The door slammed open, and Sean strode in, guitar case bumping against the frame. “Yo! You must be Ian!”
Ian’s pen froze mid-note as Sean’s bag toppled onto his desk, scattering carefully stacked books. Ian inhaled sharply, glaring. “Do you not knock?”
Sean blinked at the mess, then grinned. “Didn’t think I needed permission to enter my own room.”
Ian stood, fixing him with an icy stare. “And I didn’t think I’d be rooming with a hurricane.”
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