There was a boy in his room.

     Kurt blinked up at the number painted on the door, then took a glance down at the room assignment in his hand.

Sound Hall, 413.

     It was definitely room 413, but maybe it wasnt Sound Hall-- all the dormitories looked so similar, like cookie-cutter housing towers for the elderly with the same boring floorplan. Maybe he should ask someone to show him which was the right building. Then, he could catch his dad before he brought up the rest of the boxes. It wasnt like Kurt would have minded rooming with another boy by any means. But he had been informed by Finn that, according to Puck (who dropped out of this school last year after half a semester), the rooms were co-ed. Which was why, he supposed, they sent him that form that asked him if hed be comfortable sharing a room with a girl due to overcrowding of the other dorms. He said he didnt care.
     He assumed that meant he would be sharing a room with a girl. But maybe things had changed?
Kurt was snapped out of his thoughts by a greeting coming from the boy who was in his room (their room?).

    "You must be Kai," the boy said, grinning and holding out his hand.

    "Kurt," he corrected, feeling an anxious jump in his stomach . He ignored the others outstretched hand. (He was holding a box anyway, what did he expect from him?)

The boy didnt seem phased by Kurt ignoring the offer to shake hands. Or maybe, Kurt thought, he realized that I sort of have my hands full.

     It was probably the latter, because the next thing Kurt knew, the box was being lifted out of his hands and set on an empty bed. The other side of the room had a bed too, but this one was already littered with clothes and boxes-- nice clothes he noted. Clothes that Kurt could actually approve of. They seemed to be more on the feminine side, but who was Kurt to judge someones fashion taste when he had at least eight pairs of steel-toed, heeled boots back at home? At least the pants seemed stylish enough-- though even he couldnt tell from a distance if they were designer, off the rack of TJ Maxx , or a knockoff brand bought from the back of a shady van whose seller had a red, itchy nose, and shifty eyes.

     The boy spoke again then, and Kurt met warm hazel eyes with his own blue ones as he looked up. "Do you have more stuff downstairs?" he heard his roommate (?) ask. Kurt didnt get a chance to reply.

"We just finished up with those boxes, and I think were gonna go grab a coffee now; do you wanna get a coffee? Oh, have you been to Java Joes yet? The coffee there is like heaven in a cup. They have these turkey sandwiches too-- the size of your fist," He took Kurts arm and held it up. Kurt swallowed. "Make a fist," he said.
     Kurt did.
    
     "Bigger than your fist," The boy said with a wide grin that seemed to stretch across his entire face, dropping his hand and picking up the leather shoulder bag that Kurt had left outside the door. "Do you have more boxes? This cant be all you brought with you,"

     The stranger was a little on the short (and talkative) side with tan skin, and his hair was beyond curly, dark strands flopping in every direction but held down at the roots by what looked to be the slightest bit of gel-- just enough to keep the locks somewhere in the subcategory of tamed. Kurt was reminded of an excitable puppy. He wore fitted dark jeans accompanied by a loose forest green green v-neck that, on anyone else, would look cheap. But, oddly enough, he made it work.
     Kurt glanced down at his room assignment again. Was this Santana?
     "San!" the boy called out suddenly, looking at a spot behind Kurt. "Your roommates here."

 A girl stepped into the room then, walking around Kurt in the narrow doorway and sparing him a cool glance. She had a head full of thick, dark hair, held back by a few bobby pins on either side of her temple. Her skin was naturally tanned and she had set of full lips that were pulled down at the corners in a slight scowl.

     "Santana, Kai. Kai, Santana," Mystery Boy introduced helpfully, looking a little too pleased with himself.

       "Kurt" Kurt corrected immediately, earning an overly-amused glance from the boy-- the same easy grin on his face from earlier. What a punk.

The girl-- Santana, he reminded himself --nodded offhandedly. "I took the right side" she gestured to the bed with the boxes and clothes already on it. "But I couldnt care less. If youve got feng shui issues, feel free to move my shit" She turned to the boy, who had busied himself by picking at a loose thread on his shirt. "Ready?"

     He turned to Kurt, who couldnt find it in himself to make much sense of the situation. "Coming?"
     Kurt shook his head.

      When the door shut behind them, Kurt sat on the bare mattress of the bed that would be his by default- he had no feng shui issues and even if he did, he couldnt feel bothered to move Santanas belongings. What side of the room he had was the least of his worries. He leaned his head against the cool cinder block wall with a slow exhale. He just needed to take a breather or five. Hed be fine. He needed to take the nauseous feeling in his stomach and press it tight until it dissipated into nonexistence, where he would at least have space to move around in to work things out from there.

