5 unplanned patterns
I wake up before my alarm again, which is starting to feel less like a coincidence and more like my brain refusing to fully shut off in a place that still doesn't feel entirely mine, even though it's Wednesday now and I've technically been here long enough that it should.
I stay still for a second, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet that isn't really quiet when you share a room with someone, even if they're not there, even if the only proof of them is the mess they leave behind.
My side is exactly how I left it.
His side is not.
Jackson's bed is unmade again, sheets half-pulled, his jacket thrown over the chair like he didn't even think about it, and I find myself staring at it longer than necessary before I sit up, because noticing patterns is one thing, but noticing him specifically is not something I need to start doing.
It's temporary.
Everything about this is temporary.
I get up and move through my routine, brushing my teeth, tying my hair back, organizing my desk without really thinking about it, just letting the structure settle me, because structure is predictable and predictable is safe and safe is what I need right now.
By the time I leave, backpack over my shoulder, I feel more like myself, like I've put everything back where it belongs internally, even if externally nothing about this situation is where it's supposed to be.
Campus is already loud when I step outside, people moving in every direction, voices overlapping, energy buzzing in that chaotic way that would have overwhelmed me on Sunday but doesn't anymore because now I know where I'm going, I know where I fit in the flow of it.
I spot Nola outside the building before she sees me, sitting on the steps with her sketchbook open, completely absorbed in whatever she's working on, like the rest of the world doesn't exist unless she decides it does.
"Nola," I call, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
She looks up instantly, her face lighting up like she's genuinely excited to see me, which still throws me off a little because I'm not used to people reacting to me like that this quickly.
"Everly," she says, snapping her sketchbook shut and standing. "You're late."
"I'm on time," I correct, glancing at my phone. "You're early."
"Same thing," she says, falling into step beside me like it's automatic now, like this is already a routine. "I got bored in my room and my roommate talks in her sleep again, which feels targeted at this point."
"What did she say this time?" I ask, pushing the door open as we walk inside.
"She said 'don't do it' three times," Nola replies seriously. "I wasn't even doing anything and suddenly I felt guilty."
"That's concerning," I say. "Maybe you were doing something subconsciously."
"That's worse," she says, nudging my shoulder lightly. "I don't need subconscious judgment in my life."
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as we head toward our lecture hall, slipping into conversation that doesn't feel new anymore, not like it did on Monday, just easy and continuous, like we skipped past the awkward part entirely.
We take our seats next to each other, both pulling out our notebooks at the same time without really thinking about it, and there's something about that small synchronization that makes me glance at her for a second before I look back down at my notes.
"Psych majors," she says under her breath, like she read my mind. "We're already forming behavioral patterns."
"Or we just like sitting in the same spot," I reply, but there's a small smile pulling at the corner of my mouth.
"Or that," she allows, already doodling in the margin of her page as the lecture starts.
I focus on the professor, on the structure of the material, the way everything builds on itself logically, because that's the part I like about this, the way people make sense when you break things down enough.
It's easier than dealing with them in real time.
By the time class ends, I feel steadier again, like I've anchored myself in something predictable, and as we walk out together, Nola launches into a story about her sisters that has me laughing more than I expect to, enough that I don't immediately notice how relaxed I feel until I do.
It's... nice.
I don't question it.
"Are we studying later?" she asks as we step outside.
"Yeah," I say. "Library."
"Perfect," she replies. "I'll bring snacks because I'm not suffering through cognitive development on an empty stomach."
"That sounds like a good rule."
"I have many good rules," she says confidently. "Unlike your roommate situation, which still sounds illegal."
"It's not illegal," I say automatically.
"It feels illegal," she insists.
"It feels inconvenient," I correct, adjusting my bag. "There's a difference."
She narrows her eyes slightly. "Have you told your brother yet?"
I hesitate for half a second. "No."
"Everly," she says, already knowing.
