the light of the morning-after dawned.

Our couple of interactions weren't anything special to me. I had drunken conversations with strangers all the time, at least once every week. It was my preferred choice for meeting people. Making friends in class pretty much always led to the relationship centering on studying—boring. And I hated talking in yoga class, which interrupted my zen, so that made finding yoga buddies difficult.

Plus, I didn't date. It was a personal rule of mine while I was in college, because it would be a distraction to my studies. Between the stress of Pre-Med, the routine of WISA meetings, the meditative trance of yoga and the anxieties of being twenty and uncertain, I needed something else to let the steam off. I was only going to be young once, and I couldn't spend all of that time taking everything seriously. Hence, my continuing tryst with alcohol and faceless one-night-stands.

After the Halloween party, Thanksgiving, the winter holidays and the new year came and went before that boy even popped into my head again. Even that was sooner than I expected; never would have been my best bet.

The student roll at Halston University grew in the last five years. Not noticeably enough for my classes to appear any larger, but significantly enough to warrant the construction of a bunch of new accommodation buildings. There was one that had been completed over the winter holidays, ready for a new intake of residents for the second semester of the year.

In freshman, sophomore and the half of junior year that just went by, my two closest friends had been bounced around to the exact halls of residence where I was not. None of us could seem to make our applications sync up, and we'd not been sorted into the same dormitories once in all the years we'd been friends.

Except now, finally. It was the early days of January, and I couldn't wait for the sleepovers, midnight conversations and movie nights Krista, Riley and I'd been promising each other. I had moved my things from my old residence to my new one by walking a shopping trolley across campus. Thrice. I couldn't fit all of my clothing and decorations into the cart at once, but I didn't mind all the toing and froing. It was good exercise—if arduous all by myself.

Dad had wanted to drive to Halston from Boston to help me, but I politely declined.

I'd fibbed that it was going to be a simple, quick trip. Really, he would want to help me unpack, decorate and get settled—just like the attentive father he was. But I'd changed a lot since high school, heck even since last year. I didn't want to have to explain to daddy-dearest how all my flimsy crop tops and miniskirts were, in fact, supposed to cover my bits.

Or from where those full bottles of vodka and soju had appeared.

It was the fault of my own stubbornness, but I was parched by the time I checked-in and fully unpacked on the eighth floor. To quench my thirst, I took the elevator down to the ground floor, which had a vending machine. Just as I collected an ice-cold coffee from its tray, I heard the automatic door slide open.

A block of muscle, a head of tousled brown hair and familiar green eyes greeted me. Jamie. Somehow I knew it was him, though he and Jake shared the same features. Maybe it was the wry manner he regarded me—in my knit sweater and satin skirt—that was starkly different from Jake's easy-going lenity. In fact, starkly different from the way anyone had looked at me before.

"Oh, dang," I smiled lazily. I cast a cursory glance to the suitcase he pulled behind him.

"Here comes trouble. You living here?"

Jamie nodded. "Vivian. We meet again. How was the first semester for you?"

"Good," I answered casually. "And yours?"

"Good."

I took the elevator back up to the eighth floor and went to my room. The other half of the room was bare, but I couldn't wait to see who my roommate would be. In the meantime, I began sorting clothing into the wardrobe and sticking my posters and strobe lighting up on the walls.

About two hours later, I emerged into the common room to see both Jake and Jamie huddled over the TV, trying to decode the tangle of wires that might connect to their PlayStation. A scoff escaped me as I surveyed their first order of business—hooking up their video games. Priorities.

"Viv!" Jake turned around at the sound of my breath. He bounded over the couch with his signature agility and wrapped me in an excited hug. "Hey, floormate. I saw your name on the move-in register."

"Floormate?" I echoed.

"This is so great!" Jake continued, "Jamie and you. I can already tell we're going to have so much fun living here. I wonder what our other floormates are going to be like."

Huh? I met Jamie's equally surprised expression with a faint smile. Damn. Floormates. Joy.

"Well, I know two of them. There's Krista, she's Pre-Med with me. You remember her?" Jake nodded. "Thought so. And Riley, who's doing English Lit. They're both moving in after lunch. I don't know anyone else."

Jake let out a huff of air. "Looks like we'll have to get to know everyone."

"Yes," I nodded slowly, sneaking a glance at Jamie's back. The TV screen came to life after he made two expert insertions, displaying the opening menu of their PlayStation device. "Looks like it."

It had been a crazy week.

Most of the floor had moved in, with some straggling exceptions, including my as-yet-unknown roommate.

The icebreaking activities and group outings organised by our resident advisor, who was the perfect mixture of attentive and hands-off, had occupied all my nights. Not many residents attended them because they were upperclassmen leeched of the enthusiasm they had in freshman year, but Krista, Riley, the twins and I took pity on our RA and decided to throw him a bone.

Dinner at the local pizzeria, a bowling night, a movie night, a quiz night themed around getting to know our floormates, and more! His social programme sounded like it was lifted straight out of a campus life pamphlet, but even he knew not to mess with our weekends. He had no more hangouts planned for the floor before the semester started next week, but he'd also suspiciously taken a leave of absence from his room for the next two days. I suspected he was not a fresh RA, and he wanted to clear out of the floor as the first re-orientation week parties kicked off.

