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cola with the burnt-out taste

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Dorm life is not his friend. Dorm life has never and never will be his friend. When he was a kid, he did the cool kid thing. Ironic selfies, obnoxious shades, and a tough shit attitude that did nothing to convince anyone important that he was anything more than a lonely kid from Texas with a brother that wasn’t home enough whose only friends lived hundreds (thousands in Jade’s case) of miles away.

He keeps the shades, because explaining his eyes to more than one person in a day is enough to give him hives, but the rest of it, he doesn’t give two fucks about. He’s Dave motherfuckin’ Strider. He saved two—no, three, kind of—universes and has made out with aliens, okay? He has made time his bitch, died for his cause time and time again, and had an ultimate rap off with an Insane Clown Posse wannabe while the fucker was on a murder spree. He doesn’t give two shits what other people think of him.

His roommate ain’t half bad though. Quiet kid, with a shit ton of issues just under all that almost corpse-pale skin, but he keeps to himself. He’s studying pediatrics or something and the only people he ever has over is a smokin’ hot black chick who could probably skin him alive and an absolutely adorable couple that makes even him feel like a third wheel.

So yeah, sharing showers and shit is annoying as fuck, but it’s got nothing on being trapped on a flying asteroid with a bunch of aliens and your sister while everyone is taking a nosedive straight into puberty. It could be worse.

Which is why it surprises him to walk back into his dorm room and see Nico kneeling on the floor with some blond kid’s dick jammed down his throat.

He’s quick enough even without his god tier powers, so he’s mostly sure neither of them notice him before he’s back outside the room, but damn, do they really need to have a talk about socks or cowboy hats on doorknobs. Something. Anything.