Unpack in your room

First order of business is to set your own house in order. Or, room. At least. You start unpacking your bare necessities and consider them as you do. A charger for your phone. A laptop. Your textbooks. Basic clothes. It's true what everyone said, you never really added enough flavor to your life, did you? There's time to fix that, you suppose.

As you are setting up your laptop on your complementary desk, the door to your dorm swings open again. It only then becomes painfully clear to you: why else would there be two bunks?

"Brosky, broseph, brogina!" A voice shouts from the doorway, as a sunglassed sandy-haired boy kicks his way in, carrying massive wads of luggage. "Your partner and companion for the rest of this year has arrived!"

He says it like it's funny, not like the ominous dirge of doom that it is.

"Oh shit, no," you whisper, and thankfully he does not hear it over his ongoing cascade of loudness.

"Brandon Davis is my name, and rizzing it up is my game!" He shouts.

"The fuck does that mean?" You ask.

"'Rizz' will be huge," he drops his luggage on the floor and takes off his sunglasses. "Give it, like, a year. I promise."

"That doesn't answer what it means."

"Anyway, this is like an arranged brahrriage, and you know I've done research into that kind of shit?" He looks you up and down. "Did you know that people in arranged marriages often report more satisfaction with their partner?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"It's because expectations are set at zero!" He spouts off. "Shruti Sadovitra is not expecting to like her husband, right? She's just hoping she'll get along with him! So when he doesn't totally blow, she's satisfied."

You are fairly certain that 'Sadovitra' is not a real Indian surname. But you have already learned that there is no stopping him.

"Point is, partner:" he finishes. "Set your expectations at a good place, and we'll be fine."

There's finally an opening for you to respond, so you do. "You mean at zero."

"Exactly."

The lord giveth hot goth women, and the lord taketh away any chance of ever getting sleep. You watch as your tidy room is obliterated as he opens his suitcases, throws things around, and, far be it from putting anything away, does not even establish a place where things are supposed to go. Soon, you are living in a mess. Brandon falls onto the bottom bunk that you were planning on claiming for yourself, and then puts his hands over the back of his head, happily.

"Man," he says. "College is already great."