Jack stumbled to open the door to his new dorm. He was quite nervous to meet a complete stranger he would have to share a room with for almost four years. It was strange how that wasn't against some kind of safety violation; at least to Jack it was.

He managed to open the door, and walked in. On one side of the room sat a messy bed with black and red sheets, and on the other, another bed ready to be occupied by the newcomer. Jack set his stuff down on the bed, taking a longer glance around the room.

The other side was littered with alcohol bottles (mainly whiskey or vodka), tissues, clothes, and trash. Jack scrunched up his nose in disgust, already wanting to clean up the horrid mess. Even the stench in the room screamed trash. It was disgusting, Jack wasn't going to lie.

He pulled out his notebook, and began to write down the encounters he's already had the first five minutes of college. They weren't good reviews, and Jack would surely give the place a one if he could.

He walked back out of the dorm room to collect more of his boxes. On his way out to his car, a taller, more muscular man walked towards him. Jack took a glance, and noticed the kid was a punk. He had red hair with raven colored sides (most likely his natural hair color), tattoos all over his arms, and black gauges. I really hope he isn't my roommate Jack mentally wished.

-

Finally after grabbing the last box, he made his way to his room. When he arrived and entered, he was faced with the punk he had seen earlier. Fuck, Jack thought. He is my roommate.

"Uh... h-hello," Jack stuttered, setting his box down on the floor next to the various others. The punk looked him up and down, then scoffed.

"I can't believe I got placed with a fuckin' flower boy," he muttered, looking over at Jack's bed.

"My name's Jack... and you are?" Jack questioned, pulling out a baby blue sweatshirt. He slipped it over his head with no struggle, and repositioned his crown to where it was straight again.

"Mark. Stop talkin' to me... your voice is annoyin'," Mark growled, laying down on his bed. Jack winced at his words, and turned towards his stuff. He started unpacking, putting his clothes away in a small dresser next to his bed.

"What the fuck is up with all of the pastels and flowers and shit? It's disgusting to look at." Jack chose to ignore Mark, not wanting to have his accent teased about again. "Hey, flower head! I'm talkin' to you!"

"I'm sorry," Jack turned around,"I thought you didn't want me to talk to you again because my voice was annoying." Jack turned back to folding his various sweatshirts. He never realized how many he actually had until he started packing for college. His mom said he could have as many as he wanted, since Jack never really had the chance to express himself back in high school.

"How can you even like that shit? It looks like trash, and it doesn't even make you look like a boy," Mark criticized. He continued to do this for what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes. Jack finally had enough, and looked at Mark with a sigh.

"At least I take better care of myself than you. Your side of the room is trashed... I'm surprised mine isn't. What's up with your tattoos huh? Now if you want to know the definition of trash, your tattoos would be a perfect example! And what about those gauges. I mean, come on! Don't you have anything better to do than put holes in your ears and sticking decorative objects in them?" Jack didn't realize how toxic he was being, until after he had finished his statement. Mark just sat there, an astonished look on his face, which was quickly masked by anger.

"You have no room to talk. Nobody is gonna take you seriously by the way you dress. Your hair is... it's..." but Mark didn't have anything to say. Jack had won the battle, and he finished it with a smirk.

He finished unpacking, and set the flattened boxes near the door. His side of the room looked perfect, at least in Jack's eyes. Little lights strung on the wall by his bed. His sheets were a light pink with blue pillow cases. He had a stuffed fox toy that Jack took almost every where he went. His sketch book and note book sat on his dresser neatly along with a rose flower crown he had made before leaving for college that morning.

Jack flopped onto his bed, exhausted from traveling and unpacking. He decided to undress and slip into bed, turning off his lamp in the process.

"Goodnight Mark. Sleep well," Jack said softly, digging his face in the sheets before closing his eyes.

"Whatever," Mark mumbled back, doing the same that Jack had. He mentally threw a fit, knowing it was going to be hard to keep the obvious Irishman out of his mind. Mark couldnt help it though, Jack was

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