...getting late, better just head home.
And by home you mean the dorms. There was no way you drove across half of New Mexico and the width of Texas just to reach Lousiana each day.
You were rather proud to be able to maintain housing on campus as a junior. Sure, it wasn’t cheaper than off campus apartments, but it required maintaining a near perfect GPA to stay on campus past freshman year. Well that or be on a sports team, but you’ve turned down recruitment offers from the Mustangs for three and a half years. You were here purely on academic accomplishments and proud of it.
Not that you have anything against the sports teams; some of them were your more studious classmates in your first two years. But as you transitioned outside of general requirements and into deeper biology and chemistry, you saw less and less of them. You think there were two ladies from the basketball team who were majored in Biology Education, but that was about it for your senior classes. Still, a lot of them continued to greet you with gusto whenever you ran into them at the gym.
But enough distracting yourself on the bus ride back to campus. You’re here.
Nodding politely to the driver as you step off the bus, you break into a casual jog as soon as your feet hit the pavement. It takes just a little bit of dodging around students taking afternoon classes or heading to the 24 hour cafeteria or gym, but you eventually reach the rather sterile yet somehow homey lobby of the dormitories. Few quick flights of stairs latter, and you soon find yourself unlocking door to your four bedroom flat.
Only to greated by ear melting heavy metal the second you step into the foyer. You quickly close the door behind you, used to this song and dance after three years. Enduring the bass reverberating in your bones and the wails setting your mane on fire, you manage to reach the stereo and turn the thing WAY down before your ear drums start to bleed. “Seriously guys, I do not know how you manage to study to this audio apocalypse.”
Your two roommates look at it each other, your interruption of their tunes being the first indication to them that you were home. Synchronizing a shrug they answer in unison, “It’s an engineering thing.” And that’s your roommates in a nutshell; metal heads who would one day be working with actual heavy metal.
Luca Marmo, a blond haired human who was here on full scholarship and being supported by his parents. The word entitled came to mind when you first met him, but thankfully you pushed those thoughts aside and got to know him. Guy is crazy smart, to the point of tutoring some of the grad students during their office hours. If university was just a system to exchange money for accreditation, he could have been handed his degree when he first stepped onto campus. There’s also something to be said for learning to work with others, though, and most of Luca’s electives where speech and social science classes to learn to actually talk to people... something the he still needed to work on, but at least he was aware of the problem.
Then there was Kenta Sato, a raccoon dog straight from Japan. The short little fellow (while a lot of people were shorter than you, Kenta really qualified at 4’4”) spoke perfect English, though given how many literature electives he took it wasn’t surprising. If he added an extra semester to his four year program he could actually graduate with a dual major in Civic Engineer and World Literature. You once asked him why he wasn’t majored in Literature outright, and he mumbled something about family obligations, followed by an awkward silence as everyone mentally acknowledged that was something you’d never know anything about.
But back to the present, you smirk off their dismissal of your actual taste in music. Pulling off your cafe polo and slinging if over your shoulder, you walk over to the kitchen and mix yourself up some electrolytes. “Yes, well when the hivemind of Metallica decides to release you from it’s grip, I’ll introduce you to some actual music.” When you join them in the sitting area, they are still rolling their eyes. Probably because whatever was still pounding in the background wasn’t actually Metallica. “Though honestly, I don’t see why you two use your degrees as a scapegoat for the types of music you like. Don’t see me using growing up in the south as an excuse for loving country.”
Luca smirks as he jeers back, “Yeah, or studying biotech for turning yourself into a living anatomy chart. Do you feel yourself up during tests?”
Sticking your tongue out, you put down your drink and flip your shirt to the back of your chair. “No. That’s only for studying.” Raising your right hand behind your head, you reach your left across to your sculpted core and turn a bit to the side before counting off. “External oblique, rectus abdominis, serratus anterior, latissimus dorsi, rhomboid, pectoralis major, trapezius, sternocleidomastoid.”
