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enjennie · 3 years

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Chapter 2 - Coffee Boy and a Chess Tournament

Chapter 1

Chapter 3 - Here

Word count: 2.5k

The girls were in a frenzy when they got to know about Yuri’s mystery coffee man. The girls in question would be Seoyun, Hyebin and Cho with the exception of Minjae, who had some student council business and ran off before they could have lunch together.

“Oh my, who could this be? Describe him to me once more,” Cho had her arm looped through Yuri’s as they walked out of the dining hall after having their lunch. Seoyun and Hyebin walked a few steps in front of them. Yuri couldn’t help but giggle, a week hasn’t gone by yet but a boy had already managed to catch her eye. She thought about his face for a moment, and started describing it to Cho. “Well, he had kind of a messy hair look. Had a varsity jacket on and wore all black underneath. Really bright eyes and oh don’t even get me started about his smile,” Yuri almost swooned.

Cho repeatedly starts hitting Yuri’s arm, uncontrollably giggling and shaking her by the shoulders. “He was wearing a varsity jacket? So he must be on the team!”

“Probably? I’m not sure which sport, though,” Yuri tells Cho, but Cho only shook her off. “There’s only one varsity team, silly. The Neos,” Cho explained, making big motions with her hands, but Yuri was no longer focusing on what she was saying when the mystery man himself had come striding in front of them.

Yuri hurriedly gets Cho’s attention by tapping on her arm and whispering, “That’s him! Over there,” Cho follows Yuri’s eyes and the two look onto the field that stretched acres. “No way,” Cho’s eyes widened, pulling her sunglasses down to make sure she was seeing correctly. “Na Jaemin?” the girl exclaimed.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

Seoyun, Cho, Yuri and Hyebin were now sat on a picnic bench in the quad, huddled together and discussing the situation at hand. “It all makes sense, of course it’s him! I should’ve known when Yuri said coffee!” Cho facepalmed at her own ignorance.

Cho is the elite’s main source of information. She knows what’s the latest news about anyone within the campus. Knows where to get the best drugs, who’s throwing the parties, and where. She’ll get to know anything, all with one swipe on her phone. Which is why she felt foolish for not thinking about Na Jaemin, Oakwood’s heartthrob and one of their elite members. The boy who can send any girl to their feet with one look. “I just didn’t expect it… I don’t know why after Yeeun I didn’t think Jaemin had it in him to date,”

Yuri’s head turn in light of the information. “Yeeun, my roommate?”

Seoyun nodded, “The two dated for the first two semesters of freshmen year, then broke off when Yeeun and Jeno got caught hooking up at a party,” she explained to the dumbfounded girl. Yuri frowned, “Was that why-“

“That’s why I told you not to meddle with Jeno,”

“Did Yeeun and Jeno date then?”

“Yes, for a while. Like, two weeks a while. We’ve never seen Jaemin and Jeno be apart for so long we thought it was over for good, but I guess they worked it out in the summer since they’re pals again,”

Yuri’s head was spinning at this point. She hadn’t even met Yeeun yet, so she tried not to get her perception of her roommate get affected by the things she’s hearing about her.

After a while, the group of girls pack it up and start heading back to the dorms when Cho receives a text regarding a party. “Of course, it’s one of Jeno’s parties. So he can fish out the girls he wants to play with for the year,” Minjae, who’d joined them a few minutes before, rolled her eyes. Cho and Hyebin on the other hand didn’t share her distaste for the male. “You can’t deny, Jeno throws the best parties,”

She couldn’t. It was true. But she was uninterested.

“11pm chess tournament, first 5th at the Lee Estate,”

Yuri blinked, registering the unfamiliar terms. “First fifth?”

Minjae put her arm around the girl as she elucidated to the somehow always clueless Yuri. “The first fifth would mean this Friday. We use codes like chess tournament or board games to talk about upcoming parties. We change it up every now and then, though. To prevent weasels,”

Yuri understood right away, but didn’t think there would be a need for these types of stuff.

“Isn’t college all about parties?” Yuri asked, matter of factly, humouring Minjae and Seoyun. “Then you came to the wrong school. Oakwood doesn’t allow parties, this is where rich families send their troubled children they don’t have time for. Discipline here is no joke,”

Yuri wondered how she never knew this about the school she’d done extensive research about before applying to.

