RED [BXB]

ONE

"Good morning, Mr. Cooper!" The overly perky receptionist greeted him with a bright grin, "What can I do for you?"

Mason wanted to wince at her cheerful tone, finding it hard to fathom how anyone could be so lively at such an early hour. He bit his tongue, however, and forced a tight smile. 

"Hey, Mrs. Haynes," he responded, voice still a little bit heavy with sleep. "I just wanted to check in with you on something. Is it true I'm getting a new roommate?"

Mrs. Haynes' eyebrows shot up, her eyes growing wide. Had he received that reaction from anyone else, Mason would've panicked. Knowing the woman, though, Mason knew she was merely being dramatic; he was willing to bet she'd cry over a dog-food commercial.

Giving her an unimpressed look, Mason watched disinterestedly as her fingers clicked rapidly on the keyboard, her eyes scanning the computer screen like her life depended on it. Mason almost wanted to tell her to calm down, that it wasn't that serious, but he knew it would only upset her further.   

After a while, she suddenly hummed, looking up at him with an apologetic smile. "That appears to be true, dear," she started, pursing her lips nervously. "There was a fight that broke out between two roommates, so they're on their final warning before expulsion. The administration saw it best that they be separated."

Mason grit his teeth. "There isn't someone else you can move him with?"

Her eyes softened sympathetically. "They were initially going to move them both to the Winford Dorms, but there isn't enough space there. I'm sorry, honey, but you're the only one who isn't sharing with someone else. That really can't be."

Mason wanted to roll his eyes, but he managed a soft thank you to Mrs. Haynes. She grinned up at him, "Anytime, sweetheart. And good luck!"

Mason had been lucky enough not to have to deal with a nasty, smelly roommate for the majority of his first semester. Now, however, he'd been hearing that a couple of guys would be moving into different rooms after a gruesome fist-fight, and, being that he was alone in a room with a bunk bed, he naturally felt threatened by the revelation.  

Not only was his serenity and privacy going to be invaded, it was going to be done by a violent, muscular meathead. Wasn't that just peachy?

Mason was prepared not to say a word to his new roommate unless he absolutely had to. And, by absolutely had to, he meant if the room was caught on fire and the meathead was asleep. Even then, Mason would hesitate. Would he really pass up such a perfect opportunity to be alone in his dorm again?

He was willing to carry on as he always had, not minding the newfound nuisance or his overbearing presence. The only mere adjustment he was open to make to his lifestyle was that he wouldn't lounge around naked as much anymore. Even that was inconvenient to Mason, but he still had to show some decency. 

The thought lingered in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, and, by evening, he'd almost forgotten about the dreadful newcomer. That was, however, until the opening of the door disturbed Mason's lounging on his top bunk. Startled, he shot up from bed, confused as to how anyone could've gotten the room open without a key.

 Any and all questions flew completely out of Mason's brain, though, when his gaze zeroed in on the flashing color.

Red. 

It was the same guy he'd seen about a month ago in class. For some odd reason, Mason had failed to spot him again, and assumed he'd just dropped the course. It was understandable, really, given the professor's sadistic tendencies to fail most of the students.

And, as if he were seeing the fiery red for the first time, Mason was at a loss for words yet again. His eyes were bulging almost comically, threatening to detach from his skull and roll theatrically down the floor. He knew it had to be the same guy, because no other sane person would choose to dye their hair such an outrageous shade. 

Unlike how perfect it looked the first time around, the dye job was slightly messier and sloppier now, as if the hair dresser had intentionally missed a few strands. His dark roots were more prominent, peeking through the eye-sore. Strangely enough, it looked even better like this.

The real surprise, however, came when Mason's eyes lowered to the guy's face.

If Mason had been gaping before, his jaw must've come unhinged by now.

Not entirely conscious of his movements, Mason didn't realize he'd jumped off the bed until his feet had—quite painfully—landed him on the ground. He ignored the searing ache that pierced through his legs, his mind much more occupied with processing what was happening. For a second, he almost thought he was hallucinating. 

From the equally wide-eyed, awe-stricken look on the other guy's face, Mason could only assume he was having the same dilemma. His brown irises danced across Mason's body, not settling on a particular spot as he seemed to want to drink his appearance in. He, too, seemed to be at war with his mind, unable to tell delusion from reality.

Mason didn't know how much time had passed since they started their intense staring. It couldn't have been longer than mere seconds, but he could've sworn it felt like hours. Painfully aware of the awkward silence that had seemingly settled between the two, Mason took it upon himself to say something that would break the ice. 

He couldn't get far, though, when his brain screeched to a stop and forced his mouth to wrap around the one word—or rather, name—that'd been echoing through his mind. When he did, his voice was scratchy and squeaky, a disbelieving croak that would've had him blushing in embarrassment had it been any other day.

"Luke?"