Luca sticks his tongue back at you. Flashing a cocky grin back, you up the ante by snapping your left arm into a bicep flex and counting off with your right hand. “Deltoid, teres major, biceps, triceps, flexor carpi radialis, brachioradialis, flexor digitorum superficialis, lubrical, extensor digiti minimi, extensor carpi ulnaris, extensor digitorum, extensor carpi radical.”
It’s only when you stand up and start to drop your pants that Luca stops you with hysterical laughter. “OK. I fold. I fold.” Smirking, you pull up your pants and sit back down. This type of mental war was common between you two. “Seriously dude,” Luca adds as he gets his diaphragm under control, “You need to think of poor Kenta’s right hand. Between you and the Brofessor he’s going to have enough bio beefcake to keep him draining the tanuki balls all night.”
Oh, right. Kenta’s crush on you. Looking over towards the raccoon dog, you saw him trying and failing look at his laptop rather than staring deer in a headlights at your chiseled marble physique. You thought you getting a girlfriend would have helped with that, but apparently the allure only got higher when the fruit became forbidden. “Hey, he can look as much as he wants,” you say as you put your arms behind your head. “But Amy wants picture if he takes it to third base.”
That gets the raccoon dog's attention, his face going red like a ripening tomato. Unsurprisingly, it’s Luca who speaks up during this moment. “So... wait... she needs pictures if he sucks you off, but he can fondle and kiss you as much as he wants?” You open your mouth to form a rebuttal... but stop with your equine chompers hanging wide open...
OK. Point one to Amy. The master tease wins without even being in the room.
Coughing, and hoping you’re not blushing too much yourself, you roll back the subject a bit. “Anyway, who is this Brofessor you speak of? Fresh blood in the college of biology I don’t know about?” Which would actually be surprising given how many grad students you’ve been talking to while deciding if you want to head into the industry after graduation or go academic.
“Nope,” Luca once again chimes in. Snatching Kenta’s laptop away from him, earning only a weak hey from the raccoon dog in protest, the human quickly pulls up a website from Kenat’s favorite folder and hands it over to you. “He’s some up and coming professor out west in California. Going to be setting some high bars for you if you stick around in academia.” And... yep, that is one hunk of a rat. The bowtie and skin tight dress shirt makes him one good flex away from being chip-n-dale dancer. And do those ears show signs of former piercings?
Still, was that it? One buff academic?
You earn a raised eyebrow from Luca and some protests from Kenta as you quickly type in something into the url bar of the web browser. Then, before the raccoon dog can snatch it away from you, you quickly spin the laptop around to show both your friends your secret comeback.
“...yare yare,” mutters Kenta in his native language, the small slip telling you you’ve done your job.
“Holy,” gasps Luca, “Please tell me this kola has his hugs registered as lethal weapons.” Hmmm, pity. It would have been a true victory if you had left Luca speechless.
“That,” you say as you retrieve your shirt and stand up, “Is my junior year literature teacher, Mister Eerkens. Muscle bound academics might be rare, but it’s a big country with an equally large school system. Fringe perk of five foster families dragging me across three different high schools,” you add as you walk by Kenta and mess up his perfectly combed hair with your free hand, “Is that I got to browse. Do well on your midterms, and I’ll have three more teachers for you to add to your favorites folder.”
Kenta doesn’t appear to hear you, as he just keeps on scrolling down the splash page of Diederick Eerken’s greatest camera phone images. Heh, just wait until he finds the spirit day pictures.
Still, you trust Luca to fill him in on the details of the verbal contract. It will certainly ensure that Kenta gets an A on his midterms, not that you had much doubt that he wouldn’t get one anyway. Now if only Amy’s teasing to find the guy a boyfriend was more than just teasing...
Anyway, your job here is done. Heading to your room, you get fully undressed before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your waste. Then you grab your shower bag and head to the communal bathroom that made this a dormitory rather than an apartment. Thankfully it was one bathroom to you and your roommates and not the entire floor, but that was more the reason to use it now so it would be free later for Kenta to take his time relieving the pressure from all this teasing.
After all, you had a date tonight and busy day tomorrow. Last thing you needed was sitcom drama like...
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