The week flew by quickly, and soon enough Yuri found herself on the fifth of the week. She managed to survive all her classes and was pretty satisfied with how well she’s coping up. Despite being new to her surroundings, she’s only gotten lost in the campus twice. Which is a record, for newbies apparently. Hyebin told Yuri about her first time getting lost at Oakwood and she ended up at the teacher’s locker rooms. She recalled having to squat under a desk for hours, praying to god no one would use the desk she was under. Both girls had a laugh about it.

Today would be the party, but before that, they had to join orgs and clubs. Minjae, as student body secretary, already has the council as her club. Seoyun on the other hand, signed up for theater along with Renjun. Cho and Hyebin, were nowhere in sight which forced Yuri to go about club hunting on her own.

She’d thought about it for the whole week, however she wasn’t entirely sure yet. Originally, she would just join any orgs her friends were in but she can’t run for student body, and neither can she act so that was out of the question.

Yuri looked around her, flocks of people gathered in small and big groups, already looking like they were all familiar with each other. She dug her hands deep in her pockets and sighed before catching sight of somewhere that actually interested her.

Student Publication club, their banner was straight to the point and plain. A boy in a similar looking varsity as Yuri had seen Jaemin and Jeno wearing sat in front of the desk, beside him was Cho, who Yuri was glad to see. She walked towards them and waved when Cho’s eyes met hers.

“Yuri! Did you join a club yet?” Cho enthused. Yuri shook her head, and the boy beside Cho lifts his eyes from the paper he was reading.

“Depends, are you guys still hiring?” Yuri inspected the sign up sheet displayed on their table, which had a good amount of names scribbled on it already. Cho hands her a pen, “You’re so in. This is Mark, pub president,”

“I’d appreciate if you stopped calling our club a pub,” the said Mark scolds. “Nice to meet you I’m Mark Lee,” he stretched his hand forward and Yuri shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Mark,”

Mark has dark hair that fell over his forehead and round eyes that pierced through Yuri’s. He has high cheekbones and a nicely defined jawline. Mark flashes Yuri a smile and she’s stunned by it.

When will I stop getting surprised by all the hot boys that roam this school?

“Hi, losers. How’s it going?” a boy with hair that resembled a lion’s mane had walked up to the table. He had full lips and cute cheeks.

“Speak for yourself, Donghyuck,” Cho retorts at the boy.

The boy faces Yuri, giving her a curt smile. “Oh, are you signing up? I got a tip for you… run now,” he says, before receiving a firm backhand smack from Mark who’d leaned over the table. Yuri laughed, watching the two boys wrestle. “It’s almost time. I reckon no one else wants to sign up, so what do you say we wrap up?” Cho nudges Mark and he agrees. “Yuri? Want to go together?”

“Sure,”

“Oh you’re the Yuri I’ve been hearing about. Hi, I’m Donghyuck, you can call me Hyuck for short,” the boy had gotten himself out of Mark’s headlock and fixed himself up. “The Yuri you’ve been hearing about?” Yuri asked.

Hyuck nods, “Renjun hit you with the soccer ball, right?” he chuckled and Yuri wanted to curl up into a ball right then and there. “Is that what I’m known for now?” Yuri scrunched her nose, cringing. Hyuck laughed, his eyes glimmered and he pats her shoulder as a form of consoling. “That’s fine, I was known as the bread boy last year… I shoved a whole roll into my mouth and the photos weren’t pretty,” he looked scornfully as he remembered his past.

Yuri’s lips curled into a smile and she laughed at Hyuck’s little story.

“Yuri, c’mon,” Cho pulls on Yuri’s arm and the two mutter a quick goodbye to each other before Yuri’s swept away.

“So you’ve met her,”

The boys were gathered in the field, by the bleachers. The soccer team was already their club, so they didn’t have to go club searching and signing up. Donghyuck and Mark had caught up to Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun who were sat, sharing a blunt.

“Yeah. You guys didn’t tell me she was that much of a stunner, I could’ve prepared for a better first impression,” muttered Hyuck, who had his hair in a mess and a lazy outfit to match.

Renjun scoffed, “Please, I hit her with a soccer ball. How’s that for a first impression?”

The boys shared laughs and Jeno looks over at Jaemin, who was looking through his camera checking the shots he was able to take from the event.

