Hunter could not, under no circumstance, come down from cloud nine. Thursday he had met Grayson for overpriced coffee in the school bookshop between classes. Friday they had texted back and forth for hours. And today, on a beautiful overcast afternoon, they were marathoning an old tv show in Grayson's room. Hunter found this vastly significant because A)he was finally seeing another dorm room for the first time, and B) He was going to be in a private setting with Grayson for the first time.

They had only kissed once, and Hunter was hoping for a repeat performance. He headed off to the Marconi building with a bag full of snacks, his part of the bargain--Grayson supplied the place, Hunter brought the food. From the time they had spent together, Hunter garnered that Grayson was still on the fence about consuming anything too sugary, so he kept things light.

Grayson didn't share much more about his eating issue, but he did seem more interested in learning about Hunter. It was a delicate dance. There were some things he simply could not say, and he did his best to fill holes with logical explanations.

As far as Grayson knew, his Lycanthropy was actually just a lovely cocktail of illnesses--Photophobia for his light sensitivity, a herniated disc for his back pain, and fibromyalgia for his muscle spasms and medication. Grayson took it all in strides, promising to do what he could to help. A normal response, but it seemed to mean more coming from him.

Grayson was nice. The sort of nice that came from a sheltered upbringing and an open mindset, a rare combination as far as Hunter was concerned. Long ago he thought he had met someone with a similar disposition, but that turned out to be a farce. He shook his head as he passed the Grimwald building. A familiar scent filled his nostrils and he stopped dead in his tracks. Garou was exiting Grimwald. He dressed in a three-piece suit, instantly making Hunter think of Lugosi, the only other professor he has seen in such formal attire. Garou carried with him a large duffle bag over his shoulder. His vermillion eyes fell on Hunter.

"Mr. Reeds." They stood several yards away from each other, with Hunter in the middle of the lawn. Still, he could hear the older gentleman perfectly. There was a building desire in Hunter to bow his head and show his respect. He fought the urge, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. They were not wolves with a pecking order. They were human beings. "Hi, Mr. Garou." The words sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. Don't look him in the eye, a voice inside him instructed.

Garou sniffed, one nostril twitching. His gaze was nothing if not piercing. "I will take it by your surge of pheromones that you are meeting someone?"

Hunter flinched. He had not been expecting that. "Well, yeah."

"The effect of meeting one's mate is always obvious."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Mating? Do you really believe in that?"

Mating, the idea that he had a chosen person to immediately bond with seemed both wondrous and preposterous. It was true that many of the Lycanthrope couples he knew were 'first-and-only' loves. Just the same, his estranged parents told him that the opposite was true. Wolves mated for life. People broke up and met other people all the time.

"I believe in many things, Mr.Reeds. In life, you will find that truth can be stranger than fiction."

Hunter shrugged. They were both werewolves living in the 21st century after all. "I suppose you're right."

Garou adjusted his hold on the duffle bag. "I hope that you put as much effort into your studies as your...other activities."

Hunter was grateful for his dark skin. It hid his blushing well. "I, uh, I'll do that. Have a nice day, professor."

As they parted ways Hunter kept Garou's words in mind. Maybe a predestined partner seemed more plausible than falling head over heels for someone in under two weeks.

He continued his walk, passing by other dormitories, halls, and offices. The more he walked, the further things seem to be spread apart. He found himself following the stone path that cut through a community garden. A Gazebo stood at the garden's center, occupied by two middle-aged women, engrossed in conversation. Just beyond the Gazebo was the Marconi house. Strangely picturesque, and nestled between the new staff apartments, it stuck out like a sore thumb. A row of golf carts with the school logo on their bumper sat outside the apartments. Coupled with the large garden and gazebo, it was as if Hunter had left the campus altogether, and found a small community just outside the woods.

He walked up to the townhouse. On closer inspection, he saw that the door was fitted with an electronic lock system. An intercom with a keypad and several buttons were positioned to the right of the door. Each of the rooms had their own doorbell, labeled with the last names of its occupants. He pressed the button next to the label 'Lee/Mitra' and waited for a response.

