Whatever sleep I'd desperately hoped for, it didn't come.

The sheets were uncomfortably new, the room smelled like varnish and Cheese Puffs-courtesy of Quincy-and the murmur of voices and lively sound seemed to snap me awake every other minute. That is, if I even managed to get to sleep.

And yet, my exuberant roommate had crawled into bed and hit the hay as soon as he touched it. Before I could even mumble out a goodnight, he'd drifted off, and I was left to writhe throughout the night all by my lonesome.

Well, I can't say I fumbled around the whole night. After what felt like two hours, I shimmied out of my bed, grabbed my messenger bag, and hurried back, all without waking poor Quincy.

If he were a blown-out candle, I don't think anything could light him up again.

Except Mom's sandwiches.

Thankfully, she'd been flattered when I'd texted her about the stellar reviews of her PB&Js. After several messages regarding how to figure out whether Quincy was a hooligan, she said that he needed to come home for dinner sometime whenever I visit.

He'd accepted the offer gladly, but only if we had her sandwiches. She couldn't have been more delighted if I'd handed them out to the entire building, honestly.

Smiling, I slid back into bed, my bag resting at my feet. I pulled out my laptop and earphones, ready to unashamedly abuse the school's Wi-Fi to binge-watch the multitude of series that had been calling my name since the start of summer.

With everything, I couldn't find the time; if I wasn't shopping, I was packing; if I wasn't out somewhere with Noah, I was at home, attempting to coax my parents into getting us an apartment. And whenever I ran into Lexi-is it really 'running into' if you're in their house?-I was either attempting to salvage the conversation or lost in contemplating whether I'd finally forgiven her or not.

That issue still remains unresolved, and would stay that way until I had ingested every episode of Orange is the New Black.

I squinted as the screen lit up, not accompanied to bright lights in dark places. Except for Noah.

With my eyes half-shut, I searched for the lamp's light switch, finding it after the fifth try.

Shit, I need to pee.

"Great, Dan." I hissed, rolling my eyes. "Just when you get your life sorted out, you need to fucking pee."

Couldn't urination wait for a better moment to come around?

A pang settled in the base of my torso, and I cringed.

Apparently not.

Cursing under my breath, I sidled out of bed once more and staggered to the door, completely unaware of where I was headed. Pausing, my eyes dropped to my bare legs, the hem of Noah's old dark grey gym shirt brushing against my thigh.

Pants. I thought, spinning around. Pants would be advisable.

My bags were still huddled at the base of my bed, unopened and terribly full.

No pants it is.

I twirled around again, pulled the door open, and slid out, shutting it enough to creep back in without needing the handle.

The hallway, brightly-lit and unforgivingly cold, stretched into forever on either side, and I cursed silently, opting to head right. There were more lights on that side, and I silently hoped that one of them belonged to a bathroom of some sort.

My bare feet tapped against the cool linoleum floors, sending a few more chills through each of my vertebra than I would've liked.

Biting back the numbing pain, I ambled up the hallway, until I reached a nifty little sign pointing to the toilet facilities. I grinned, turning left and skipping down the hallway.

With all the dorms shut-and for the most part, quiet-I assumed everyone else was enjoying a lovely night of sleep. Or, maybe they tossed and turned and sobbed into their pillows, and never needed to relieve themselves, unlike a certain someone whose bladder was the size of a baby pea.

In response, another stab of pain came from my stomach, and I winced, forcing myself not to yell out all sorts of profanities. We wouldn't want anyone else to suffer a shitty night's sleep, especially not because of little ol' wee-filled me.

Finally, I spotted an open door at the end of the hallway, spewing out a horde of sizzling fluorescent light and tendrils of steam. I rushed towards it, ignoring the sound of water hitting tiles.

The bathroom smelled a hell of a lot better than the dormitory-hints of aloe and lavender sung out to me-and, right now, proved more useful. The stalls were straight ahead, right beside the urinals.

After several embarrassing and fundamentally disgusting experiences with those cruel contraptions, I scampered towards the stalls, the sounds of a running shower growing more distant with every step.

I slid in, shutting and locking the door before carrying on with my pants-less business.

