He thinks it's pretty awkward to acknowledge the girls who are clearly only there for the night, so he doesn't. Even if he'll see them in class on Monday. Even if it's someone he's known for more than three years now. It's easy enough to pretend they're not there, though the guys exchange quiet glances when the girls aren't looking. Peter's got his blanket and pillow scrunched up under his arm, trooping down to the empty room at the end of the hall, because his roommate, Jason, has a girlfriend that's apparently trying to set a record for most nights not spent in her own room.
Charlie stops short at his door and watches him for a moment, like she wants to make sure he's not going to topple over or crack his head open on the wall. “Can you make it to bed okay?” she asks, because even though she likes to make it look like she's a tough hardass, she's actually a big softy at heart.
Scott nods and reaches for the handle. He's not that drunk. And his bed's only a short ten feet across the room. “I'm good. Promise.”
“Kay, good. Sleep tight, buttmunch.”
“You too, Chuck.”
She unhooks her arm from around his waist and heads back down the hall, and Scott watches her until she disappears outside. He doesn't have to worry about her, not in Brumley. There are only three dorms, and they make a U-shape at the north end of campus. The upperclassmen girls are only twenty feet from the upperclassmen guys – as if mere brick and plaster could keep them apart – and the freshmen round them out from behind, because there's no better hazing than segregating the newbies.
Scott checks his watch. Quarter til five. He has to wake up in four hours, and he's not even remotely tired yet. But he locks the door behind him, strips down to his boxers, and crawls into bed. Everyone complained about the twin-sized frames at first, the paper-thin mattresses, but he's used to them now. Now, they feel like home. He thinks he'll see if he was wrong about Ben in the morning – if he's in his room, they can ride together. Ben's practically one of the family, and even though his dad always complains about obtaining an extra son that he didn't even help procreate, he knows he doesn't actually mind. And his little brothers love Ben. More than they love Scott, somedays. He's okay with that.
He scrunches his pillow up under his head and stares at the smooth ceramic ceiling. He thinks about the fact that he's still got makeup on his face, though by now it's probably flaked off and runny, caked on below his forehead where he'd been sweating the most. He thinks about the lab report due Tuesday that he hasn't even started yet. He thinks about what Liana Burke would look like naked. He thinks about the fact that he's going to need a haircut soon, and then he stops thinking, and his breathing slows down and labors into loud, heavy snores.
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Charlie stops short at his door and watches him for a moment, like she wants to make sure he's not going to topple over or crack his head open on the wall. “Can you make it to bed okay?” she asks, because even though she likes to make it look like she's a tough hardass, she's actually a big softy at heart.
Scott nods and reaches for the handle. He's not that drunk. And his bed's only a short ten feet across the room. “I'm good. Promise.”
“Kay, good. Sleep tight, buttmunch.”
“You too, Chuck.”
She unhooks her arm from around his waist and heads back down the hall, and Scott watches her until she disappears outside. He doesn't have to worry about her, not in Brumley. There are only three dorms, and they make a U-shape at the north end of campus. The upperclassmen girls are only twenty feet from the upperclassmen guys – as if mere brick and plaster could keep them apart – and the freshmen round them out from behind, because there's no better hazing than segregating the newbies.
Scott checks his watch. Quarter til five. He has to wake up in four hours, and he's not even remotely tired yet. But he locks the door behind him, strips down to his boxers, and crawls into bed. Everyone complained about the twin-sized frames at first, the paper-thin mattresses, but he's used to them now. Now, they feel like home. He thinks he'll see if he was wrong about Ben in the morning – if he's in his room, they can ride together. Ben's practically one of the family, and even though his dad always complains about obtaining an extra son that he didn't even help procreate, he knows he doesn't actually mind. And his little brothers love Ben. More than they love Scott, somedays. He's okay with that.
He scrunches his pillow up under his head and stares at the smooth ceramic ceiling. He thinks about the fact that he's still got makeup on his face, though by now it's probably flaked off and runny, caked on below his forehead where he'd been sweating the most. He thinks about the lab report due Tuesday that he hasn't even started yet. He thinks about what Liana Burke would look like naked. He thinks about the fact that he's going to need a haircut soon, and then he stops thinking, and his breathing slows down and labors into loud, heavy snores.