“Someone’s quiet,” Jeno comments.

Jaemin’s head shot up, already knowing it was him. “What?”

“I heard from Seoyun that you left quite an impression on Yuri,” Jeno sported a sly grin on his face. Jaemin rolls his eyes, looking back down at his camera.

“I just gave her coffee because she looked like she was gonna die without it,”

“Right,” Renjun murmured.

“Shut up, Renjun,” the boy hissed.

Yuri was confused. Not only did Minjae just push a Versace dress to her chest, complete with Louboutins to match, she also told her to ‘keep it’.

“Wait, but why?” uttered Yuri, examining the dress and shoes that probably cost more than all her life spending totaled. Minjae didn’t bat an eye as she pulled out another dress from her wardrobe in a stone blue shade, putting it against her body to check if it was what she was going for. “I don’t think red suits me, but I reckon it’d look good on you though, so keep it,” she mutters.

“I can’t take this, Minjae. But thank you,” Yuri mused as she put down the dress and shoes on the bed. Minjae turned around and crossed her arms. “Then what will you wear to the party?”

“I think I have a Zara dress somewhere,” Yuri shrugged.

“You can’t be caught dead in a Zara dress. We’re not in our 30s yet! Put this on. It’s an order,” Minjae took the dress and pushes it into Yuri’s hands once more. The girl could only abide.

Once dressed, the girls go about their plan to meet up at Hyebin’s dorm. Sneaking past the RA and professors going on rounds, they arrived without getting caught. By 10:30, they were removing their heels to get ready to make their escape through Hyebin’s terrace.

“You want me to jump?” Yuri gasped, looking down at the height in which they had to come down from.

The rest of the girls had already made their way down, strategically climbing down using the rope they’d tied to the railing of the terrace. They were now waiting for Yuri, who looked like a cat scared for its life.

“You’ve got… three girls to catch you, don’t worry!” called Seoyun in a hushed voice.

“We have 2 minutes until the guard comes back around,” Minjae looked down at her phone.

“Granted, it’s our fault for not telling her beforehand that she’d be coming down at least 3 meters high off a balcony,” Hyebin looked up at Yuri in pity. “Come on, girl! You got this,” encouraged Seoyun at her poor friend.

Yuri’s heart raced and with sweaty hands, she threw her legs over the railing and grabbed onto the rope, hugging it for dear life. She probably flashed the three girls but her only agenda was to really get to the ground safe, and so she did.

“Great! Nice one, Yuri. Come on,” Seoyun had her heels in hand and she grabs Yuri’s with the other, pulling her to the direction of the trees for their getaway. Seoyun, Hyebin, Yuri and Minjae ran altogether until they reach a secluded area, unfamiliar to Yuri.

“Now,” Seoyun puts her heels back on. “The fun starts,” she continued, before running towards to a hooded figure in the distance and being engulfed in a hug. She pulls the person into the light, revealing Renjun.

“You girls ready to party?” yelled an ecstatic Jeno, who’d appeared from a convertible car parked behind Renjun.

I’ve gone down a 3 meter high balcony in the tiniest dress ever, Yuri thought. This better be one hell of a party.

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

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Word by Word | 01 (Bangchan x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Romance, University/College AU

Pairing: Graphic design student!Bangchan x Literature student!/Irish!Reader

Warnings: Swearing (but what can you honestly expect when dealing with an Irish person?)

Summary: An ancient saying dictates that polar opposites attract, which is proven once again once an introverted whiskey-loving aspiring author meets a fairly extroverted boy initially proposing to survive the loneliness brought about by academic administration together.

But soon the meaning of ‘together’ expands as personal creative worlds are explored and understanding stirs up hidden emotions.

Masterlist

Next Part

For anxious people, friendly support from strangers oddly turning into companions is often needed to get through the day, finding solace in the kindred spirit of the bond has been established despite being not worth a dime. The previous semester could only be survived thanks to the small group of friends that made the seminars more bearable, huddling together and always having at least one to have as a research partner or discuss a primary source with. Withal, the university administration has different plans for the second half of the year, resulting in the complete split from familiar faces which will now only be seen on Monday for the start of the academic week with lectures.

