What A Train Wreck

21 ask me something

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Masterlist :)

Marble hornets:

Tim Wright/Masky

Brian Thomas/hoodie

Tim x Brian x reader

oh isn't that embarrassing?

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Brian Thomas x reader

thoughts 1,

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Brim x reader

cut the coffee

preg reader angst

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Hi! First of all, I wanted to say I love the way you write—I’m absolutely in love with your fanfics. Secondly, I really hope I don't make you uncomfortable with this suggestion 😅, but it’s been nagging at me for days. I was thinking about a scenario where Tim and Brian have a girlfriend who ends up pregnant, but they don't react very well to the news. Maybe there could be a little argument—some mild angst, perhaps?—but with a cute ending? I know that sounds totally weird, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it. (Fun fact: when a woman has two husbands and finds out she's having twins, there's a small chance the babies could have different fathers—obviously, it depends on the nature of the sexual encounters.) Anyway, sorry to bother you, but if you do end up writing this crazy idea, I’d be so grateful. Take care! 🙂🙂

My first request! Im sorry this took so long, i don't think it's weird at all. Hopefully this meets expectations :D

2.3k

Brim x preg fem reader, reader gets shit done, mention of sex, Masky and Hoodie technically break into readers home, slight angst?, this is my first angst fic, a small attempt at humor

Your leg bounces, this is the 4th time. You’ve already gotten your answer from the first 3, but sometimes at-home tests can be false. So in reality, you’re just being thorough.

Your eyes track the slow hands of the clock that hangs on the wall. As the seconds pass, your heart gets tighter. The bouncing of your leg gets violent for a second before you plant the bottom on your foot to the ground.

If it is true, real, then what are you going to do? Ignore it? Celebrate? Panic? It’s not like this will change anything right away… Objectively speaking. You have money, healthy relationships, a job, and while you may be over-worked sometimes, you do get paid decently –

90 seconds. Two thin lines appear on the test. 

Oh god it’s real. You're pregnant. 

A hand curls around your stomach. A baby. Tears start lining your eyes, emotions hard to define. Sniffling, you throw the test in the trash with the others. Turning the faucet on, you wash your hands and splash water on your face.

Do you want to be a mother? Are you ready for that? Your life would change drastically, never to really be the same. You’ve had pets in the past, but this isn’t a pet. This thing needs to grow into a functional member of society.

It’s not like you’ll be alone, you have Tim and Brian. The three of you have been together for years, you don't need to figure this out on your own. All you need to do is tell them, that’s the first step.

—-

Tim slams the truck door behind him, stalking to the front door before Brian can tell him off.

The mission didn’t go very well. The plan became derailed rather quickly, as well as every plan after that one. The truck is missing a headlight, much to Brian's heartbreak. The ride back home was tense and silent. Tim and Brian were close, but sometimes, they wanted to kill each other. 

You’re sitting in the living room, gnawing on your nail as you watch whatever reality show was on. There’s nothing left to do but sit and wait. Turns out you can be productive if it means distracting yourself. The whole house is clean, the laundry done, the craft-project that’s been on the side for months is finished, and dinner is made.  

You look as the lock on the front door is turned, Tim swinging it open with a little too much force. Your heart jumps back into your mouth, choking you as you try to greet him.

Tim hums in response, already walking to the kitchen. Brian strides in right after, closing the door behind him.

“Hey Dolly.” He sounds tired, and put-out, walking over to the couch and bending down to kiss you. “How was your day?”

Smiling, you watch as he stands back up. “good.”

He smiles back, then turns to the kitchen. You reach out and grab his hand before he can leave. 

“Actually, I need to talk to you guys about something.” Brian looks down at your hand, tilting his head slightly as his eyebrow raises. Swallowing, you call for Tim, “Can you come back in here?”

Tim walks back to the edge of the living room, a hand running down his face. “Can it wait? We just got home.”

Okay that’s a little disheartening. “I’d rather do it now.” You look down, glancing up at him. “Please.”

He looks at you, a tired and annoyed expression rooted on his face. With a sigh, he caves, walking over to stand closer to your position on the couch.