The front door opened and a heavy floral scent washed over him.

To his surprise, it was Serena Song, one of his own. She was decked out in preppy flair again today, from her lint-free white v-neck cashmere sweater, her pink pastel blouse, to her pressed beige skirt, pink pastel socks, and white tennis shoes. Serena's jet black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. Her eyelids were red and puffy, and the scowl on her face was enough to make him take a few steps back. Unlike with Garou, there was no pull telling him she was superior, just intimidating.

She swiftly moved past him and continued down the garden path.

His gaze went back to the open door. Grayson was standing there, looking more disheveled than usual. His usually gelled hair was damp, a small curl dripping down his forehead. He was dressed in an old t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and socks as if he just got out of bed.

"Come in."He beamed.

Hunter looked back at Serena, who was still marching away.

"Do you know her?" Grayson asked.

Hunter shrugged. "We're...in the same club."

"Really?" Grayson rubbed the back of his neck.' "Which one?"

"Uh.." Crap. "The...Therian society?" It was the first thing that came to mind. He tried to imagine Serena sitting among a bunch of people under the moon, trying to get in touch with her wolf side. "Pfft." He couldn't keep a straight face.

"And she didn't say hi? Hm..." Grayson shrugged. "Well, I guess that's my fault. She's not too happy with me."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "There are times when she's happy?"

"Ha. Yeah." He stood to the side, and Hunter walked in. On the inside, Marconi gave off a homey feel. The walls were bright yellow and featured framed pictures and bulletin boards for school-related activities. There was a short hallway leading to a common area, where several students sat camped out on a set of matching couches in front of a large TV. As they walked he saw the entrance for a small kitchen, a washer, and dryer under the stairs, and a hall closet. He followed Grayson up the carpeted stairs to the third floor. Photos of Redwood's history graced the wall as well as cards and well wishes from former students and faculty.

"Well, this beats the pants off my place. This is more like a boarding house than a dorm."

"Aren't those the same thing?" Grayson asked.

They walked down a short hallway, passing by three doors, one with a bronze plaque reading 'toilet'. The walls were decorated with blue and white striped wallpaper, the floor was covered in the same cream-colored carpet as the stairs. "Maybe I'm a little biased, but my dorm looks more like a set of hospital rooms.This place literally looks like a house."

Grayson stopped at his door. "I guess." He shrugged, pushing it open. "I mean, there's a kitchen. And I hear none of the other dorms have bathtubs."

"You have bathtubs?" Hunter asked, astonished. The showers at Howard reminded him of a prison he had seen in a movie.

Grayson wrinkled his nose. "It's not as nice as you think. Sure, there are only 12 people here, but someone is always in the bathroom, and they don't always clean up after themselves. I prefer to use the shower downstairs."

Grayson's side of the room was a perfect reflection of his character. A twin-sized bed with van Gogh's Starry night repeating across the sheets. The wall was covered by several posters, greeting cards and photos.

There was one photo of a family dinner featuring a younger, pudgier Grayson sitting with a couple, an elderly woman, and a toddler in pigtails.

"Is that you? You were adorable."

"Were?"

"Yeah. Were. Such a shame." Hunter shook his head. "What happened?"

Grayson rolled his eyes. "I look like the Pillsbury doughboy in that picture."

Hunter put his hands on his hips. "I'll have you know I'm a big fan of sentient pieces of dough. Do not mock the great Pillsbury doughboy in my presence."

Grayson laughed. "I apologize."

Hunter looked at the wall again.

Among the posters was a large one of a musclebound vigilante clad in black and blue, gazing down on a large dark city.

"Ah yes, the other Grayson." Grayson eyed the poster with pride. "My parents watched a lot of Batman growing up. It was one of the few things they had in common when they were young. So when I came along they knew what they had to do. Not give me the name Richard--too common. Not the same ring to it. So boom, I'm Grayson Gang Lee."

