Chapter Text
ACORN'S POV
Dear Diary,
If anyone ever tells you "college is the best years of your life" you have my full permission to laugh in their face and tell them about me.
I came to university thinking I would get a decent roommate — maybe a fellow ordinary human with average social skills and an average sleep schedule.
Instead, I got Till.
Till is — how do I put this — Imagine a haunted Victorian doll grew six feet tall, put on a black hoodie, and decided talking was optional.
That's my roommate.
Meeting the Final Boss of Social Awkwardness
The first time I walked into our shared dorm room, he was already there. Sitting on the corner bed, hood up, headphones in, scribbling in a notebook with the kind of focus you usually only see in people dismantling bombs.
I tried a friendly, "Hey, I am Acorn."
He looked up. Just looked.
No smile, no hi, not even a nod. Just a flat stare from behind those bangs like he was sizing me up for a coffin.
Naturally, I thought: Oh great, my roommate is going to kill me in my sleep.
Over the next few weeks, I learned that Till isn't actually homicidal. He is just awkward.
Painfully awkward.
And because his resting face looks like he is constantly judging your life choices, people tend to keep their distance.
I also learned two other things:
1. Till is ridiculously talented — I have caught him composing music at 2AM that sounds like it belongs in a movie trailer.
2. Till draws. Like, insanely well. Little sketches of people and places, margins filled with doodles. Once I saw him drew our dorm kettle, and I swear the steam looked alive.
Did these talents make him easier to live with? No. They made him harder to hate, which is far more inconvenient.
The Confession Problem
It happened on a Tuesday night. I was halfway through a bag of chips when Till spoke first for the entire day.
"I need your help." He said.
I nearly choked. "With what?"
"Confessing."
I blinked at him. "Confessing what? Murder?"
He glared — which, to be fair, is his default expression — and muttered, "To someone I like."
That got my attention. "Oh. Who's the unlucky soul?"
"Mizi."
Right, Mizi.
The campus cheerleader, sunshine incarnate, and the kind of person who could ask you to help bury a body and you would agree before realizing what you would just signed up for.
She is often paired up with Ivan, the golden boy football captain, but I know for a fact she is dating Sua from the student council.
"Okay." I said slowly. "So what's the plan?"
Till shrugged. "Don't have one. I just want to tell her. Not because I think she will like me back. Just so I don't have to keep it in my head anymore."
He looked so genuinely deflated saying that, I almost — almost — felt bad.
My Terrible Advice
Now, if I had been smart, I would have said "Sorry, not my problem" and gone back to my chips. But unfortunately, I am cursed with a mild sense of human empathy.
So I told him, "Just write her a letter. Make it artsy. Draw some stuff. Slip it into her locker."
Till stared at me like I would just handed him the Rosetta Stone.
"That is... a good idea." He said, almost in awe.
I should have known right then that I would made a terrible, life-altering mistake.
Operation Love Letter
The next morning, Till was up earlier than I would ever seen him, hunched over his desk with pen and paper. I caught glimpses of tiny doodles — stars, flowers, maybe a fox — framing neat, deliberate handwriting.
By the time we left for classes, the letter was sealed in an envelope decorated with a little music note. It was, annoyingly, adorable.
I did not trust him not to somehow mess it up, so I decided to follow him after classes for moral support. By moral support, I mean to prevent a disaster.
Spoiler: I failed.
The Locker Incident
Mizi's locker is in the same row as Ivan's.
This is important.
Till was making his way down the hallway, trying to look casual and failing miserably. I was trailing a few meters back, pretending to scroll my phone.
Then Ivan appeared.
Imagine the human embodiment of a golden retriever with a football — all smiles, loud voice, everyone's friend. He spotted Till instantly.
"Yo, goth boy!" Ivan grinned, jogging up. "What'cha hiding there?"
Till immediately went red. "None of your business."
Ivan leaned closer. "Oh, is it for me?"
"No—"
And in that moment, probably just to get away from him faster, Till shoved the envelope into the locker in front of him without looking.
Reader, it was not Mizi's locker.
The Dread
From my vantage point, I saw everything. And I knew — I knew.
That was Ivan's locker.
I had about three seconds to intervene before Ivan opened it, but my brain was too busy screaming.
The Confession That Wasn't
Fast forward to dismissal. The hallway was crowded. I was praying to every deity I could think of that Ivan had not checked his locker yet.
No such luck.
Ivan strode straight toward Till, holding the envelope. "Got your message."
Till blinked. "What?"
Ivan slung an arm around his shoulders, grinning at the growing audience. "I accept. Guess we're dating now."
The hallway erupted into gasps, whispers, and a distant "What the hell?!" from someone who clearly shipped Ivan with someone else.
Till: Frozen in place, red as a stoplight.
Me: Silently considering whether I could fake my own death and transfer schools.
Note to self:
1. Ivan loves chaos.
2. I will never, ever give Till advice again.
Unfortunately, life had other plans.