No one says anything for a moment. They’re waiting on you, while you’re just trying to figure out how speech works again. How should you do it? If you were funny you would have gotten them a card or something. Do you just throw it out there? Lead up to it? 

“I’m pregnant.”

…

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tim reaches for his pocket, pulling out a beat up pack of cigarettes. 

Brian just looks at you, his expression unreadable. The small smile that was there is gone, whether taken by shock or something else, you don’t know.

Your free hand subconsciously goes to hold your stomach, nerves pulling your muscles tight and tense. You don’t know how you expected them to react, but not like this. 

Tim takes a long drag, the obnoxious smell of the smoke insults your nose more than usual. “How’d this happen?”

Your hand tightens on Brian's, somewhere in your brain you note that his grip is completely loose. 

“I think we all know how-”

“Not that! You said you were on birth control, that it was safe. That we wouldn’t need to deal with…” His loud voice trails off, his eyes looking down at your stomach.

You let go of Brians hand, anger taking over nerves. 

“Birth control isn’t 100% Tim! And if memory serves, you were the one who wanted to fuck me raw in the first place.” 

Tim doesn’t say anything, just taking another drag as he scowls. He’s tapping his foot, trying to let off energy. 

“Are you keepin’ it?” Brians voice is smaller, more gentle than Tims, but there’s an edge to it. 

You look back up at him, his expression is still frustratingly neutral. “I… don’t know.”

Tim scoffs, striding past the two of you, wretching the front door open. “I’m not dealin’ with this.” Before your heart can drop, Brian moves to follow him. A broken sound that echoes what might have been his name leaves you.

The door closes with a thud. There’s an awful high-pitch ring in your ears as you sit and stare. That was it? Years together suddenly meaning nothing? Just because-  you look down, a hand still splayed over your stomach. 

Tears spill over your cheeks, dripping off your chin. You lay down, burying your face in one of the many couch pillows. 

—-

You wake up the next morning, still on the couch. Ugh, your head hurts, tears are lining your eyes again. Damn, can’t even get a moment. 

Walking to the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine, you glance at what was meant to be last nights dinner. One of the bowls you had set out is filled with cold food. Tims doing before you called him back to the living room.

Taking some aspirin with your first gulp of caffeine, you walk back into the living room. Eyes landing on the front door, still unlocked.

Anger starts leading your thoughts. 

How dare they? You’ve put up with all their bullshit over the years, but they’re ‘not dealing with this’? Fine. You don’t need them. They were a want, you wanted them in your life. And now, you don’t. It’s that simple. 

Where’s your phone? You need to make some calls. ...

---

Your bedroom has two twin windows, the bed in the middle of them. The room is still tidy and neat from your cleaning spree yesterday. It’s dark outside now, but the orange light from the streetlamp just across the yard leaks in. 

You fall onto your bed, trying to let the heavy feeling in your chest fall out. It doesn’t, just remaining as a dull ache. Your hand raises, rubbing your throbbing temple. The day had gone by slowly, almost horrifically normal. You went to work, had lunch with your friends, got stuck in traffic. Thankfully, the locksmith was able to come by and replace all of the locks, you even paid extra to have the window locks updated. It had taken a good chunk of money but it’s better that it was done quickly. Your boyfri-... ex-boyfriends, had a tendency to be rather difficult to keep out. 

Sitting up, you stare at the orange light on the floor. Thoughts are silent, a good thing too. You feel too raw, too sensitive. A shadow rises along the floor, you look at the window. A gloved hand is trying to jerk the lock open, a thin knife wedged between the window panes. Speak of the devil.

You roll to the other side of the bed, standing up and opening the other window. Peaking outside, the frowny face of Hoodie snaps to you. He’s holding onto the window seal, his arm slightly shaking as he keeps himself up. Masky is standing on the ground below, staring up at the both of you.

The world seems so still, silent. The fog has already set in, thick and making the street light appear hazy. It feels like this is all there is, a little bubble with just the three of you.

Masky sighs, lifting his mask to put a cigarette on his lip. “We just wanted to talk.”

“And you couldn’t knock on the door?”

“Would you have let us in?” Fair point, the answer would probably be a resounding no. “It sure didn't take you very long to change the locks.”