Henceforth, yesterday was only the misleading silence before the storm, chatting and fooling around with curiously close relationships during the day. As per usual, multiple pairs of shoes found themselves to the habitual café by the canal to go for lunch together in between lectures, but a lonesome soul listening to the vivid chatter only settled for a cup of coffee since the stomach could possibly not handle more because of the all-nighter working on the next chapter of the attempted novel and composing a few more poems for a to-be-published-someday poetry bundle.

A chip off the old block, taking after the grandfather who raised a timid girl to become like this: full of too many voices and writing them down since that is the only acceptable form of schizophrenia in today’s society. Fortunately, it is while enjoying the company of Dante, a Birman with hellishly blue eyes of an extremely distrustful and arrogant nature except when being with an aspiring author rivalling with a relative. He mostly lies on the duvet on nights filled with the self-inflicted torture of bleeding behind a typewriter, occasionally jumping on the desk beneath the attic window where often a raven nicknamed Edgar settles down and demanding to be pet whenever a repose is taken for a glass o’ Irish whiskey when threatening to fall on hard creative times. Otherwise, dirty bean water is grand as well. Whatever the case, Dante conveniently though perfectly times it each time.

In the meanwhile, Virgil is likely functioning as company for Charles, who is also known as “Grandfather” during formal events of which most relate to publishing houses and to which he always has to be dragged while muttering unintelligible Gaelic profanities. Alternatively, it is the first full name whenever competing with one another or simply “Charlie” when the old balding man with a snow white moustache reviews the latest result of typing on the historic sidekick of every author. According to the in-house editor and occasional enemy, a typewriter is the sole source of ‘’pure writing’’ and imprinted the habit of working with the old school machine as soon as hands were able to write the letters formerly merely read in books.

For those unfamiliar with the cats, it is impossible to draw a distinction between the two, but those who look closer notice that Virgil does not share the same eye colour with his brother, the ocean grey betraying the fact the fluffy bastard is indeed that.

A bastard.

Exactly like his owner and the owner’s granddaughter who was also born out of wedlock.

However, even in Dante there is a trace of being not a full blood Birman since his slender skull hints at a Ragdoll influence though the selective sweetheart would never admit to it even if the ability of speech had been given to cats.

All in all, all of us are outcasts so it has become the running joke beneath the roof of the outskirts mansion we are glorious bastards. Honestly speaking, it has a nice ring to it because if being separated from others for whatever reason counts as a qualification for becoming this, then the lack of pals in primary and high school is not minded. The same goes for the adoption by a loving howbeit harshly critical grandfather because the son who should have been a proper father could not bear the sight of the offspring originating in a scandalous affair with a secretary who had no mother instinct at all, thus sharing in the shallowness with her one-time lover.

Whiskey story nights filled with almost empty pens, digits stained with ink, reading breaks and lots of swearing in frustration or joy have come to form a steady aspect of life, Charlie clearly in a better mood when settling down to shape the rough paper diamonds in each other’s company despite the exchange of insults pertaining to manuscripts or in a loving manner. An Irishman can leave Ireland, but the Irishness will never leave the individual and the island tales that at times seem mere fantastic fancies create a bond with a heritage that would otherwise have never been known.

It is because of Charles, his upbringing that has not been without it struggles, and Dante and Virgil I am still here, exerting power as an author on the Internet after creating a manuscript on the typewriter that once belonged to the moustached man’s close American friend who, too, had a taste for liquor and a talent for writing.

Apparently, one night at a party, this comrade was hit in the face by a drunken accountant who tried his hand at poetry nobody understood and insulted the boxer’s manhood, causing the offended party to strike the provoker down in drunken rage. Fortunately for the injured, the American was willing to forgive the insult after being offered an apology and the next day the papers reported the incomprehensible poet fell down the stairs, the accident resulting in a broken hip alongside other injuries, thus covering up the truth of being beaten black and blue.

When asking why nothing was done to stop the fight from escalating, the answer is always the same. ‘It was too much fun to see that idiotic sod being beaten up. Furthermore, he had it coming sooner or later because he was a fecking racist prick, Y/N. It was more of a service than a true crime.’

Basically, Granddad sat back with a bowl of popcorn and cheered his boxing buddy on.

Truly a gentleman bastard.

As proves to be an inherent characteristic, judging by the rage coming from the classically furnished writing room on the east side of the house bought with the royalties from writing pieces critical of the human condition and problems rooted in society under the guise of a cleverly composed story. ‘Virgil! For fuck’s sake, ye bloody gobshite!’

