Frida stared at Laz, her back slightly aching from crouching over the pile of laundry she hadn't gotten around to sorting.
He was pouting, cutely. If she didn't know him better, she might have assumed that was just his default expression, but no… he was genuinely sulking as he helped her fold clothes in her cramped, chaotic dorm room.
The place was a mess, textbooks stacked like makeshift towers, empty mugs with lipstick stains, and clothes draped carelessly over her desk chair.
The walls were peeling, the kind of chipped paint that screamed "student housing," and she made a mental note that the room desperately needed a repaint. But that would have to wait, exams were hell.
"I don't like him," Laz muttered for the third time, as he angrily folded one of her sweaters and flung a pair of jeans into the laundry bag.
Frida smiled, her fingers smoothing a tank top. "Alex is a nice guy. He's really smart. If you just gave him a chance..."
