He stopped a step before the door to his quarters at Starfleet Academy. The trepidation he felt was at least tinged with the hope of relief this time. The fall holiday was upon them – and his roommate would be gone for a blessed two weeks: leaving him in glorious, lone, peace.

The Big Brother/Little Brother concept was a brilliant one in theory. An upperclassman roomed with a first year/second year cadet. They had a ready-made mentor and support through their first two years – and the upperclassman, for their part, had the opportunity to hone their senior officer command skills. Through the ages many military academies had used the system, as well as countless other colleges and universities. It was a sound idea in theory.
In reality….it was not.

He had heard of roommates who never interacted – didn't speak, just lived completely separate lives in the two rooms they shared. His own Big Brother and he had a rough start. It had settled after a few weeks when they defined separate spaces for each of them. As long as his expanding collections and projects – and laundry – didn't spill over into his Big Brother's space, all was good. They chatted amiably and played board and card games. The older man had tried to give him guidance and advice: even if his Little Brother had found it rather useless, at least there was an effort. But, mostly, the older cadet had eyed him like a restrained pet that hadn't been properly trained yet.

He'd had high hopes for a better relationship when he became the required "Big Brother" in his third year.

It was so much worse.

SO MUCH.

He and his Little Brother had been having knock down drag out arguments since the first day they'd been allowed to move their belongings into their quarters in late August.

If the computer that assigned the two to each other had been given some basic personality traits to make the selections, it would never have made the nightmare-made-in-hell pairing it did.

He was an easy-going, laid-back man with many interests and a casual housekeeping style. His first-year roommate was a minimalist, obsessive neat freak, and perfectionist. The younger man was constantly moving his Big Brother's belongings: moving, hiding, and he suspected – discarding them. The younger man even scrubbed the tile floors the quarters had himself – not approving of the job the maintenance staff did on them.

And the younger cadet never slept. His Little Brother was awake when his Big Brother went to sleep. He was awake when the older man rose in the morning. The first-year cadet was even awake when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Entering his dorm room was always an event the older cadet dreaded with deep horror. It always led to the discovery of new things of his having disappeared. His civilian clothes for after classes, his favorite cup and plate, his lab equipment, his notes for tomorrow's test, the snack he'd saved for when he got back: all gone.

It was so bad, he'd actually tested the younger man's obsessive neatness several time. Okay, he'd tested it repeatedly. The Big Brother would move a book or knickknack a mere inch out of place – and would time how long it took his roommate when he came back to notice and move it back to where he thought it belonged.

It was always seconds.

The silent interaction very much defined the obsessive Little Brother.

It wasn't a silent war: it was a test of how sound proof the walls of Starfleet Academy's quarters were. The two of them spent most of their time together screaming at each other.

The Big Brother could never find his books or notes or uniform shirt and boots. The Little Brother couldn't understand why the older man couldn't put the things in the middle of the room where he thought they belonged. (Which was, in the Big Brother's estimation, in the middle of the floor or on the counter where they were easily accessed.)

But the younger man would be leaving for the holiday – leaving him in blessed peace for at least two weeks.

He hoped the first year cadet was gone already. With trepidation, he steeled himself and knew he was ready to scream at him for the indignity of still being there.

There was no doubt to anyone who knew the pair.

Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov hated each other.