The audacity pierces your chest, righteous fury filling your gut. “You’re the ones that left!” In the corner of your eye, Hoodie is still trying to open the window. You snap at him. “That one doesn’t open.”

“We weren’t even gone a full 24 hours.”

“You left!” Tears start to choke you. No one moves for a moment, everyone just staring at each other. Hoodie re-adjusts his grip on the seal, getting ready to make the jump to grab the one under you. “I tell you I’m pregnant and you left, both of you!”

Hoodie jumps and grabs onto the seal beneath you as you slam the window shut, locking it tightly. Quickly, you walk around your bed and open the other window. 

“You said that one doesn’t open!”

“And now, that one doesn’t open.” 

Hoodie lets out an exaggerated huff, his shoulders sinking into his form before slowly climbing back to the ground. He doesn’t want to try jumping to your window again, the game would only tire him out for nothing.

Tim sighs from his place on the ground, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks up at you. “You’re not makin’ this any easier Sug.”

“Why should I?”

Neither man says anything. What would you even like to hear? What could be said to undo the hurt of the last few hours? You choke tears back down, you don’t want to be any kind of vulnerable right now. 

 Hoodie takes the ski-mask off his head, his expression is calm but his eyebrows are slightly pinched. “We didn’t mean to walk out like that. We were frustrated- it had nothin’ to do with you.”

You cross your arms, looking down on both of them. Nothing to do with you your ass. Speech has left you. You fear that if you try, your voice will just embarrassingly crack. 

Brian tilts his head at your lack of a response. He stares up at you, brows furrowing as the seconds tick by. “Dolly, do you really think we were leavin’ you?” 

A mock laugh leaves your throat. “How else am I meant to interpret ‘I'm not dealing with this’?” You hold onto the smile, if you stop you’re gonna start crying again.

They both look at you, then at each other. 

Heat is crawling up your spine, then swallowing your face. God you hate the feeling. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, anything to keep a straight face. Anything to keep tears from falling. 

You slam the window shut, slapping the lock and throwing the curtains in place. You’re done with this. If they can leave in the middle of a conversation, then so can you. It’s only fair. 

Crawling back on your bed, you hide under the covers, your head beneath your pillow. You cry, sounds slightly muffled from the bedding. Unfortunately, it also prevents you from hearing the lock snap open and window roll up.

A weight dips your bed, large hands lightly place themselves on your back, rubbing circles. You groan, gripping your pillow tighter before snapping up and seeing Tim. Damn them both. Pulling your legs under you, you twist and hit him with your rumpled pillow. 

“You are such a piece of shit!”

Tim lets you hit him a few more times, each hit causing some static in his hair. You look for Brian, throwing your pillow at him as he closes the window.

Hands cup your cheeks, fingers brushing away the tear streaks as Tim guides you to look at him. Brown eyes looking into yours, “I’m sorry sug.” 

You don't want to look at him. His big, wet, brown eyes are too much. You want to be angry, you have a right to be angry. Lips lightly trace over your face, giving gentle kisses to your eyelids and cheeks. “Was thinkin’ straight outta my ass.”

Your hand reaches up to hold his wrist, his jacket is still chilled from the night air. Nuzzling your face into his warm palm as you hiccup a laugh, agreeing with him.

The bed dips on the other side as Brian joins the two of you, ducking his head to kiss your shoulder. He’s already ditched the hoodie, leaving it crumpled on the floor. His thin mustache tickles your skin. “You’re stuck with us Dolly.” Settling against the headboard, Brian wraps his arm around your shoulders. He pulls you back to lay on him, tucking his face into your hair.

Tim sheds his jacket, tossing it aside and laying his weight down as he sandwiches you between the two of them. He kisses his way down, stopping at your stomach, nuzzling his face. His hands come to hold your waist, wrapping his arms around your form. 

Your hand comes up to pet his dark hair. You’ll need to talk about it, of course. But for now, this was good. 

[distinguishedcattheorist]

I really like the idea that Hoodie is still using videotapes to store his recordings, something many people have stopped doing.

So imagine getting home one day, and there’s a small box sitting on the doormat. You didn’t order anything, so it’s probably a mistake, but you pick it up anyway.

