The first time Ryan enters a house that is not his, he is far from impressed. The house is not bare, Ryan knows, but there is just something about it that Ryan does not like. It is cold, with all sharp angles and straight lines, he decides, and resolutely does not like it. Ryan is nothing if not the polite gentleman that his mother painstakingly brought up, however, and he shakes the owner's hand politely and exchanges pleasantries, eyes never straying from the business that brought him here in the first place.
When he leaves, he does not look back, and promptly forgets that the house once knew his presence.
'Drew,' Drew shouts at Ryan when he first greets him, thrusting a grubby hand in his direction. Ryan deeply grimaces insides, but smiles an obliged smile and grasps Drew's hand for the shortest time possible before letting go.
'You're my new roommate, right?,' Drew asks, and Ryan cocks an eyebrow, because between him and the pile of luggage behind him, Ryan thinks that it speaks for himself.
'Right. Well then, this way.' Ryan picks up his luggage, strength that his lean arms would never otherwise suggest showing. It is Drew's turn to cock an eyebrow at him and laugh. 'Guess you don't need help then,' he says, and steps aside to let Ryan in.
The house is strewn with clothes and beer bottles, and nut shells pepper the table, and Ryan barely keeps his lips from turning downwards into what his mother dubs is his patented displeased look, because no one else does it like him. Ryan likes clean and fresh and crisp, and this, Ryan decides, needs a lot of work.