"Cool." Hunter was amused. It seemed Grayson was a second-generation geek.

"My Grandpa used to read comics and my sister still does. I guess it runs in the family. She didn't get a comic book name though, they just liked the name Madison."

"Aw, that's boring." Hunter crossed his arms. "They could have kept the theme going and named her ...Todd? Drake? Eh, those don't give off the same feeling."

"Yeah. Madison at least sounds like a first name." He looked across the room. There was another bed, this one covered by an NHL comforter with team logos, two medals tacked on the wall, and a pile of clothing in the corner. Next to the pile was a tall dark wood dresser and desk positioned on both sides of the room.

Grayson looked down at the pile of clothes."My roommate went out. I don't think he'll be back until late."

"Great." Hunter smirked. Did I sound too excited? "I mean, that way we can finish a whole season...maybe?"

"Oh for sure. The episodes aren't long." He returned to a spot on the floor he had previously occupied, next to a stack of novels and a wireless computer mouse. His laptop sat on top of the chest of drawers.

"Do you want to sit on the bed? You can use my pillows if your back needs support."

"I'm good with sitting on the floor." Hunter replied dropping his bag and taking off his jacket. Grayson wore a small frown as Hunter plopped down next to him.

"That really isn't good for your back."

Hunter raised his hands. "Uh, oh. Watch out, we got a future medical professional over here."

Grayson nudged him and he laughed.

"I appreciate your concern doctor, but the side of the bed is good enough. Really."

Grayson didn't say anything, his frown still in place.

Hunter returned his blank stare and pulled a pillow down from the bed. He tucked it behind his back. "There, a compromise. Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Grayson moved the mouse, his eyes on the laptop across the room. Hunter continued to look around. There was a clear distinction of taste and personalities on display. Grayson's side of the room was significantly more organized if not geeky, while his roommate had an unmade bed, a clear interest in hockey, and hid most of his mess under his sheets. Hunter could smell something like old food coming from under the bed.

"Do you get along with your roommate?"

Grayson shrugged. "Well enough. Arif is always out. Since we moved in I've only talked to him maybe 3 times. I usually hear him get in or see him sleeping when I wake up."

"Whoa. You're practically living alone. I don't have a roommate, but I can't tell if it's a good thing or not." He watched the screen. "I don't have any brothers or sisters, but people were always at my house and sleeping over. This is the first time I've been alone for so long. And it's so quiet here. It's like we're cut off from the outside world." He felt Grayson's eyes on him. "Oh, whoops. That got a little depressing. He opened his knapsack. "Ghoulie Juice?"

Grayson did a complete 180. "Ghoulie Juice? That limited-edition drink they made for the 1988 classic, Ghoulie Getters?"

The astonishment on Grayson's face made it completely worth it. "Yep. They brought it back to promote the reboot." He grinned. "There were a few on the shelf at the bookstore. I knew I had to grab them." He handed him a can.

"This. Is. So. Awesome." Grayson stared at the Ghoulie Getter logo printed on the aluminum, transfixed. "Oh man, now I want to binge-watch the old cartoon. It was so good."

"Didn't that show air in the 80s or something? How did you see it?"

"They used to play it on this channel in the 30s that only played retro stuff. I found it on DVD in a bargain bin a few years later, a true hidden gem, I tell you."

Grayson's enthusiasm was infectious. "You'll have to show it to me sometime." Hunter decided.

"Future marathon confirmed." Grayson tilted the can. "To binge-watching."

They clinked cans. With that they began their marathon of Dark Beast, a British-American co-production Hunter had never heard of that aired in the early 1990s. It was becoming abundantly clear that Grayson had a clear preference in things before his time, a quirk Hunter found interesting. On first glance, there was nothing about Grayson's appearance that reflected his love of old tv properties, comic books, and conspiracies. He just seemed to blend in with the masses. He wondered what other hidden obsessions Grayson held.