There’s no label, no address. Lifting the lid reveals a familiar plastic block, a clear portion of the plastic is stripped down one side.

Another VHS tape.

With a small huff, curiosity now satisfied, you place the lid back on. You toss the box on the table with the rest. You’re torn between throwing them out or buying a VHS player, but ultimately choose to focus on something else.

Meanwhile Hoodie is watching through binoculars, getting more and more upset that you’re ignoring him.

[i-will-write]

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Masky doesn't have much experience in dealing with emotions. He has a job, does that job well, then leaves. He protects Tim, shields him from the horrors that seem ever-present. When things get too much, Masky takes the reins to handle it. It's his purpose.

But he doesn't know what the fuck to do about this.

Tim had been avoidant, haunting voices whispering in his head. You didn't mean anything with your questions, just talking from curiosity. A sweet notion really, your concern about him.

Too bad Tim didn't see it that way. Placing blame where none was meant to be, using logics that don't hold under any ounce of thought.

It's been a few days since that night. Your face falls every time you catch sight of him, mask or not. You find a reason to leave when he walks into the room.

And Tim, well, he refuses to do anything about it. Comforting himself with more cigarettes and denial. When he can't have that, he's hiding behind the mask.

Masky's never been... around this much, it's bizarre. He had to steal Brians sandwich the other day to stall the pain in his stomach after figuring out it was hunger. That's what it felt like? Never mind the process of chewing.

Tim being miserable is one thing, but you? Both of you? Because of each other? And he has to learn how to take care of a human body? Masky's got to fix this.

--

had a thought, this may become something, may not

[thememedaddy]

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Masky peers down from above, standing over your bed.

You face is relaxed, moving slightly as you listen to your music. Headphones drowning out all your other senses.

He’s just standing there. He had a purpose when he walked in, but he just stands at the side of the bed. Content to watch. Maybe you’ll notice him, then he can yell at you for not paying attention.

Tim is fond of you, in his own way. Masky supposes he is also 'fond' of you. Why else is he watching you lay there instead of yanking you out of bed and yelling at you? He came in here to yell at you.

but oh, you look so peaceful. Safe. Laying out, spiraled on your bed, a blanket slightly tangled around your legs, your arm cuddling a pillow.

Masky likes you like this. you're fun to watch. Doing so almost calms a nerve he didn't realize was there.

it's okay, you can keep laying there, he'll be here to protect you

---

is the vision visioning?

[pr3yinst1ncts]

domesticated animalistic Masky that takes care of both Tim and reader is actually SO important to me. :(

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Masky peers down from above, standing over your bed.

Your face is relaxed, moving slightly as you listen to your music. Headphones drowning out all your other senses.

He’s just standing there. He had a purpose when he walked in, but he just stands at the side of the bed. Content to watch. Maybe you’ll notice him, then he can yell at you for not paying attention.

Tim is fond of you, in his own way. Masky supposes he is also 'fond' of you. Why else is he watching you lay there instead of yanking you out of bed and yelling at you? He came in here to yell at you.

but oh, you look so peaceful. Safe. Laying out, spiraled on your bed, a blanket slightly tangled around your legs, your arm cuddling a pillow.

Masky likes you like this. you're fun to watch. Doing so almost calms a nerve he didn't realize was there.

it's okay, you can keep laying there, he'll be here to protect you

---

is the vision visioning?

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Cut the Coffee

reader is a college student working at a coffee shop just trying to get through their last semester. Unfortunately, someone thinks it's funny to stalk them

2.7

Tim x Brian x gen neutral reader, stalking, reader is in college but nothing is described, technically Tims major was never defined so im using that to my advantage, half college AU half coffee shop AU, most interactions will take place in the coffee shop after this part, ngl i might have left everything a bit too vague, I've never written Brian so,

for @missmaggiemay, this low-key might be shit, sorry about that

God you hate mornings. Well, mornings are fine. It's the getting up at 3am to get ready for work then having to go about your day as normal. That's what you hate. It could be worse, of course. Your first class wasn’t that far of a walk from here, the coffee shop being on campus is damn convenient. Of course, it’s not like that was going to stop you from complaining about it. 

