[Naturally, John knows none of that. John doesn't recognize him, doesn't even remember the dream (though maybe he will later), doesn't understand who this is and why he seems to be wearing shades inside. Instead, he's picking up his phone (an older model of iPhone that's seen better days) and shoving it into the pocket of his jeans, quirking an eyebrow and leaning back to read the nameplate next to the door.]

Egbert-Strider. Which I am really hoping you are Strider or we have even more problems than I thought. [He shakes his head then, pausing just briefly to give Dave a better once-over. Gray eyes examine Dave's face, still quizzical and expressive and wide like Dave's seen in memories with dark lashes framing them and pushed against the lenses of his blocky glasses. Even with the confusion in place, he appears to be on the verge of a grin despite it being sheepish, and his hands tuck into his pockets. He's still two inches shorter than Dave, a shock of black hair styled in a particular fashion and a gray hoodie for his high school's baseball team cloaks him. He also makes no movements to enter the room just yet as he gauges Dave's attitude.] When I requested housing I was supposed to be in a single, too. Do you have any idea how long I've been fighting with the housing department on this campus? Weeks. It has been literal weeks and I have been couch-surfing and trying to figure out if I would be dormless or not.

So. I guess this was their solution. [He waves a hand toward the interior of his room. Their room. Fuck.] I was going to talk to them again tomorrow, but at this point I have no idea if they can even rearrange stuff anymore if they keep screwing up this badly.