Chapter Text
*September 1, 2013*
Rank has to shove the door twice before it budges. Something’s blocking it from the inside. Gary doesn’t look up when Rank enters. He just mutters, “Piece of shit,” and yanks so hard the drawer pops free and skids across the room, slamming into the opposite wall. Rank jumps. His suitcase thumps to the floor. Gary finally glances over. “…Freshman?” Gary says. Rank clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. I’m Rank.” “Figures.” Rank waits for him to say more. He doesn’t. “So you’re—uh—Gary?” “Unfortunately,” Then, pointing at Rank’s suitcase: “Is that everything?” “Yeah."
“You gonna cry?” Gary asks. Rank’s head jerks up. “What? No.” “You look like the type,” Gary says, already turning back to the dresser. Rank blinks hard. “I don’t—no, I’m not—” “If you do,” Gary continues, “keep it quiet. I sleep light.” Rank stares at him, completely lost. “I’m not going to cry.” “Good,” Gary says. “I hate noise.” Rank waits a beat. “Do you… make noise?” Gary yanks another drawer. “Mind your business.” Rank exhales slowly. This is going great.
Rank goes back to folding. He doesn’t look at Gary. Gary throws the last drawer into place with a violent shove. “There,” he mutters. “Good enough.” Rank nods even though Gary isn’t talking to him. For a moment, they’re both quiet. Gary paces the width of the room like it’s too small to contain him. Rank focuses on breathing normally, or at least looking like someone who does. Gary stops pacing and stares at him again. “You’re nervous.” “A little,” Rank admits because lying feels pointless. “Don’t be.” Gary shrugs. “I don’t hit people who don’t deserve it.” Rank stiffens. “…Okay.”
Gary smirks like he enjoys that reaction. “Relax. I’m kidding.” Rank can’t tell if he is.
Gary grabs his jacket and heads for the door. “I’m going outside. If you steal anything, I’ll know.” “I’m not going to steal—” But Gary’s already gone, the door banging shut behind him. He stares at the door for a long moment, wondering if he made the worst possible choice in housing. He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, palms over his face. Welcome to college.
Ray’s propping the door open with his hip when Pete shoulders in behind him, carrying two overstuffed bags like it’s nothing. The hallway is loud, slamming doors, rolling carts, someone already blasting music. Ray’s room hasn’t changed, but the way Pete moves through it has: confident, comfortable, like he belongs there as much as Ray does. Pete drops the bags, stretches, and immediately ruffles Ray’s hair just to watch him pretend to be annoyed. “Told you we should’ve left earlier,” he says. “Now the whole damn building’s awake.” Ray elbows him, grinning despite himself.
They spent the whole summer tangled into each other’s routines, breakfast with Ginny, Curley’s teasing, long drives with the windows down, and it shows in the way they keep brushing shoulders without noticing. Ray stands in the middle of the room, taking it all in: familiar walls, new semester, Pete humming under his breath as he pulls open the blinds. It hits him, warm and solid. Pete glances back over his shoulder at Ray’s soft expression, smirks, and says, “Don’t get sappy on me yet. We haven’t even unpacked.”
Collie nudged the door open with his shoulder just as Art was lining up a neat stack of books on his desk. Art looked up immediately, grin breaking across his face. “Collie! Man, get in here.” Collie set his box down carefully, straightening up with a small huff. “Long day already.” Art gave him a knowing look. “Summer treat you alright?” Collie shrugged. “Mostly worked. You?” Art lifted one hand in a half-hearted wave. “Same crap, different weather.”
As Collie glanced around the room, Art leaned back in his chair. “So Gary’s got a new roommate, huh?” he asked, the tone already amused. Collie snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Some freshman. Poor kid has no idea what he just signed up for.”
Richard was halfway through arranging his shelves when Billy’s voice drifted across the room, low, tight, that careful politeness he only used with one person. He stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear. “No, sir,” Billy said after a pause. “I didn’t ask you to pay for anything. I just— I just thought you’d want to know I’m back on campus.” Another silence. Billy’s fingers curled in the hem of his shirt, knuckles white. “Yes, I’m aware. I didn’t say you were obligated. I— Yes. I understand.”
Richard didn’t mean to overhear, but the tone made his stomach twist. Billy’s voice was soft. “I’m not asking for help,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m just trying to tell you I’m okay.” Whatever reply came through the phone made him flinch. Richard set down the book he was holding,and pretended very hard not to be listening, while every line in Billy’s face made him want to tear the phone out of his hand and hang up for him.
Billy kept nodding even though his father couldn’t see him, the gesture instinctive, resigned. “Yes, sir. I know.” His voice was barely holding steady now. “I’m… I’m not trying to cause trouble.” Another pause. A sharper one. Billy swallowed hard. “…No. I didn’t think you’d come visit.” Richard turned his back to give him space, but the words still drifted over, thin, shaky things Billy kept trying to force into shape. When the call finally ended, Billy lowered the phone slowly. He didn’t move for a second.
Richard cleared his throat softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said, not turning around yet. “But… you good?” Billy blinked fast once, twice, and wiped under one eye. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah. I’m fine.” It wasn’t true, but he didn’t press. He just shifted over on his bed to make a little space beside him, silent invitation, no questions. Billy saw it, hesitated, then came over and sat down, hands still trembling faintly in his lap.
“…Your dad?” he asked quietly. Billy’s jaw tightened the second the words hit the air. He didn’t look at Richard, just stared at his own hands, fingers twisting together like they needed something to hold onto. “Yeah,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Just—he was checking in.” It’s a lie. Richard can hear it. Billy knows he can hear it. But Richard only nods once and doesn't press further. "Okay."
Hank had barely finished unlocking the apartment door before Clementine slipped past him, flicking on the lights. The place smelled like dust and old carpet, exactly how they’d left it in May. She set her backpack down on the counter, humming under her breath while Hank hauled in the last of their groceries. “Feels weird being back,” he said, pushing the door shut with his hip. She looked over at him, soft smile settling in. “Weird good or weird bad?” Hank stepped closer, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “Weird good,” he admitted.
That summer back in Boston had been a lot calmer than the previous, neither of their parents had taken it well when they told them they ran off and eloped on a random Friday afternoon. In fact, Clementine's parents barely spoke to her until move in day. This year, though, the anger had cooled into something colder, brittle around the edges. Her parents kept conversations short, clipped, polite in the way people are when they’re still holding a grudge. Clementine learned to live in the silence, keeping busy, keeping out of the house as much as she could. "Just glad to finally be out of my parents house." She sighed. "Come on, let's finish setting up."