Stupid cup of the day, it was always the openers job to pick one. Last time you opened, you had decided on it being a plain black coffee. Of course, your manager didn’t see the humor in that and you got a ‘verbal warning’. Which was just them ranting at you for an hour. You twirl the marker around in your hand. That's the problem with unlimited choice, there's so much to choose from. 

It was one of the last things you needed to do too. The pastries for the day were already in the ovens, the chairs were put down, the lights on, the display counter was spotless…  

God, you're tired. Damn your coworker. Convincing you to switch shifts as they did. Normally, you’d have an evening shift or are closing. But you can see the appeal of working this early. It’s peaceful, and quiet, till 7o’clock hits and people need their caffeine fix, of course.

The door opens slightly, a soft 'ding dong' rings through the shop. "Hello, are you open?" 

You snap back into reality, quickly looking at your watch. "Oh, yea!" It's already 5:03, how long were you just standing there? A shiver runs over your skin, the open door letting enough chilled air inside to reach you.

The man walks inside fully, closing the door behind him. Water runs off his yellowish hoodie and onto the floor mat below. He looks at you for a moment before gesturing with his thumb to the door behind him with an awkward smile. "Yer sign's not on." There’s a southern twang in his voice.

Embarrassment tries to settle on your cheeks as you let out a small laugh. "Sorry, I'm still half asleep." You speed walk around to the edge of the counter before the man softly raises a hand.

"I've got it..." he twists around, clicking the switch on before turning back to face you. "It’s no trouble." 

The neon glow of ‘Welcome In” reflects against the glass window, giving the shop a slightly cooler light source. Heat settles on your cheeks. His smile is cute, the small gap in his teeth adding an almost boyish charm.

“Thank you,” you walk back to the register, "What can I get you?"

The small mustache on his lip quirks as his eyes grace over the chalk board menu that hangs above your head. His eyes fall to the side, landing on the still open markers and blank sign that lay abandoned on the counter. "What's the cup today?"

You softly grimace, "Haven't decided yet. Any suggestions?"

Brown eyes look at you, a small smile on his face as his eyes crinkle. "I'll trust your judgment."

So, he's cute but of no help. Classic. You quickly type in the first drink that comes to mind. “Here or to-go?” 

“Here.” 

Silence rolls in as you turn around to face the machines, turning on the grinder and getting milk out from the mini fridge stored under it.

"So, uhh, do I just sit anywhere?"

You take a second, looking around the empty shop. You gesture vaguely, "I'm sure I'll find you."

He takes a seat on one of the tall stools on his side of the counter, swinging his wet backpack onto the seat next to him. It’s normal for students to be on campus, even at this god forsaken hour. Normally, classes start around 8 or 9, but some of the more specialized programs can start around 6. 

You quickly pour the hot foam in his drink, the earthy scent of coffee filling the air, before sprinkling the final touch on top.

“Here,” quickly setting the small latte cup in front of him, you feel nerves tingling up your spine. It's not that you didn't know how to make coffee, it's that coffee is hit or miss for most people. If he wanted something classic, then surely, he would have ordered it. So he can’t be upset with what you give him, right?

He raises the cup to his lips, taking a long, slow drink. It’s warm, which is what he really wanted. The feeling spreads from his insides out, a slight shiver wracks through him.

“Well? Is it worthy of the sign?”

Looking at you again, he hums. “Yea, I’d say so,” he takes another drink, licking foam off his top lip. “Cinnamon?”

You smile, nodding. “It seemed fitting.” You turn, picking up the chalk marker again, and try to write the words ‘Cinnamon Latte’ in your best font. 

His eyebrow raises, “‘fittin’?”

“Oh,” You clear your throat, setting the small kickstand in place. Why don’t you think before you speak? Being tired isn’t an excuse. You work in a coffee shop, take advantage of that. Your focus turns to the espresso machine, cleaning and putting everything back in its place. “Yea…”

He takes another drink, squinting his eyes at you. “You wanna expand on that?”

“No,” you really don’t have a reason. But as you put the cinnamon can back into its proper place, ya, it does seem rather fitting for him. “It’s just… right.”

You turn back around, facing him again. 

His wide dark eyes look into yours for a moment, before dropping to the messy foam of his drink, cheeks a redder shade than they were before, hands clutching the small cup.

