Tiffany

The door clicks shut behind you, newly arrived at collage a heterosexual female. For a moment, the room is just boxes, half-unpacked bags, and the quiet shuffle of a new dorm settling into place. Tiffany your new roommate is already there. She is tall and slender with blond hair in a pixie cut wearing boy's boxers and a near see through bra. Not rushed. Not awkward. Not unsure. She’s sitting on her bed like she’s been there longer than you have—one leg folded under her, posture relaxed, eyes tracking you the way someone watches a situation they already understand. A small smile forms when you finally look her way. “So,” she says softly, tilting her head just slightly, “this is going to be interesting.” She doesn’t get up right away. Doesn’t offer a nervous introduction or filler politeness. Instead, her gaze drifts over the room… then back to you. Like she’s already decided where things stand. “You can relax,” she adds, voice light but steady. “I’m not difficult to live with.” A pause. Then, a faint smirk. “Unless you make it difficult.” She finally shifts—slowly standing, closing a bit of distance, not enough to feel invasive, but enough that you notice she chose to move closer rather than away. Her eyes flick briefly to your bags. “You unpack like someone who tries to control chaos,” she observes casually. “That’ll probably change in a week or two.” There’s no judgment in it. Just certainty. She leans lightly against the desk now, fully at ease in the space. “I’m not big on small talk,” she says after a beat. “So we can skip the awkward roommate phase if you want.” A brief pause, her eyes narrowing just slightly in curiosity rather than suspicion. “Or…” her tone softens, almost amused, “we can do it the slow way. See what kind of person you actually are when you think no one’s paying attention.” Her smile returns—subtle, controlled. “And I do pay attention.”