"Yes," I whispered, eyes shut in glorious relief.

Curse McDonald's, with their milkshakes and drinks and those unlawfully enticing juice boxes. They're just so cute.

Letting out a sigh, I stood up, pressing the handle down and finding pleasure in the flushing away of the liquid that cursed my bladder to damnation not so long ago.

Take that!

With no further business ventures to pursue, I strutted out of the stall, heading across the area to the sinks. My hands moved of their own accord, opening the faucet and grinding against each other as the water trickled into whatever spaces remained in between.

At some point during the summer, Noah grew an all-consuming obsession with club music. It started with him bibbing and bopping to and fro, with multiple attempts at twerking, and ended with him dragging me to a club in the next town over, all of his grievances somehow brushed off of his shoulders.

I hadn't seen him so free until that night.

His eyes had remained wide for the entire night, and he grinded to the beat, getting high off of all the eyes that fluttered his way, and the guys that did the same. Even during his brief dances with everyone else, he'd glance at me from time to time, smiling wider than I ever knew he could, his teeth gleaming electric blue in the neon lights.

I'd hovered by the bar, watching him mould himself into something he'd adored, and realizing how well it suited him. And everyone else realized it, too.

"Is he yours?" The bartender had asked, pointing at him with an empty glass and a cloth in her wiry hands. I nodded, twirling my Diet Coke around my glass.

"I hope so," I'd whispered, nodding.

"He seems pretty lonely out there," she'd chuckled, nudging my arm. My head had shaken all by itself as I sipped my drink, eyes never leaving his body. "I think you should join him."

"He's got everyone else to dance with," I'd pointed out.

"I'd bet twenty dollars that he only wants to dance with you," she'd replied swiftly, setting the glass down and lifting another one.

"I'd get in on that action if I wasn't so sure you'd win," I'd retorted, turning to smile at her. Her green eyes gleamed beautifully in the lighting, a strand of curly hair falling into the right one. I downed the rest of my drink and placed the glass gently on the counter, my free hand fumbling for my wallet.

"And yet..." She began, her eyebrows arching suspiciously, betraying the growing smile that fluttered onto her bubbly, angular face.

"You're nice," I'd replied, slipping out a fifty dollar note. "And a really good bartender, especially if you're willing to talk me into dancing to this ridiculous music with my equally ridiculous-" I paused, biting my lip. "With him. Thank you."

Her smile stayed as she accepted the note, and I'd skipped away to join Noah for what could've possibly been one of the best nights of my life.

Smiling, I shut the faucet, and patted my face with my damp hands, my eyes boring holes into the mirror.

"You will fall asleep," I declared to my reflection, his turquoise eyes seemingly unresponsive, and his brunette hair in an absolute mess. I winced, running a hand through my hair. "Damn son, sleep-deprived is not a good look on you."

"I beg to differ," a voice boomed, echoing slightly. My body froze, and I dared to take a glance to my right, where the pitter-patter of wet feet came from. "Some people just make it look good. I mean, have you seen Dylan O'Brien?"

A long-haired, brown-eyed and very half-naked man strolled towards the sink, halting two faucets down from me. Fortunately for everyone involved, a towel was wrapped around his waist, but threatened to slip down with every movement he made.

"If we're talking Void Stiles, then hell yes." I replied, pulling my hands away from my face. He furrowed his bushy brows, highlighting the fatigue both in his muddy brown eyes and underneath them. "Sorry-Tumblr stuff."

"I've never seen you around here," he glided into another subject, setting his toiletry bag down. His dark, dripping hair swayed ever so slightly, planting and lifting off of his shoulders in smooth, barely noticeable movements. "Are you a freshman?"

"Indeed," I muttered, glancing at him through the mirror. His hairy chest glistened from the shower, and I momentarily wondered if he'd ever thought of braiding it. "However, hanging around bathrooms has never been a great way to meet good people, especially if they're half-naked."

"When was the last time you met a half-naked person in the bathroom?"

"The beginning of senior year," I said without missing a beat. My eyes widened, but before the shock of the strange simplicity found in saying the words could settle in, I shook it off. "He was my ex-partner slash momentary tormentor slash President of World-Class Douchebags, North American Division."