Beep Beep Beep

Letting out a quiet curse- because you forgot-  you quickly walk through the swinging doors into the small kitchen in the back. Turning off the timer, then the ovens, you pull the baked treats out, setting them to cool on one of the nearby steel tables. Carefully, you gently transfer the treats to their properly labeled places on the display trays. The whole time murmuring to yourself. 

What was that supposed to mean? Even with the nuances and flexible rules of the English language, how is one meant to interpret that? Might as well just spout gibberish next time you see a cute guy.

Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. Pausing your task, you take it out and look. There’s a new message from a random number:

Be careful, Sug.

You pause, wondering if you should block it, text back, or if it’s even worth the effort. It’s probably just one of those automated texts to see if the number is still active for spam callers. Or maybe some weird attempt at a prank? Turning your phone off and shoving it back in your pocket, you decide to ignore it.

After a few minutes, setting up the treats in neat rows and trying to reassure yourself that you can still speak comprehensively, you walk back into the front, balancing the two large trays. 

The store is still empty, other than Cinnamon Guy, as you’ve deemed him.

Walking back behind the counter, you slide the trays into place in the glass display. There. You’re completely done with opening tasks. Tasks that are supposed to take 40, maybe 50 minutes to complete, were completed in… You look at your watch, 5:25. You know, management always has unrealistic expectations, it's okay.

It’s quiet again, you don’t want to interrupt or bother Cinnamon Guy, but he’s your only source of entertainment right now. He’s pulled out a laptop and a thick, well-used notebook. The red tipped erasure is a blur as he quickly writes notes without looking away from the dim laptop screen.

The rain eventually softens just as light starts creeping back into the world. More people enter the shop, enough for you to forget about him as the girl standing at your register won’t decide what to order.

 Cinnamon guy gives a small nod when he finally catches your eye again. Closing his laptop and notebook, slipping them both back into his bag. Quickly slapping down a $10 bill, he locks dark eyes on you again, smiling as a ‘thanks’ leaves him. 

The rest of your shift went by as normal. Boring and uneventful. You guess it’s the best kind of shift you can have. Karens and entitled people were common, but you had made it out with minimal exposure. Did you feel bad for leaving your coworker to deal with the rest of the rush? Maybe a little, but you did need to get to class. 

Sitting in said class now, a part of you wishes you had stayed at work. At least there you get paid to waste your life. 

The professor droned on, your eyes slowly closed. This class has been nothing but a pain since it started. Of course, the one class you don’t check the professor, is the one responsible for a majority of your weekly dread. The large lecture hall is filled with what may be half of the original amount of students you saw on the first day of class. Should’ve taken the hint. 

You glance at the digital clock on the wall, a solid 45 minutes left. Your eyes close again. Thankfully, you have nothing to do after this class, so you’re free to enjoy your time as you see fit. Your roommate has classes in the evening, a rare opportunity to be home without them around to bother you presents itself, who are you to ignore fate? 

You can already see it. You’ll grab a quick, cheap lunch, walk back home, eat on the couch with your show blasting on the TV-

“Hey.” 

A voice sounds in front of you. Your eyes snap open, locking on the annoyed expression of a man. “Do you wanna be my partner?” 

“Urr-” You glance around you, the professor has stopped talking, everyone is pairing up in groups or just leaving. Looking at the clock shows only 10 minutes are left of class. You need to get this spacing-out thing checked out.

Snapping your eyes back onto the man in front of you- a red flannel peeking through a tan hunting jacket catches your eyes first. His dark hair is slightly damp from the rain that’s still pouring outside, does that jacket he’s wearing not have a hood? In this weather? 

It’s strange, you’ve been in this class for a few weeks now, but you’ve never seen him. Not that you pay so much attention to those around you, but damn. How could you miss him? 

“For the midterm?” he tacks on. He’s still giving you that stare, though his eyes are slightly more annoyed with your lack of an answer. 

You clear your throat, coughing out a “yes”. Quickly, you grab your bag, moving it aside to make room for him to sit.

He drops into the seat next to you, placing his bag on the ground as he takes his laptop out, turning it back on. 