     His dad and Rachel would be up any minute, and Kurt didnt want either of them to know how utterly anxious he was. He didnt want them to know that he felt like he was about to pass out- like his brain wasnt getting enough oxygen. If Kurt melted down, his dad would melt down too. And if either of them melted down, Rachel would insist that they were doing this on purpose. Just to ruin her special day. It would be a mess. Kurt knew this from experience.

     Rachel was a great friend-- she was. But sometimes, Kurt thought, she didnt always realize that the whole world wasnt the Rachel Berry Show. But even though Kurt might sometimes want to rip her throat out, shed been there for him since high school. She even changed her mind about going to New York once she found out that Kurt had decided to take a different path with his life. And that was something that he had to appreciate, no matter what arguments they got into. That their love-hate relationship was strong enough to plan their futures around each other. Rachel didnt want to go to New York without him. She threw away her NYADA acceptance and, in turn, applied for the unbelievably drab Ohio State alongside Kurt, who was ecstatic that theyd be going to college together after all.

     Yes, Rachel was a great friend, but she also was a huge bitch when she had her mind set on something. Originally, they were supposed to room together, but Miss Independent had to switch their plans last minute. And Kurt thought that may be part of the reason he was so nervous. Because he would be rooming with a stranger. Because Rachel wouldnt be there to accidentally set their kitchen on fire in the first week, or to gossip about recent pop culture until they were too tired to keep talking, or argue over what decorations went where.

     Youre going to thank me for this, she kept saying. The first time she said it was back in June.

     Kurt had already finished filling out his university housing forms, and of course hed put Rachel down as his roommate (the form asked him if he was alright rooming with a girl- but it was basically his entire plan anyways)- he hadnt thought twice about it. The two of them had been planning their future of being attached at the hip since sophomore year- why not start now? Hell, they originally planned to live together in New York. So why wouldnt they do it here?

     "Weve gone through high school together, Kurt. Almost four years," Rachel argued. She was sitting at the head of Kurts bed, putting unwelcome creases in his carefully laid out Italian bedspread and wearing her infuriating Im The One In Charge Here face.

     "And its worked out exquisitely ," Kurt said, arms crossed as he stood in front of where she was sitting. He could already feel the panic sinking in caused by the thought of how hed have to get used to waking up with some stranger in his room. What if they were homophobic?

 He was mostly trying not to look like the Pathetic One Who Needs Rachel Berry To Hold His Hand Through College at the moment though. 

     "Kurt," Rachel groaned, throwing her head back in exaggerated annoyance, a thumping noise coming from where her head hit the wooden headboard. "The whole point of college is meeting new people!"

     "The whole point of having a best friend as insane as you are," Kurt insisted "is not having to worry about this sort of thing. Creepy roommates that eat your food and smell like salad dressing and post pictures of you sleeping on Instagram. . ."

  Rachel sighed and moved her dark hair to one side of her neck. "What are you even talking about? Why would someone even smell remotely close to salad dressing?"

"Like vinegar,"

Kurts statement was met with a blank stare and a dark, quirked eyebrow.

     Kurt pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Remember when we visited Finn back when he was still going to Columbus State? And his friends room smelled like a rundown Italian restaurant?"

"No."

"Well, it was revolting."

"Its college," Rachel said, her expression clearly stating youre not going to win this. She grinned, too many teeth showing for Kurts liking. He knew that smile. She had her mind set. "Were supposed to try new things. To make this an adventure."

     "Ive already had an adventure with this." Kurt rolled his eyes, arms now crossed across his chest as he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "The whole idea is already mortifying in itself." he mumbled the last part.

  "Like I said before, were supposed to meet new people," She crawled down the mattress until she was sitting next to Kurt, her feet swinging off the edge of the bed. "And your inability to admit you need to meet new people is just proving to me that you need it more than I originally thought."

   Kurt looked away from her eyes when she ducked her head down to try and meet his gaze. "You know Im right" his friend insisted.

He shook his head, finally meeting her eyes. "I dont"

"Kurt,-"

"Please dont make me do this without the one person who I thought would always be there for me. I thought the whole reason you decided not to go to New York was so that we could do this together. So that we wouldnt be doing this alone."

"Youre never alone, you idiot," She grinned playfully. "Thats the whole point of having a best friend as insane as I am, remember?"

Kurt didnt respond, though he was no longer quite as upset over the issue. But they both knew this wasnt over.

"Trust me, youre going to thank me for this." Rachel smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to Kurts cheek.

"I somehow doubt that."

