before;
Dorm life. It wasn’t one of the terrible things about college, but that didn’t mean it was Aristotle’s favorite thing, either. Last year he was practically an RA minus the official title. ‘Dorm mom’ replaced his actual name. He didn’t mind it much, if he was being honest, but it was a lot of work that wasn’t academic. A lesson most likely won’t be learned so he was prepared to take on the task of maternity figure again. Everything’s unpacked and his roommate still isn’t to be found, so he figures to just hang out near the door and survey his floor mates semi-inconspicuously. Someone drops something in all the chaos of moving in, though-- a shirt, he thinks. “Ah, excuse me you-- Lou.” His memory doesn’t falter. Not even slightly. He’d recognize that lovely shock of sandstone and apricot hair in a hurricane. “Louella,” he tries again and rests his hand on her shoulder to turn her ever so gently. She’s taller and she’s grown into the features she used to be teased about, but at the same time she’s exactly as he remembered. “It’s Aris, Lou. Fourth grade?”
@veinsofmud