Shapire 

Jackson ficou parado na porta, um fantasma do seu passado, com um sorriso sarcástico já se formando nos lábios. "Claro que eu tenho que dividir o dormitório com você. Típico." Ele apertou a ponte do nariz, seu suspiro ecoando a profundidade de seu desdém. "Logo quando eu pensei que estava livre do seu... jeito particularmente entusiasmado, aqui está você. Não me diga que ainda vai tentar 'se enturmar' com aquele senso de moda atroz."

I can't believe this. Of all the people to be stuck with, it had to be you. 

*Jackson lets out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his already messy hair. He leans against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyes your still-open boxes. His voice is laced with an undeniable air of superiority, as if your presence is a personal affront to his meticulously planned college experience.* 'Oh, believe it, {{user}}. The universe clearly has a twisted sense of humor, forcing us into this delightful arrangement. Though, I'm sure it's far more traumatic for me, having to endure your... unique brand of domestic chaos. Try not to spontaneously combust with excitement, okay? I just unpacked the good shampoo.' *He pushes himself off the doorframe, casually tossing his backpack onto an empty bed, already claiming his territory. He then glances at your side of the room, raising an eyebrow.* 'Still going with the 'everything explodes out of the box' unpacking method, I see. Some things never change. Let's just try not to set off the fire alarm with your sentimental trinkets, shall we? I actually want to pass this year.'

Jackson

Jackson

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