‘Charlie, how’s she cuttin’?’ Not so well, judging by the look of pure horror in fast passing stone-toned irises with elated pupils framed by deep earthy brown fur and liquid onyx paw prints creating a trail on the freshly mopped floor. What a way to leave the house before facing the horror of being left alone at the university because everyone has been placed in a different time slot. ‘Although, never mind.’

In the faux leather spinning chair behind the intricately designed baroque desk, agitated calloused fingers run through pale thin hairs while lips are pulled into a snarl at the sight of the obsidian pool of ink staining the pile of blank pages meant to be engraved with poetry. ‘Well, this is just fucking grand, isn’t it?’

‘Think about your blood pressure, ye aren’t all that spry anymore and your fans will not like it if you kick the bucket already.’ Grinning like the purple cat in the favourite story to listen to while sitting by the hearth during childhood, dark flats wander the afromosia floor to the stout big man with an irritated iron gaze that slightly softens at the sight of the lass raised as a daughter rather than a granddaughter, the pupil who has turned more and more into a peer as time went by. ‘And Virgil isn’t as graceful as Dante, prone to causing accidents yet you love him all the same.’

‘Ah, feck off.’ An eyebrow raises in question when settling down into the fauteuil in front of the bureau, casually crossing one leg over the other and endeavouring to suppress the pressing yawns as best as possible. ‘It’s yer first day of university after a week of being a dosser and you pulled an all-nighter while having to show up early. You’re not the full shilling, are ye?’

‘No. No, I’m not, but you are what you eat. I’m fine, Charlie. And I worked on a couple of poems, mind you, and also wrote two more chapters for Paper Wonderland. Furthermore, I read ahead for this block’s course so, overall, I’ve been productive.’

‘You haven’t been until I’ve seen the first drafts.’ It is a house rule: there are no actual original versions of a part of a tale unless the stern editor has seen it and given feedback. Otherwise, it is nothing more than stained paper.

‘Oi, I want to keep some element of surprise to blow you off yer socks when you read the full result. Where’s the fun in being spoiled beforehand when it can become the reason I’ll finally conquer the throne you’re currently sitting on. One day, one day I’ll finally be recognized as more than mere family.’

The mentor stands up to walk around the chaotically ruined heavy piece of furniture to put an encouraging hand on the shoulder and give it a little encouraging squeeze, which gets nullified by a comment that makes the characteristic need for rivalry flare up. ‘Keep dreaming about that day, ye wee chiseler, and maybe, just maybe you’ll manage.’

A sarcastic mirthless chuckle functions as a nullifying factor for the elder’s smugness while standing up from the oddly comfortable espresso brown chair to head for the door. ‘You really like throwing shapes, don’t ye, gramps?’

‘As much as any grand man.’ The old great man matches the pace to the young feet eventually coming to a halt at the entrance of the writing office.

At the double doors, on the edge of a casual temporary farewell, all devilishness fades away into fatherly concern due to the realization a difficult social challenge has to be faced, having had many conversations about the introverted anxiety of a mask-wearing lass who merely acts like a young professional while working as a barista to earn a little cash on the side. ‘Take that puss off yer face, Y/N. You’re gonna be grand because you’re a full-grown woman with an Irish background. We’re tough people made of iron who don’t take anyone’s intimidation.’

Two big wrinkled hands wrap themselves around upper arms clad in a neatly-ironed alabaster collared shirt as a moustached mouth places a familial hope-giving smooch on the forehead before giving the right cheek a weak playful slap. ‘Now, go, you fine thing. Maybe you’ll catch the eye of a proper laddie.’

‘Feck off.’ A playful punch on the shoulder undoes the intimacy and grants the opportunity to crack on to catch the bus towards doom after putting on a khaki trench coat and slinging the stone-grey laptop bag over the shoulder.

‘I don’t recommend effin’ and blindin’, though. Tends to give a bad image,’ is the last piece of laughingly uttered advice which is seemingly also disregarded howbeit with an absently-minded waving hand wandering down the sandstone cobblestone path towards the main road.

And before taking an immediate right out of the gate towards the nearest bus stop, the other one holds the habitual saviour in the form of a book already.

