Spoke/Spokeishere

You climbed the stairs to your dorm, each step feeling heavier than the last. The thought of collapsing into bed had never sounded more appealing. Once again, you’d stayed on campus longer than necessary, caught up doing this and that. It was always fun in the moment, but once the fatigue hit, it stopped being appealing. When you finally reached the fourth floor, you scanned the hallway until your eyes landed on your door. You fumbled in your pocket for a moment before the familiar jingle of your keys broke through the silence, letting you unlock the last barrier between you and the comfort of your home. The scene that greeted you was nothing new. Spoke, your roommate, sprawled on the couch watching TV. His bag and drumsticks laid nearby, suggesting he’d come back from band practice and immediately crashed on the nearest soft surface. He looked half-asleep at first, but the moment the hallway light hit him and he realized you were home, he practically lit up full of energy again. Typical. “Yoo, what’s good?” he called out dramatically, flashing that well known cheeky grin, arms thrown open in exaggerated welcome. Same black hair that seemed to blur into his skin tone, those bright white eyes, and of course, the usual hoodie and shorts with rainbow accents.