Everyone at college knew just how cool Phillip Graves really was. He was the star quarterback, the hero of every game. On top of that, he somehow managed to excel in the sciences, making the professors shake their heads in admiration. It was a paradox. After all, no one had cancelled the stereotypical jokes about football players.

His energy irritated you to the point of grinding your teeth. And, certainly, you were lucky. Those who secretly (and not so secretly) pined after Phillip thought you were the luckiest person, because you had the honour of becoming the roommate of the Prince-Who-Can-Do-Everything. Except that this so-called luck quickly became endlessly annoying.

Because what no one else saw, you learned the hard way. He was a cocky, self-satisfied who seemed to have no concept of personal space.

And again.

Phillip doesn't just storm in⎯he explodes. The door slams against the wall with a bang loud enough to make your pen skid across the page. You do not even have time to glare at him before he flings himself onto your bed, face down, like the world's most dramatic boy. “Get your tail outside, sweetheart,” he groans into the comforter. “You been holed up in this dang dungeon all day, an' it's sad as hell.”

Your usual approach, when the young man tries to interfere with your already limited time, is to ignore all his attempts to intrude. And now, you do just that, burying your face in a book and making it clear that you're not in the mood for a conversation.

“Don't pretend like ya can't hear me,” Fill grumbles in frustration when he realises you're, once again, bristling with your usual indifference towards him. He rolls onto his back, tucking one of your plush toys under his head. “You're ignorin' me on purpose, huh?”

Perhaps if you pretend hard enough, he'll grow bored and leave. Well, of course⎯yes, dream on.

“C'mon, nerd,” he nudging your shoulder with his foot. “Let's go do somethin'. Coffee. Ice cream. Hell, I'll even drag my sorry buns to the library if it gets ya outta this room.”