An opportunity to escape the nervousness brought about by cruel reality that is taken away when bumping into someone, an accident which still tends to happen despite the mastery of avoidance skills, and the account of the life of a bookseller falls onto the concrete.

Eyes as big as a doe’s when caught in the headlights of a rapidly approaching car stare in horror at annoyed molten chocolate irises above an admittedly adorable big nose, irritated by an ignorant daydreamer under the constant scrutiny of the world, which quickly gain a weird gentleness when truly looking back. ‘I’m so, so fe- sorry. I should watch where- no, watch my footing. Again, I’m so sorry.’

Please, don’t get mad. Grand job, Y/N. The day’s barely begun and you already messed up.

‘It’s alright.’ Bleached short locks clad in an onyx leather jacket squat down to pick up the paperback on the ground, long pale fingers dusting off the little dirt the impact of the fall has caused to stain the cover before handing it back. ‘You dropped this.’

Trembling hands accept a small piece of peace of mind, gaze averted from the small fading kind smile on the young man’s face to stare with burning cheeks and a raving heart at dark flats aching to flee the situation. ‘Thanks.’

‘Miss? Are you alright?’ The lost distant type of contact from just a second ago is futilely tried to be re-established, unable to connect thus to a soul with a thousand voices within now all rendered to a flustered whisper.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll- I need to go. Don’t want to miss the bus.’ A curt nod ends the conversation abruptly, turning away as fast as lightning while muttering a form of apologetic goodbye as the walking pace enhances to a speed barely shy of running. ‘Again, my apologies.’

However, as Fate or mere coincidence would have it, this meeting is not the last as tracks are silently retraced by foreign sneakers as blasting songs from various genres disclose the world from a never tranquil consciousness.

A few minutes more the blissful unknowing continues, reading irises stuck in the sceptic description of a man able to do what wants to be done in case becoming a writer does not work out.

A few minutes more the wind has the possibility to play freely with locks without it being noticed nor minded.

Then all changes with the approach of the awaited vehicle.

The loudness comes back with the bus.

And an ink-black leather jacket.

#Kpopwonderlandtag #Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids x Reader #Stray Kids fanfiction #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chan #Chris Bang

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a-writing-bear · 5 years

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[PruCan] Chapter 11: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/48552656

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’ - Ao3 version is formatted, tumblr version is not. Ao3 is recommended.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU: College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: Recreational Drugs & minor connotations of anxiety (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.) WITHIN THIS CHAPTER - Mentions a lot of Weed. Unwanted touching (just mentions but slightly uncomfortable)

10 pm was a good time to arrive at a party, they decided. Vanilla milkshakes always made Matthew feel better- however maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have one after that coffee from earlier, and especially considering he was about to jacked up. Oh well. That’s something I'll deal with tomorrow. The Dutchman and himself had been on their way to Matthias & Lukas’ house, music-making his head pound already and feeling antsy over the prospect of more socialising. They had made very little conversation as the Mattie drove- only vaguely keeping attention to Tim’s random commentary and occasional directions. The Nordic couple had been renting out some house in the suburbs with 3 other students- very obviously avoiding living anywhere near the student dorms or the student housing as they liked to prevent interaction with the rest of Himaruya Academy; when you were hosting smoke outs and various amounts of overzealous drinkers and gambling, you tend to want to avoid the loud crowds. These events were closed doors, invite-only per se. Nothing like Alfred’s big bash parties that turned the university dorms into the likes of open summer festivals. They had only just touched the gravel of the house pavement when Matthew was hit with the familiar whistle of a certain Cuban man who had recognised their red car.

“EYYY LUKAS, TIM AND MATTIE ARE HERE.” the Cuban accent used to make Matthew shiver but was meaningless once he learnt Carlos was very straight, and if evidence needed planting then Carlos already on the porch with some girls he didn’t recognise and was flagged to go in after a friendly wave as he was too busy flirting to give Matt and actual hello. Tim had followed behind, loosening his tie as they sauntered up the door, only to have it ripped open by an unimpressed looking face of the shorter man known by Lukas.

The Norwegian seemed to raise his eyebrows to see that they both arrived together, usually, it would always be Tim first before Matthew came coming in. “Hej. Earlier than usual. Matthias is already down in the den with Jack.”

