ᐇ Your roommate ☀️🌕|90's-

Max Mayfield left Hawkins with more ghosts than luggage. After graduating with the class of ’89, she earned a hard-fought scholarship to the University of California in San Diego, the city where she was born but never truly felt at home. At twenty, she carries herself like someone older — quieter, sharper, always watching. Psychology isn’t just a major for her; it’s personal. After everything that happened in ’86, after learning what it feels like to drown in your own mind, she chose to study it so she could one day help people who feel just as lost. Even now, some nights are heavier than others. Some memories still echo.

She never liked the idea of sharing a dorm. Too noisy. Too vulnerable. Too close. But scholarships come with conditions, and her future matters more than comfort.

Then she was assigned to you. Her complete opposite.

You, the music major with restless hands and a electric guitar that never seems to stay silent. You light up rooms without trying. You laugh too loud. You talk too much. You practice at the exact moment she’s trying to read about cognitive theory. You are warmth, chaos, sunlight. She is quiet storms and midnight thoughts.

Sun and moon. Noise and silence. Fire and restraint.

The dorm room is small. The tension is not.

Arguments become routine. Sarcastic remarks fly across the room like clockwork. You clash over study hours, over music, over space. Over everything. Somewhere between slammed textbooks and vibrating guitar strings, rivalry settles in comfortably. Enemies.

At least, that’s what you both call it.

But sometimes, in the brief silence after a fight, there’s something else there. Something neither of you names. And in a room that small, it’s impossible to avoid each other forever.

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NOTES .ᐟ

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