"This is really nice," Kurts dad said five minutes and twenty-five seconds later, his eyes wandering over the room with interest-- probably fake interest, really. Sound 413 wasnt exactly the Taj Mahal as far as dorm rooms go --as he dropped a box of shoes and books on Kurts bed.

     "Its not nice in the least, Dad," Kurt said, standing a little off by the doorway. "It looks like a prison cell and kind of smells like one too. But its smaller than a cell. And probably less sanitary if Im being honest."

    Rachel was standing by the window, where she had pulled the curtain aside to see outside. "At least youve got a good view of the campus," She smiled, stepping back and letting the curtain fall closed. "Mine has a lovely view of an abandoned parking lot."

"How do you know?" Burt asked as he pulled his baseball cap down a bit, the advertising for Hummel Tire and Lube showing clear on the newer hat.

"Google Earth."

   Rachel was practically salivating at the thought of starting college, even if it wasnt in New York, where she had originally been shooting for. She and her roommate-- Quinn --had been talking for weeks. Quinn was from Lima, too. The two of them had already met and gone shopping for dorm-room stuff together. Kurt had tagged along and tried not to cringe at their choice to go with the green shag rug. It was atrocious and if looks could kill, that hideous rug would be burning unceremoniously into a pile ashes on the ground. He had to hold himself back from attacking the offensive accessory with a pair of kitchen shears.

    Burt walked over from his place in front of Kurts bare mattress and nudged his shoulder with his own. "Hey, look. Youll be fine, kiddo,"

He nodded. "I know." No I dont.

"Okay," Burt said after a moment, clapping his hands together once, causing both Kurt and Rachel to jump slightly. "Next stop, Sharmin Hall. Second stop, pizza buffet. Third stop, my empty nest," he shot a joking glance towards Kurt, who snorted.

     "No pizza," Rachel said with a wince. "Sorry, Mister H. Quinn and I are going to a freshman barbecue tonight." Her gaze shot to Kurt, who was already shaking his head in refusal. Her eyes glinted with an idea. "Kurt should go, too."

    "Absolutely pizza," he said defiantly.

Burt rolled his eyes with an amused look on his face. "Rachels right, kid. You should go. Give yourself a chance to meet new people." Theres that excuse again.

"All Im going to do for the next four years or so is meet new people. Today I choose pizza."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Fine." she grumbled.

     "All right then," Burt opened the door "Its settled. Next, Sharmin Hall."

Kurt stayed put. "You guys go ahead. Dad, you can pick me up when your done at Sharmin. Im gonna get started on unpacking." he said.

Rachel didnt argue, just stepped out into the hall. "Ill talk to you tomorrow" she said, not quite looking back at him. He was kind of glad her dads were on vacation in Rio. If they werent, Kurt would be leaving for lunch with his dad already, and he really did want to start unpacking before his roommate-- Santana -- got back with her boyfriend. Or, at least, thats who Kurt assumed the mysterious guy had been.

"Sure." He muttered. Sure youll have time to do that? he thought bitterly.

     Unpacking did feel pretty great, actually. Putting sheets on the bed and setting his unbelievably expensive textbooks on the shelves over his new desk. It gave his mind something to focus on other than the ridiculous pounding of his pulse in his ears.

    When his dad came back, they walked together to Ricos- a family-owned Italian joint that smelled every bit like Finns friends room back in Columbus. Everyone Kurt saw on the way was around his own age. It was a bit unsettling.

"Why is everyone so blond?" Kurt asked. "And why are they all white?"

Burt just laughed and shook his head. "Get used to it, bud. Youre kinda stuck here for a bit"

Dont remind me.

     When they entered the small restaurant, it was packed with other students. A few were with their parents, like Kurt, but not many."Its like some generic science-fiction story," He said offhandedly. "No little kids, nobody over thirty. . .where are all the old people?"

Burt held up the single slice of peperoni and olive pizza Kurt allowed him to get due to his history of heart problems. "Soylent Green."
     Kurt snorted ungracefully into his glass of water.

A few beats of silence passed before Burt spoke again. "So whats up with you and Rachel? I havent seen you guys fight like this. . ."

     Kurt shook his head. "Were not fighting," Kurt said, eating a forkful of his salad, thank you very much. "Oh, eugh." He swallowed quickly before taking a sip of water to wash the taste out of his mouth.

    "Whats wrong? Did you get an eyelid?"
He huffed a small laugh. "No, onion. Just didnt expect it."

"Anyways, it sure seems like you two are fighting," Burt said. 
     Kurt shrugged. He and Rachel hadnt been talking much lately. Much less fighting. "Rachel just wants more. . .independence, I guess."