"I will," I add quickly. "Just... not in person."
"Coward."
"Strategic," I correct.
She snorts. "Call him."
I exhale slowly, pulling my phone out as we stand there for a second, because she's right and I know she's right and avoiding it isn't going to make it better. "Fine."
I step a little to the side, leaning against the building as I call Logan, and he picks up after a couple rings like he always does.
"Everly."
His voice is steady, familiar, grounding in a way that makes something in my chest loosen immediately.
"Hi," I say. "You busy?"
"Just finished practice," he replies. "What's up?"
I hesitate for a second, then just say it, because dragging it out is worse. "There was a mix-up with housing."
There's a pause.
"What kind of mix-up?"
"The kind where I got put in the wrong dorm," I say, keeping my tone as even as possible. "Like, very wrong."
"How wrong, Ev?"
"With a guy."
Silence.
Then, "You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
Another pause, heavier now, and I can practically hear him processing it.
"They're fixing it," he says.
"They can't," I reply, pushing off the wall and starting to walk slowly, because standing still suddenly feels like too much. "Everything's full. It's temporary, just until winter break."
"Absolutely not," he says immediately.
"Logan," I warn, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's already decided."
"That doesn't mean it's staying that way."
"It does," I say, sharper now. "I talked to them. There's nothing they can do right now."
"Then I'll talk to someone."
"And say what?" I ask, frustration slipping in. "That your sister can't handle having a roommate?"
"That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?"
He exhales slowly, like he's choosing his words carefully. "It's a guy I don't know."
"It's a guy I barely know," I correct. "There's a difference."
"That doesn't make it better."
"It makes it manageable," I say, quieter now. "We have rules. It's under control."
"Rules," he repeats, like he doesn't trust that word at all.
"Yes, rules," I say. "We're not... anything. We're just sharing space."
There's a pause.
"Okay," he says finally.
I blink, surprised.
"For now," he adds, and there it is.
I sigh quietly. "You're still going to try to fix it."
"Yeah," he says simply.
Of course he is.
I let it go, because arguing isn't going to change anything. "How was practice?"
"Good," he says. "Tryouts are intense this week. Cuts are Monday."
"I heard," I reply. "Any good ones?"
"Yeah," he says, and there's something in his voice now, more focused. "There's one."
"Oh," I say lightly. "Just one?"
"He's good," Logan continues. "Wide receiver. Fast, controlled, doesn't waste movement, doesn't look around after plays like he needs approval."
I slow slightly as I walk, something about the way he describes it catching my attention even though it shouldn't.
"Sounds like you're impressed."
"I don't get impressed easily," he says. "But yeah. He stood out."
"What's his name?"
"I don't know for sure," he admits. "Bennett, I think."
My grip on my phone tightens just slightly.
Bennett.
There's no reason for that to mean anything.
There are probably multiple Bennetts.
"Guess we'll see if he makes it," I say, keeping my tone even.
"Yeah," Logan replies. "We will."
We talk a little longer, about normal things, classes, schedules, and when we hang up, I lower my phone slowly, staring at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
"Was that him?" Nola asks immediately, appearing next to me like she's been waiting for this.
"Yes," I say.
"And?" she prompts.
"He's not thrilled," I admit.
"Shocking," she says dryly. "Did you mention your mystery roommate is illegally hot?"
I look at her. "I did not."
"You should," she says seriously. "It would make it worse in a fun way."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid."
She grins. "Where's the fun in that?"
I shake my head, but I can't help the small smile that slips through.
We start walking again, back toward the dorms, and when I push the door open later, everything is the same as it was this morning, my side neat, his side not, the space still split in a way that feels temporary and permanent at the same time.
I drop my bag onto my chair and sit down, pulling my notebook toward me, flipping it open even though I'm not really focusing on what I'm writing.
Because for some reason, out of everything Logan said, the only thing that stuck was a name I wasn't supposed to recognize.
Bennett.