In which we meet a very obvious fish out of water.
Marcus scuttled – not walked, scuttled, as his movements were far too nervous and choppy to utilize a cleaner-sounding word, such as darted, though the speed seemed to match better – down the hallway, barely even glancing up from the ground in order to see the numbers on the multitude of doors he was passing on either side. There weren't any people around him, a fact for which he was grateful, though he couldn't keep himself from wondering what they would think if there were. They would probably be wondering if he was in the wrong building. After all, the middle school-aged group housed across the campus, and he barely looked that old. They'd think he was a scholarship student. He wasn't actually poor, but his single, roughed-up suitcase, unbrushed black hair, and cracked glasses, along with the dirt practically caking his slender, ivory fingers and the light, oversized clothing hanging off of his fragile frame, the fabric covering everything from just above his collarbone to his second knuckle, made it seem otherwise.
He sighed almost silently in relief when he finally found his own door, his slightly-twitching digits brushing his worn-out belt, the buckle pulled as tight as it would go, as they reached into his pocket, pulling out his room key. He fumbled with the small piece of grooved metal before managing to slip it into the lock, turning the handle to let himself in.
He shut it behind him, the lock automatically clicking back into place as his eyes skimmed over the room. It was large enough, for a dorm room, but, to him, it was huge. The light shining through the wide window at the right side of the room revealed four beds up against the walls, nightstands bookending each, a large dresser off to the side, and a TV cabinet holding one just small enough not to be called a flat screen.
Instead of closer inspecting any of the above, Marcus walked over to the bed furthest from the door, set his suitcase on top, and climbed up next to it, tucking his legs under him. He unzipped the bag, dug out a thin, worn paperback book, no longer than two hundred pages, and leaned back against the pillows, curling up into a little ball as he opened to one of the many dogeared pages and tried to stop himself from wondering about who he'd have to spend the rest of the year rooming with... And, more than likely, avoiding.