"Unlucky him," the man said, chuckling. He poured shaving cream onto his hand-Noah's facial hair grew unnecessarily quickly, and that's the only way I knew-and began spreading it across his stubble-littered jaw area.

"That's what my dad said," I mentioned, turning to face him. "Well, although I do enjoy chatting to strangers in the bathroom at two in the morning, I'd like to at least pretend I sleep. Goodnight, Bathroom Boy."

I began to strut away, and just as I reached the door, his voice tickled my ear canal once more.

"The name's Kansas," he pointed out.

I blinked, holding back a laugh.

"What an unfortunate name."

"Thanks." He laughed, pulling out his razor.

"Goodbye, Kansas." I waved slightly. He nodded in return, eyes fluttering back to the mirror. Before I hurried off, I turned to him, staring at his bare feet. "Tip: flip-flops are non-negotiable, especially in communal showers."

"So are pants," he retorted, grinning.

I blinked, glancing at my exposed legs again, then back at him. His eyes were trained on the mirror as he manoeuvred the razor over his cheeks.

Without another word, I scampered away, all too excited to return to a bed that I wouldn't sleep in, and a show I'd been dying to watch since summer started.

Thank God for Netflix.

*

"I am not in the mood for people right now," I grunted, biting back a yawn. "I haven't slept enough to even be standing."

"You were the one who slept at some ungodly hour, with your laptop and the night lamp still on." Quincy pointed out matter-of-factly, his vacant eyes gliding over each head in the large room. "You have nobody but yourself to blame."

We sat in the main auditorium, a vast room with lights that hung from beams that blended into the ceiling, and a stage section in front, one that I currently bored holes into from the balcony, where all the latecomers were instructed to sit.

Clicking my tongue, I cupped my chin in my palm, staring at the empty stage with ever-strengthening vexation.

"Why are we even here?" I asked, annoyance leaking into my words. Quincy's eyes remained trained on everyone else, arching around the entire auditorium.

"In high school, we used to call it Information Day," he began, his voice softer. "All the new students were told how everything works, and shown around the school. That's why we had to get here a day earlier than everyone else."

I nodded, the stage proving to be an eternal constant in its lack of human presence.

Sighing, I slid out my phone, hurriedly checking my texts from Noah. I hadn't had time this morning, since Quincy had rushed us out of the room under false pretences ("there's a fire drill, do you want to be hypothetically burned to death?"). Naturally, my answer was no, mostly to avoid having to pretend to be a charred corpse for the rest of who knows how long.

blue-eyed beast: I can't sleep and I'm aboutthisclose to knocking my neighbours out. They. Won't. Shut. Up. 3:27am.

A soft chuckle breezed past my lips, and I hurriedly typed up a response, my eyes occasionally darting to the stage, which was still occupied by nothing but empty air and an equally barren podium.

me: i couldn't either ): according to Q, i left the light on and nearly broke my laptop. sleep deprivation brings out the absolute worst in all of us

me: also, we're currently at some stupid information/briefing/waste of time thing and there's literally nOBODY ON STAGE

me: and we were LATE

I glanced at the stage once more, and a fresh-faced, wide-eyed woman had begun ascending the steps on the right side, the click of her heels unheard amongst the layer of conversation.

blue-eyed beast: you really need to stop falling asleep with your laptop on though. you could literally die of electrocution or something

blue-eyed beast: it's going to be fine, I'm at mine too, paying absolutely no attention

me: if i do die, you're coming with me

me: well you better start listening!!!! they could legit teach you how to murder your neighbours

blue-eyed beast: don't be selfish

blue-eyed beast: that's what crime shows are for sweetie x

Quincy elbowed my arm, and I looked up at him, only to find his eyes trained on the stage. I followed his gaze to the woman, her dark, curly hair moving with her jaw, as she stood behind the podium, as still as she wished we'd be.

"Good morning, everyone!" She greeted, her voice thick with enthusiasm. "Now, if you all would settle down, I'll begin today's proceedings."

The words penetrated the buzz of murmurs and the occasional cheer, and her lips stretched across her face, not even a glimmer of her teeth shown.