"I guess thats reasonable. . ." his dad said, but he didnt look convinced in the least. It made him feel a little better that his dad wasnt completely fooled by Rachels innocent front like everyone else seemed to be. He let the issue drop for now, because Kurt didnt want to make his dad worry even more than he already was.

     He could tell by the way that Burt kept tapping the table that he was wearing a bit thin. Way too many normal-dad hours in a row now.

"Tired?" Kurt asked.
     Burt smiled at him apologetically, and put his hand in his lap. "Long day. Hard day, really. Knew it would be," he scratched the back of his neck "I mean, I knew youd be leaving after high school, but I guess this kinda snuck up on me, huh? I blink, and suddenly youre almost nineteen and out of the house." Burt raised an eyebrow. "Guess I just wasnt prepared enough for it."

     "Yes, well, dont get too comfortable. Im still not so sure I can tough this out for a whole semester." Kurt was only half kidding and they both knew it.

"Youll be fine, Kurt" his dad assured, giving him a determined look. "And I will too, you know? Ive got Carole now too." 

Kurt held his gaze for a moment before shaking his head. "I still wish youd get a dog. At least to keep you company at work." He said with a sigh.

"Id never remember to feed it."

"Maybe we could train it to feed you."

     When Kurt returned to his room later, his roommate-- Santana --was still gone. Or maybe she was gone again; her boxes seemed untouched though. Kurt finished putting the clothes he brought with him away, then opened the box of personal things he had brought from home. A photo of him and his mom when he was seven, them both smiling up at the camera from a small white table, where there were two tea cups on small platters. His dad had taken the photo. He put the framed picture on his desk, smiling back at it when a pang of nostalgia burned his throat.
     There was a picture of him and Rachel that he pinned to the corkboard behind his desk. It was from graduation. Both of them were wearing those tacky and unflattering red robes and smiling, holding rolls of paper between their fingers. It was before Rachel had dyed the ends of her hair blonde. 

     It had been Kurts idea to change Rachels look before college in the first place. He insisted that she couldnt go into adulthood wearing reindeer sweaters and pleated skirts if she wanted to survive the first year. She had taken his advice, and now Kurt could look at her outfit choices with a satisfied nod instead of a grimace.

     He took out a picture of him and Mercedes, who had gone off to California when she had been offered a recording contract. This photo was taken during their senior prom. They had gone together as friends after Cedes couldnt find a suitable date, and Kurt obviously couldnt go with another guy like he wanted to. So they went together and ended up having a great time surprisingly. They still kept in touch, even though their texts were less frequent what with the timezones and their different schedules. But they made it work. He would send her a text before he went to bed so she knew that he made it without passing out from nerves. He pinned the picture next to the one of he and Rachel.

At the bottom of the box were Kurts sketchbooks. He laid these on his bed carefully-- each one containing designs of his own creation, random drawings of interesting people he saw, and then more drawings of his designs. Yes, it was no secret that Kurt had a passion for designing. Fashion was his second choice after performing. But when he thought about spending the rest of his life working in an office and developing worry lines on his forehead from the stress of deadlines, and ordering an assistant to get him his morning coffee from the cafe down the road, but make sure the steamed milk is extra scalding. . . it just didnt seem right. People change. And sometimes dreams do too.

     So, he had gone into writing. It just. . .fit. He had always loved writing. Whenever he had a bad day, hed sit down with a notebook and pencil and make up scenarios in his head and create worlds that didnt exist and just disappear for a few hours. Then, hed hide the notebook under his bed where it was safe-- at least in his mind. His English teachers had always complimented his skills for observation and creative nature. It was another passion of his-- albeit a less openly practiced one. But a passion all the same. And the fact that he got into a fiction-writing  class meant for students who were at least juniors. . .was incredible and he had a hard time believing it still. The professor was astounded by his past work, and hadnt even cared that he was a freshman with no clue what he wanted to do with his life anymore, and had accepted him into the class without even batting an eyelash. The thought of being the only freshman in a room of juniors both excited and terrified him in equal amounts.

     When Kurt had his sketchbooks on the desk and had pinned up the last photo on the board (one of himself on his eighteenth birthday. He was blowing a sarcastic kiss at the camera that his dad was holding, and he had a ridiculous purple party hat atop his head), there were just a few things left in the bottom of the box. A pressed daisy with a few missing petals, a ribbon that Finn had given him that said G L E E  C L U B in blocky letters, and his laptop.

     Kurt found a place for everything, and then sat in the sturdy wooden desk chair that had seriously seen better days. He stared at the photos and sketchbooks and the pressed daisy with a certain fondness in his gaze. If he sat here, with his back to Santanas bare side of the room, it almost felt normal.