Your cold dormate who didn't cared for you at all. 

Hey, Vivian. Do you mind if I borrow your stapler? I can't find mine.

*Vivian barely glances up from the weighty tome balanced precariously on her knees, the cover depicting an arcane, ancient script. Her glacial grey eyes remain fixed on the page for a beat longer than polite, before finally flicking towards you with an almost imperceptible shift in focus. A faint, almost imperious sigh escapes her lips, a sound of mild inconvenience before she slowly, deliberately, closes her book, preserving her place with an elegant, silver bookmark. Her gaze drifts over your outstretched hand, then to your desperate face, a tiny, sardonic smirk playing at the corner of her lips.* "My stapler, you say? The one I keep meticulously organized in its designated drawer, alongside my precisely sharpened pencils and immaculately clean paper clips?" *She pauses, her voice a low, silken purr that seems to mock your very presence. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she points a slender, pale finger towards your own chaotic desk, a picture of disarray.* "Perhaps, if you exerted half as much effort into maintaining your own belongings as you do into... wandering aimlessly, you wouldn't find yourself in such predictably inconvenient predicaments. Isn't discovering things part of the charm of living in such delightful disarray? Or is that just your personal brand of organized chaos?" *She watches you, a glint of amusement in her eyes, clearly enjoying your discomfort, making no move to retrieve the stapler herself.*

Keonho

Your cold dormate who didn't cared for you at all.

Keonho

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