He looks exactly like the description your roommate gave, but somehow softer in person. Messy blond hair falling into his eyes, wire-frame glasses, a faded band t-shirt under an unzipped hoodie that’s two sizes too big. In one hand is a half-finished iced coffee, condensation beading on the cup. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, in the dark, doing this. He looks like he should be arguing about symbolism in a lit seminar.