I ran into Jamie in the laundry room, on the basement floor. He nodded his head in acknowledgement when I pushed open the door. Because of the prolific group gatherings that filled our first week on the eighth floor, this was the first time we'd been alone together since the party. Or, ever, considering we had technically been surrounded by his fellow footballers the night we met.

Jamie leaned against the wall, watching the countdown on the washing machine. I scooped out my freshly washed clothes into the dryer directly below the machine. At the sound of a throat being cleared, I looked over to Jamie.

He smirked. "We can be friends now, right?"

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. What was he talking about?

Then I recalled some vague snippets of the Halloween party three months ago. My memory was vague and untrustworthy because I'd nearly gotten blackout drunk that night, but I could say with a fair amount of certainty that I'd been a snobby bitch. No, I don't want to talk, and no, I don't want to be your friend. That sounded like something Drunk Viv would totally say.

Sober Viv would say that, too, actually.

"Of course," I said with scathing sarcasm. "Let me just change your status in my mental register," I said, my voice saccharine. "All done. Hey, Jameson. Want to get sushi, paint our nails and spill our deepest, darkest secrets now that we're friends? I have a new shade of nail polish in baby pink that I think would really suit you."

Jamie narrowed his eyes at me. He crossed his arms frustratedly, the bulge of his biceps becoming more prominent through his shirt. "You think you're top shit, don't you?"

"Better than thinking too little of myself," I tossed my hair over my shoulder and threw a bra of mine into the dryer.

"Well, what does it take to be your friend?"

"That's such an odd question," I commented, on a tangent. Then I shrugged, giving him a nonchalant smile. "I don't know. Make me laugh, I guess."

His eyes widened incredulously, "Pardon?"

"It's not difficult. I'm not like a shrew or anything," I told him truthfully. I started my dryer cycle just as Jamie's dryer finished. "Just stop trying so hard."

Yes, I had high standards when it came to men. I was selective about who I slept with—and exponentially more so with who I dated, hence why I didn't date—with a rigorous selection process for potential sexual partners.

They had to be intelligent because smart men tended to be better lays. They had to be emotionally inert; I wouldn't touch anyone whose feelings were hurt too easily. It wasn't my job to play therapist, mother or girlfriend for a man. They had to have at least one extracurricular to prove they had a healthy work-life balance, as a safeguard against them getting too invested in me. They had to vote regularly and corroborate it by having at least one political conversation with me.

Most saliently, they had to be pro-birth control and pro-choice.

You'd think, since the bar was on the ground, that men such as these were a dime a dozen. But, no. Men were disappointing in all manner of ways.

When it came to making friends, I was more relaxed. But secretly the same guidelines applied to any guy that wanted my genuine respect and trust. Faking a friendship was easy. Growing a friendship—especially from the barren, arid soil of my heart—was much harder. I had no second chances to give if they wasted their first.

"Okay," he nodded. "Make you laugh. I can do that."

I rolled my eyes as I turned my back to Jamie. He was an odd one. He seemed strangely invested in being friends with me, even though we were all moving out at the end of this semester. I told him it was as easy as making me laugh to ease his thoughts and foster a positive, tension-free living situation on the eighth floor, but truth be told it was much harder than that.

It didn't matter that I was being fake. Sometimes that was necessary to avoid drama and preserve one's tranquility. I'd learnt that by enduring internships, retail jobs and my position with WISA. It didn't make me disingenuous, it made me an adult. I would only ever voice my general dissatisfaction with guys in the privacy of my own head—and possibly to Kris and Riley—so who really cared?

Jamie and I stepped into the elevator when it arrived on the basement floor. I pressed the button for the eighth floor, falling back against the handrail when it smoothly lurched upwards.

Jamie suddenly broke the silence. "Knock, knock."

I arched my eyebrows at him and pursed my lips dubiously. He had an eager and excited expression on his face, like a child bursting to tell a dumb story. I sighed. "Who's there?"

"Europe."

"Europe, who?"

"I am— haha... not a poo," Jamie began, cracking into laughter halfway through the punchline, "how dare you!"

Then he dissolved into a fit of giggles, his chest shaking under the force of his hearty laughter. Wow. See what I meant when I said intelligent men were few and far between?

Despite how cerebrally unimpressive that joke was, Jamie's laugh was infectious. My lips parted as a small chuckle suddenly escaped my lips, and Jamie cheered in victory, still lost in his amusement.

More chuckles tore from the back of my throat—at a poo joke of all things. I was unable to stop myself. I even chastised myself for being so tasteless, but Jamie saw the infuriated glare on my face and laughed even harder, which made me laugh even harder. We were barely able to recollect ourselves when the elevator opened on the eighth floor common room.

"Fine. Congratulations," I spat through heaving breaths. "We're friends now. Happy now? Your life's goal accomplished?"

"I do feel pretty accomplished," Jamie smiled pleasantly. Then he threw out there, "Viv."

It took me a second, but then I remembered. Strangers called me Vivian. Friends called me Viv. It was shocking that Jamie remembered what I'd said that night, but I was quietly impressed.

"Jamie," I nodded to him as we parted ways in the common room. He and Jake—who had swapped places with another one of our floormates to room with Jamie—lived down the westward corridor. I lived down the eastward corridor.

He repeated softly, "Viv," and then disappeared around the corner.

And they were roommates! Gosh, what a twist. Place your bets on how long it takes for them to kiss.

(Also, please vote if you're enjoying the story, and follow me for updates on my works!)

Aimee x