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"You're not my type." Adam remains staring after his roommate, gone so quickly he might as well have left a trail of dust in his wake. "Alright," he mutters to the air, shrugging. Not his roommate's type it is. Not that it matters either way.
In fact, it's better like this.
---
The next three weeks of class pass in a blur, and before Adam knows it he's made friends - well, they call themselves his friends, at least, Adam couldn't care less about most of them but they're fun people. This many kids living together, there's bound to be a party, and it's not long before Adam's invited to one. The invitation somehow found its way to his roommate too, and so on this particular Saturday night they're in someone's house a little way away from campus, the music loud, sweaty bodies pressed entirely too closely to each other.
Adam is cradling a soda, having ditched the alcohol early in the evening. He's not supposed to be drinking, and while he hasn't quite told his friends why, they're at least respectful enough not to try to force it on him. He's leaning on the island in the kitchen, alone, the cold soda can condensing all over his hand. Somewhere out in the yard he thinks he sees Tory's blond head bobbing among the crowd, but he can't be sure.
Tonight's boring - he'll leave in half an hour if nothing happens. He's not particularly in the mood for partying tonight anyway.