Joren woke up to sunlight stabbing through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta. His mouth was dry. His head was heavy. His body still felt like it hadn’t finished processing last night—like it was stuck sowhere between arousal and embarrassnt.
He rolled over and checked his phone. No ssage from Tasha. Just one from Dale:
"Still waiting for the play-by-play, champ."
Joren groaned and tossed the phone onto the floor. He sat up slowly, the bedsheets tangled around his legs like they were trying to hold him hostage. His notebook was still open on the nightstand, the last line staring back at him:
> Step 4: Don’t tell Dale. He’ll laugh.
Too late.
The door swung open and Dale walked in, presumably from an early morning jog, earbuds in, smoothie in hand, and a grin that could only an trouble.
"Morning, Roo," he said. "You look like you got hit by a regret truck."
Joren rubbed his face. "Can we not?"
Dale flopped onto his bed, kicked off his sneakers, and took a long sip of his smoothie. "So? Did you smash or crash?"
Joren didn’t answer.
Dale raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
"I forgot protection," Joren said, voice low. "She stopped everything. Said she wasn’t doing it raw."
Dale stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "Bro. Rookie mistake."
Joren didn’t laugh. He just stared at the ceiling again.
Dale’s laughter faded. "Wait—was she mad?"
"No," Joren said. "Just disappointed. And... I think she actually wanted it. That’s what made it worse."
Dale nodded slowly, the grin fading. "Damn. That’s rough."
Joren picked up his notebook and flipped to a new page.
> Step 5: again, Do NOT let Dale know about any of your fumbles.
> Step 6: Get so fresh air. Like, right now.
> Step 7: Figure out what I actually want.
He stared at the last line, then underlined it twice.
Joren didn’t have a plan. He just needed to move.
The dorm was too loud in its silence. Dale would head out soon to, probably to tell the one of his hoboys about "the virgin who fumbled the bag." Joren threw on a hoodie, grabbed his notebook, and walked out without checking the weather or his phone.
Campus was alive in that mid-morning way—people rushing to class, earbuds in, coffee cups clutched like lifelines. Joren kept his head down, hands in his pockets, trying not to look like soone who’d just been emotionally benched.
He stopped outside the student center, staring at the vending machine like it might offer life advice. He didn’t want chips. He wanted clarity. Or maybe just sugar.
As he reached for a pack of peanut M&Ms, another hand shot out at the sa ti.
"Yo," a voice said. "You got fast hands for a sad boy."
Joren turned. The girl beside him had braids tucked under a beanie, a chipped black manicure, and a tote bag that said ’Don’t Touch My Laptop Unless You’re Beyoncé’. She looked at him like she was trying to figure out his whole life story in one glance.
"Sorry," he said. "Didn’t an to race you."
She shrugged. "It’s cool. I wasn’t that committed."
He stepped back, letting her take the candy.
"You win."
She raised an eyebrow. "You always this dramatic over snacks?"
"Only when I’ve had a rough night."
She gave him a look. Not pity—just curiosity.
"Hookup gone wrong?"
Joren blinked. "How’d you—"
"You’ve got the energy," she said, punching in her selection. "Like you just got kicked out of soone’s bed and now you’re questioning your entire personality."
He laughed, surprised. "That’s... weirdly accurate."
She grabbed the M&Ms and tossed them to him. "Here. You need it more than ."
He caught them, confused. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I’m more of a Skittles girl anyway."
They stood there for a second. Not awkward—just quiet.
"I’m Joren," he said.
"Zuri," she replied. "You new?"
"Transferred in last week."
"Explains the lost puppy vibe."
He smiled. "I’m working on it."
She nodded toward the notebook in his hand. "You write?"
"Sotis. Mostly just thoughts. Lists. Stuff I don’t say out loud."
"Sounds like poetry with commitnt issues."
He laughed again. "That’s fair."
She checked her phone. "You going to the open mic tonight?"
Joren blinked. "Open mic?"
"Student union. Poetry, music, weird monologues. It’s chaotic. You should co."
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"You should. It’s ssy and weird and half the people suck, but it’s fun."
He hesitated. "You performing?"
"Maybe. Depends on how brave I feel after dinner."
She turned to leave, then paused. "I’ll see there, hopefully."
Joren watched her walk away, her tote bag swinging behind her.
He looked down at the M&Ms in his hand, then at his notebook.
> Step 8: Consider going to the open mic.
> Step 9: Don’t be weird around Zuri.
He smiled to himself, just a little.
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