Tim had disappeared into the kitchen, making haste to avoid the heavy drinkers that surrounded the living room and especially avoid that Russian dude that seems to be pouring what looked like half a bottle of vodka into his cup. Meanwhile, Lukas had offered to stash away Matthew’s precious hoodie in the closet as he made their way down to the basement. The hypnotising dragging voice of Tame Impala's Kevin Parker grew louder as Matthew's sneakers hit the staircase floorboards down into the dreary but comfortable den. Jack must have picked the music, but I can dig it. Already he could smell the stink of imported kush, the haziness of what seemed like a spiked stream flowing around- only placated and diluted due to the small basement hopper window that let the smoke out. Matthew kicked off his sneakers at the bottom, already enjoying the vibe- or perhaps already being affected by secondhand smoke. Matthias had opened the basement bathroom to double steam the first few sessions of weed but it proved worthless as there seems to be a continuous stream of smokers mingling in and out of the den. Matthias was a tall blonde mess, a big optimist who wore long shirts under brightly coloured tees- a stark contrast to the bland wardrobe that Lukas wore (Opposites do attract I suppose) and the Danish guy was laying belly up on some very tacky shag carpet, at the feet of Jack who was lazed around on some beanbag, bong in his lap haphazardly.

“Oi Mate- bout time you showed up, I was getting bored. Where’s Timtam?” Matthew shrugged and sat cross-legged right near the dazed Dane’s face.

“Don’t call him that, he’ll throw a fit. What’s this? Yours or Tim’s?”

Jack snickered, the Australian clearly buzzed on something, “Buddy if this was Tim’s hooch I wouldn’t be sharing with goldie over here” he pointed and laughed as he listened to Matthias whine in offence. To be fair, the guy did go through more weed than Jack and Matthew combined so it was a fair enough statement. Matthew leant back, arms behind him as he dug his hands into the soft and a bit scruffy faux fur of the carpet- Matthias was giggling high about something and had pushed his head into Matthew’s lap.

“Hold kæft! I’m not that shit! Fuck Mattttt where’s Tim?”

“Upstairs I think- please pass the bong Jack” Matthew carefully stroked the hair that weaselled its way into his lap, he didn’t mind touchy stoners, he was the same whenever he got a hit- he just wished the big couch wasn’t full of clothes so he wouldn't have to sit on the floor. Just as he had the glass bulb in his hand Tim had marched in from upstairs, throwing a bag of chips and lots of biscuits into the beanbag next to Jack. Matthew tutted as Matthias apologised about not having those maple cookies he liked, whereas the Australian was more pleased to see some recognisable red liquorice. The green-eyed man had pulled out a pipe and dragged the spare beanbag to be behind Matthew, and it was not long before all four of the boys had taken a few hits and became a bunch of giggling messes.

“So whattya been up to mate?”

“Maybe he finally went back to Canada or something right Mattttt?

“Ahaha yea seen any geese or something mate?? Shit, we should have gone- BC bud hol-y” the conversation seemed disjointed and Matthew was already too far gone to think about going back to Canada. He notes that yeah, it’s been a bit since he’d come for a smoke out, and he didn't answer as he was too preoccupied with the stem of his bong and the noise of shouting celebrations of poker players upstairs.

“Schatje has a new uh...gig” Tim snorted, he, however, was definitely less jacked than the 3 who seemed to light up at the sentence.

“Oooooooo who be it?? Who is it, Mattie?” Matthew let out a wail of disapproval at the conversation, Tim was supposed to be his friend yet he’s pushed him into a corner of answers.

“Some dude..guy...fucking cute- uh Gil..red eyes oof real red...shiny eyes.” his mind wandered as he let himself lean on the edge of Tim’s beanbag, Matthias had already stumbled off the floor, excited and eager to hear like some high school girl. Jack had his eyebrows raised and the singlet wearing man moved closer from his position to meet Matthew’s rosy expression.

“Wow, Matties got the giggles for someone huh? Hah Timtam good luck mate.” Tim avoided any eye contact and instead focused on his pipe and refilled it with some mary jane from the communal bag nearby. An indignant noise came out of Tim as he growled at the stupid nickname.

“Wait- Gil? Gilbert? The band shirt guy? Isn’t he the one who got wasted at Francis’ big blowout last time” Matthias mentioned, arms waving and dismissed as he continued to squirm along the floor.