"Thank you," she said, her smile stagnant. "And welcome to Orson University."

The entire auditorium burst into applause, cheers, and general elation. And there I sat, grunting and letting my eyes flicker to my phone.

blue-eyed beast: where did you go ):

me: calm down, a lady's telling me what's up in the hood

"Thank you," the lady said once more. "I'm Mrs Weaver, the Dean at this wonderful institution. Now, firstly, if you weren't already aware, your class schedules were emailed to you during the summer, and..."

blue-eyed beast: the guy next to me is so precious

me: don't you dARE

"Listen," Quincy whispered, nudging my arm again. I winced, locking my phone before diverting my full attention to Mrs Weaver.

"...you will all be given today to start the journey to getting to know each other, your way around campus, and possibly even your lecturers." She went on, her voice solid and firm, commanding the room with ease. "But before that, we'll have to go through a few new additions to the institution's Code of Conduct, and various other things. Hopefully, this will all be over in the next half hour."

My phone vibrated in my hands, and I glanced at Quincy, whose faculties were fully invested in Mrs Weaver. Slowly, I tucked my phone beside my left thigh, tapping away once I'd unlocked it.

blue-eyed beast: jealous, much?

me: I WILL CHANGE YOUR NAME SO FAST DON'T PLAY WITH ME BOY

"Forest," Quincy muttered. I trembled, holding back a shriek, and managing not to drop my phone. The person to my left-a brunette with eyes of steel and really great nails-glared at me, and I frowned, mouthing a sorry. "Don't think I'm above public humiliation."

"You might as well be," I replied from the corner of my mouth. "You're like six hundred feet tall."

"No, you're just surprisingly tiny."

"And you're just surprisingly rude."

"Shh!" the brunette hissed, her excellently manicured finger placed in front of her pursed lips, her eyes aflame with anger. I shrugged, placing my phone back inside my pocket.

"As you probably already know, there are four dorm buildings-one for each grade-all joined by the Centennial Quad." Mrs Weaver went on, using a red laser pointer to showcase her impeccable PowerPoint presentation skills. The light from the projector gleamed against her dark skin, like a glistening cocoa bean. "The Mumford Building belongs to the freshmen, mostly to remind them to keep the noise down, and the rest you will figure out as you go along."

A soft chuckle resounded throughout the auditorium, and I snuck a glare at Quincy, my fingers hovering over the rectangular-shaped bulge of pocket.

"I'm dead serious, Forest." He hissed, jaw clenching and unclenching in two second intervals, his eyes never reaching mine.

"And here I was, thinking you were just dead."

"Don't test me."

"But my middle name's Pop Quiz," I frowned, brows furrowed.

"I swear-"

"Shut the motherfuck up," the brunette groaned, her scowls so threatening that I wouldn't have been surprised if she slit my throat with those blue acrylics. "Both of you."

"Sorry," I whispered apologetically. She rolled her eyes, immediately focussing her attention on Mrs Weaver. "If it's any consolation, your nails are amazing."

"Excuse me," Mrs Weaver boomed, sending my eyes snapping straight back to her. "I do believe I asked for silence."

Her eyes, the colour uncertain from this high up, were planted precisely on me, and the whole auditorium knew it too. I pulled in my lips, not daring to allow even a breath leaving my body.

Quincy smirked beside me, seeming to keep in all of his snickers.

"Thank you," she said, returning to her PowerPoint presentation. "Now..."

"Told you." Quincy hummed, his smile widening.

"Thanks, by the way," the girl whispered, grinning.

Cursed to keep the silence that had been thrust upon me, I breathed out my aggression.

"You three in the balcony," Mrs Weaver deadpanned, her words laced with agitation despite the rhyming. "My office at the end of briefing, alright?"

Quincy's eyes widened, and I almost forgot to breathe for a second. The girl glowered in our direction, but remained absolutely silent as all eyes seemed to descend upon us.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I glanced at Quincy, offering him an apologetic shrug, only to be met by the kind of stare that says I hate you with a burning passion that can never be quenched without saying anything at all.

XXX

you're back! yay!

thanks for reading this, by the by.

- jay.