deal with the same view Newt got last night, that's all," I reply casually.

Before she can answer, there's a rattling at the door, followed by Newt himself. He saunters into the living room with a bird nest on his head, eyes half-closed.

"Morning," he says, his voice gruff. The girl immediately wraps herself around him like she can't live without him. He barely reacts. Just lets it happen.

It's only been a few weeks since I started sharing a dorm with him, and it's been the same thing everyday. I thought maybe he'd finally talk to me after many years of neglecting me, but so far, it seems like nothing has changed.

I've tried talking to him, but he clearly shows he's annoyed by it. And even though I usually talk a lot, I can't think of anything I have done that makes him dislike me.

What confuses me even more is why I like him so much, especially when he's so... arrogant.

Ever since my best friend Sonya—his sister—introduced me to him back in sixth grade, I haven't been able to shake the feeling. He was in eighth grade back then.

But now we're in the same year at college. Newt had a gap year after high school before he joined Windmere College to study Sociology 101. I had no idea he was here until I got meet my roommate for the first time.

"Can you please not do this here? In front of me?" I mutter.

It's the first time I confront Newt about it. In the beginning, I convinced myself that if I'd be nice, he maybe wouldn't bother my presence— that he'd like me.

But it's pointless. He'll never feel the same anyway.

Plus, he is obviously not into boys.

Newt looks up, offended. "Chill out, mate."

I try not to let the irritation creep up, but it's hard when Newt's just being... well, Newt. He's got this attitude, acting like he's the king of the dorm, yet every time I look at him, I can't help but get drawn in, even if he treats me like I don't exist.

"I don't mind if you bring others in, just don't get all clingy in front of me."

He lets out a sigh, but instead of responding, he plops down on the couch and slings an arm around the girl, who's now practically curled into his side.

I clench my jaw. I don't even know why I keep bothering. It's like hitting a wall. The guy doesn't care.

He makes me feel like I'm invisible and yet, I can't stop thinking about him. I'm always hoping for a sign that maybe, just maybe, he sees me the way I see him.

Eventually, I snatch up my bag and leave for class.

✧

By the time I make it there, the lecture hall is already buzzing with conversations, notebooks opening, and the usual morning chaos. I scan the room. There's Minho, sitting near the back, already sprawled out, claiming the entire row.

"Rough morning?" Minho asks as I drop into the seat beside him.

"You have no idea."

"And I'd like to keep it that way."

Sighing, I put my stuff on the table.

"Oh, shit." Minho's eyes wide at the Durkheim book, called 'Le Suicide'. "I forgot it."

"Make a run for it."

He shakes his head. "Useless."

"You're a fast runner. You'll make it."

"The book's dripping wet. I dropped it in the toilet this morning," he adds dryly.

"How did you even..." I trail off. Shake my head. "We'll share mine."

Minho flips through the book for three seconds before he pushes it back at me. "This book makes me want to pull exactly what it's about."

I look at the title 'Le Suicide' once again, chuckle, then focus on the professor— Jorge Moreno. We're allowed to call him Jorge: he doesn't like all the formal stuff.

"You'll be choosing one of the four main types of suicide Durkheim identified," he explains. "Someone mind refreshing our minds about those four?"

Just when the girl in front of me raises her hand, the door slams open. Newt has come in late, as usual.

I try not to stare but can't help myself. He's like a magnet, pulling my eyes to him despite everything. His messy hair, the tired look on his face, the easy confidence.

"Bro, if you stare any harder, you're gonna burn a hole through his skull," Minho whispers.

"Shut up."

"Newton," Jorge calls. "Name one of the four suicides Durkheim spoke about in Le Suicide."

"Egoistic suicide," he says with ease.

"Elaborate?"

"When an individual feels detached from society completes suicide."

Even though he's an ass half of the time, he is smart. And he could be even smarter if he'd focus on school for once.

"Very well. Now get to your seat."

Newt limps over to his friend Thomas, who's sitting a few rows in front of us. They start speaking in a low tone while Jorge summarizes the other three types of suicide.

A few years ago, Sonya told me the cause of his limp— it hits close home with the current topic. She made me swear I'd never tell anyone, and so far, I haven't. Maybe that plays a role in why I show so much regard for Newt.

It's been a long time, but I'm pretty sure he was more cheerful before his attempt. It has made him grumpy.

"Stop." I elbow Minho in the side. He keeps trying to whisper to me about nonsense, but this subject interests me too much to listen. The whole course interests me too much— why else would I have chosen it?

"What's wrong with you today?" He groans, aware I'm usually in for a joke. "Everyone's boring."

"You're annoying."

"Thank you."

Jorge clears his throat. "So, all summarized: altruistic suicide is the opposite of egoistic suicide. Individuals want to 'sacrifice' themselves for society, even when it's not necessary. Anomic suicide has to do with societal norms. Lastly, fatalistic suicide, where individuals feel like they have no control over their circumstances. You will get a writing assignment— that's why you choose one type of suicide. If you have read the book, you won't have to use the internet. I expect a few quotes as well. I'll send any other information through an email."

Minho leans in. "Which one are you choosing?"

"Egoistic suicide," I respond. "You?"

"I don't know, man. Give me a good reason on why I should choose that one as well."

My reason is because I have a suspicion that this is the kind of suicide Newt tried.

"I have no reason," I deny quietly. "Go for fatalistic. That's the type you apparently want to pull when you read the book."

"Good point."

✧

A/n: First chapter!!

You don't really get to read much about Sander's personality here, but that'll improve in other chapters.

Question: Are y'all interested in what their sociology classes are about, or is it just a boring detail? (For example, these four types of suicides)

Hope you enjoyed ❤︎︎
- Vera