It was a cool evening, and the college dorm was as busy as usual. Students came and went and the atmosphere was filled with male shouts and laughter.
A short figure, wrapped in thick clothes almost to the point of being as wide as he was short silently waddled down the corridors.
This figure had his face partially covered, and he was wearing so many layers of clothes he resembled an onion.
This was of course, Hugo.
Hugo limped down the college dorm hallway, his oversized shades doing little to hide his misery.
The echoes of his footsteps mingled with the distant chatter of students. He could feel the stares burning into his back, whispers trailing behind him like a bad smell.
"Isn't that the Ass Dragon?" someone muttered.
Hugo cringed, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He'd never felt more like a condemned man walking to the gallows.
Every step he took was accompanied by a wince, not just from the physical pain but from the mortifying memory of what had happened in the auditorium.
The memory of how the whole auditorium stared at him as he made a mess of himself made him want to find a hole to bury himself in.
His social death had almost made him traumatized of public places!
His oversized shades hid the dark circles under his eyes, and his hoodie was pulled so low it was a miracle he could see where he was going. If anyone asked, he'd say he was channelling his inner undercover agent.
In reality, Hugo was praying no one would recognise him.
It was one thing to be known as the short, awkward guy with acne; it was another to be forever branded as the "Ass Dragon" who had fumigated the entire freshman class with a single… performance.
His unfortunate digestive distress had become the stuff of legends.
Reaching his dorm room, Hugo fumbled with the key, all the while nervously glancing down the hallway.
Paranoia had him convinced that at any moment, a group of students would pop out and start pointing and laughing.
He fervently hoped that his dorm room would not be exposed, or his days of peace in college would end before it even started.
Finally, the door creaked open, and Hugo slipped inside like a fugitive on the run.
The first thing that hit him was the faint scent of fresh paint mixed with the musty odour of unpacked cardboard.
The layout was standard enough: a small living room, two bedrooms, a single toilet, and a bathroom.
The living room was sparsely furnished with a shabby sofa that looked like it had seen better days and a coffee table that had definitely seen better days.
On one side of the room were two doors, one leading to his room and the other to his future roommate's.
Hugo sighed, relieved to be alone, but that relief was short-lived.
His eyes fell on a stack of unpacked boxes in the middle of the living room. He instantly recognized his own—shoddily taped and labelled with his barely legible scrawl.
But what caught his attention was a box he hadn't seen before. It was pink, with neatly printed letters on the side: "FRAGILE."
He squinted at the box. "Did the administration make a mistake?" he muttered to himself, cautiously approaching it.
He glanced at the label, half expecting it to be full of toiletries or maybe some random decorative items.
Instead, sitting right on top of the neatly folded clothes inside was a pink thong.
Hugo's brain short-circuited. He stared at the delicate piece of clothing as if it were a live grenade.
It even had tiny doughnut designs!
"Did… did they put me in a girl's dorm by mistake?!" His voice came out in a squeak as he frantically looked around, half-expecting a girl to walk in and start screaming about a pervert in her room.
His panic was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. Hugo froze, his heart plummeting to his stomach.
He spun around, his mind racing with explanations that all ended with him being thrown out of the dorm—and possibly college.
But it wasn't a girl that walked in.
In walked a tall, muscular figure with the kind of swagger that only comes from knowing you're the hottest thing on campus.
His sharp jawline, athletic build, and dope hair made him look strikingly similar to Jude Bellingham, the football star.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, both equally shocked.
Collins was the golden boy back in high school—the guy who could do no wrong and was loved by all, and the same guy who had been Hugo's friend before Hugo turned into a reclusive shut-in.
"Hugo?" Collins asked, breaking the silence.
"Collins?" Hugo finally croaked, his voice catching in his throat. This couldn't be happening. Collins, of all people, was his roommate?
"Hugo?" Collins looked equally stunned. "Mate, is that really you?"
Hugo shifted awkwardly, pulling his hoodie further over his head as if it could somehow make him disappear. "Y-Yeah, it's me. Long time no see, huh?"
"Bloody hell, you've changed," Collins said, his voice tinged with both surprise and something that sounded suspiciously like concern. "You look... well, you look like you've been through the wringer,"
His expression softened. "What happened? I mean, the last time I saw you, you were..."
Hugo winced, cutting him off before he could go down that rabbit hole. "It's... it's a long story. But hey, look at you! Still the golden boy, huh?"
Collins shrugged, a modest grin spreading across his face. "I do what I can. But enough about me, what's with the shades? And, uh, why are you limping?"
Hugo's face flushed, and he quickly deflected. "Oh, you know, just trying to keep a low profile." Then, as if his mouth had a mind of its own and as if his hands had a mind of their own, he picked up the pink thing and blurted out,
"By the way, do you... do you know anything about this?" He pointed at the pink thong.
Collins followed his gaze, his eyes widening for a split second. Then there was silence...