“Oh Gilllly boy, mates with uh Antonio or something, that bitch?”

“Fuck I don’t know...he listens to uh...mom jeans too ya know- fuck me.” the two laughed at Matthew’s comment but didn’t push for more- it’s been too long since Matthew had shown interest in someone, who were they to question. Especially not while they were all getting smoked. Tim looked disinterested in the topic anyway and was more concerned with tangling his fingers in Matthew’s strawberry blonde hair as the Canadian had sat between his legs. God fuck cuddles were nice. Matthew's voice broke out into more wailing as he sung along to Snowy Dunes. The music was soothing. He hoped there was more.

The music melted out into something he didn't quite recognise: “Who the FUCK put Queens of stone age on the queue?” Jack complained. ah fuck. he agreed over the change in the artist. shame, he quite liked Snowy Dunes more than Queens of Stone age At some point, Lukas had dragged his very giggly boyfriend upstairs and Jack had been huddled in a corner snacking by himself. Matthew didn’t know what time it was but he’d wiggled his way from his scarf-wearing friend and clambered up the staircase, laughing at the terrible decor on the walls- he could paint better graffiti than the shitty art pieces the house owners had displayed. He didn’t realise how he’d find himself on the couch near Ivan and some other foreign sounding students. Ivan was cool. Weird. Haha, I V A N. fuck ‘ee van.’ who names their kid Ivan anyway? Doesn't get more Russian than that. Shit ice hockey. Russian players are always so grabby. Man, I’d kill for some Cheetos right now.

There were about 10 people in the room- and some Matthew only recognised by name. Everyone here barely attempted to talk outside of this safe house. What happened on Saturday nights never got passed the lawn, it was an unspoken law. Matthew always wondered was that because of the copious amount of shagging that happened? The excessive card games or maybe the fact that all these people were just kids who can’t bear to go to the bigger parties. Matthew couldn’t decide. He couldn’t even figure out why he was here. Why was anyone here? Why are we still here? Just to suffer? He laughed at his inner joke.

The teen’s mind wandered in circles and had been offered a drink by some Finnish kid he recognised as Lukas’ housemate. The music up here was incessantly blasting rock- something that he’d love if it wasn’t so dizzy. He melted further into the couch, barely turning to watch the poker match of some guys a few meters away. Matthew liked this house. Even with people here, it wasn’t suffocating. He could feel someone touching his hair again. Hosers. Why always my hair. The fingers started roaming his shoulders...and his thigh. Suddenly Matthew felt more sobered as he shuffled away and tried to find a pillow to hide behind. He felt woozy and extremely giddy despite his anxiousness to escape anymore touching. He stood up throwing the pillow outside and went hunting for some water. He didn’t want to feel this light anymore. Not now. Matthew couldn’t remember feeling this light and heavy all at the same time. And suddenly, he just couldn’t remember a lot of things. There was a lot of loud singing. He laughed.

---

Alfred had been dropped off at his dorm building at around 9:20 pm, and by 9:30 he’d launched his discord chat and set up his microphone so that he could huddle on his bed without having to jostle his laptop so much later. The blue-eyed American had only one reason to not be out partying like he usually did with his cousin Francis, only one other reason why he was studying with his brother and one other reason why he hadn’t been chasing up local girls and guys

“Hey, Keeks!”

His voice rattled with poorly disguised joy as his Japanese friend had picked up. Alfred and Kiku had hit it off foundation year, and while it was upsetting that eventually, the black-haired beauty had to transfer back to the other campus, Alfred had made it his job to stay in contact. Kiku was a genius. On par if not smarter than Alfred and that was considered high praise. The two shared stories, For the Asian man it was only just the start of the day so Alfred accompanied him through his breakfast as they shared concepts for different additions to each other’s current project. Robotics has always intrigued Alfred but there was no secret that his wonder had not been merely just been present because of the technological prowess that his crush displayed.

“Alfred-kun. I thought you said you had something with your Brother tonight.” Kiku’s soft voice filtered through the screen, he knew all about Alfred’s personal life and was under the impression the call was cancelled for some family bonding.

“Nah, dude. He’s out with his not-boyfriend. I don’t know what he’s up to. Probably exchanging spit or reading together again.” Alfred Sighed. Knowing his boring brother, he was just watching some movie with Tim again. He’s probably just sleeping.

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