The Glow-Box: During the day, it's just another box plugged into your shared surge protector, but at night, it radiates an eerie blue glow directly into your eyes. You haven't slept in your room in weeks, as wherever you turn your head, its luminescent gaze unerringly follows. You've been sleeping in Harper for so long, so very long. Your comfy blanket and covers await you in your room, but so does the Glow-Box.
The wretched amalgam of metal and wires in the corner: The day you moved in, you saw that your closet was almost entirely obstructed by a softly pulsing mass of wires and chunks of precision-cut steel. Your roommate insists it's a humidifier, but, frankly, you just aren't seeing it. If it actually was a humidifier, you still wouldn't see it, being buried under layers upon layers of wires as it is.
The Dripping Device: It drips. Day in and day out, the small cylinder drips.You leave the room and its watery echo follows you. You were going to plug in your desk lamp when your roommate stopped you with a hard glare. "No," they spoke in a grave monotone, "It Must Drip." "No worries, they let you set up those sweet fairy lights over your desk, although it's kind of annoying having to run an extension cord between your room and the lounge to power them."
The "Micron-Waiver": Honestly, it might just be a microwave. But your roommate doesn't like it when you touch it, and considering the rest of the weird shit lying around, it's anybody's guess what it does.
Sex Thing(?): It's literally in the middle of the goddamn floor, and you feel pretty sketchy about the giant tapered cylinder practically staring you in the face. You ha-oh god, you just noticed that it's full of holes and they're sticky. What the FUCK. As I was saying, you hate it, and you hate how it always buzzes at you when you walk too close. You haven't broached the subject yet, and it's starting to feel like it's been long enough that bringing it up now is probably more awkward than it was a month ago.