Looking down at your own laptop, seeing a black screen, you move your finger across the keypad, hoping it’ll come back on quickly. Hell, you need to start paying attention. 

“I’m Tim.” He holds out a hand. You grab it, telling your own name as you give it a shake. 

Tim gives a small hum of acknowledgement, turning his attention back to the instruction packet on the class page. Reading it aloud for you as you pull it up as fast as you can, the assignment doesn’t seem that difficult, just complicated. 

As he talks, going on about how he thinks the two of you should split the work, your mind wanders back to the coffee shop. Tim's accent has a similar tone to Cinnamon guys. Briefly, you wonder if they are from the same area. 

No, that’s stupid, come on. Not everyone with a southern accent knows each other, be better than that.

“So what do you think?” 

“Ya, sounds good.” 

“Great,” Tim pauses, looking back at his laptop. “Are you free after class? We can go ahead and finish the first few parts.”  

“No, I have work right after this.” Is a lie still bad when you know it’s harmless? Probably, but damn it, how often are you going to get the apartment to yourself? You shift, grabbing your phone from your pocket, opening the contacts and holding it out to him.

Looking at you, Tim shifts, “Ah,” gently taking your phone, he types his number. He does a double-take to make sure they’re correct, before handing the phone back to you. You miss the satisfied look that crosses Tim's face as you turn to put your phone back. 

The pair of you continue talking about the project's instructions, bouncing ideas back and forth for what the topic should be with the few minutes you have remaining.

—---

The rain had finally moved on by the time you started walking back home, only a light sprinkle hitting you every now and then. The air was still cold, just not nearly as bad as it was this morning. The sun is peaking through the thick clouds, letting some warmth back in the world. 

Unlocking your front door and walking in, the weight of today lessens. Wordlessly, you set your lunch on the table, kicking off your shoes, slinging your backpack from your sore shoulder to the ground.

Your roommates door swings open, their furious expression alone already causing another knot to form in your shoulder. Black makeup smudges around her eyes, hair slightly messy and tangled. You thought they would already be gone, but she’s gotten in the bad habit of skipping her classes, apparently. “Don’t go through my stuff!” 

Ugh, this again. Ever since moving in with nutty over there, you’ve gotten non-stop complaints and accusations. When moving in with a randomly assigned roommate, it’s a little expected that tension would arise as living spaces are altered. But come on. 

“I left this morning at 3:30 am, and am just now getting home. When did I go through your stuff?”

She lets out a snarling snort, “Well someone did! I wasn’t here last night, but you were.” 

You sigh, grabbing your lunch and backpack from the floor, walking to your door, so much for fate. “You know Alex, maybe if you cleaned up after yourself, you’d be able to find your stuff…” You close the door as they start yelling, too focused on not caring to really care.

Your room was okay. Not that big but you have your own bathroom and the view from the window is nice, so it’s not like you can really complain. Looking around, it was the same mess you had left it as…

Putting lunch on your desk, you let yourself collapse on the soft bed. Burying your face in your pillow as you let the tension out of your body. The bed is so nice, you could lay here forever. Maybe you should forget about lunch and keep laying here, that sounds like a nice plan.

There’s a small vibration, your phone getting another text. It’s the same number from this morning.

I’m glad you’re home safe

You stare, scrunching your face. You had forgotten about that… Typing quickly, you write ‘wrong number’ and hit send. Your about to delete the chat when another comes in:

Nah, it's not

Three dots start jumping as you wait for the other person to type. How are you meant to react to this?

The next message is a photo. It’s dark, taken outside. You click on it, zooming in to get the details. The visible background is familiar; it's the coffee shop! You’re standing behind the counter, talking to Cinnamon Guy as he drinks the latte. 

All you can do is stare. Your heart is frozen in your chest, your brain is silent as it tries to process. 

Another photo pops through. The photo is zoomed in, a little blurry, but still readable. In the lecture hall from class, you’re sitting with Tim, smiling. How did they even get this photo?

You’re pretty when you smile

Even if it’s not at me Dolly

[killer-buzz-queen]

Today is the only day you can reblog this

[distinguishedcattheorist]

holy shit i hate writing dialog. Why can't everyone just vibe together telepathically?

[distinguishedcattheorist]

Gimme ideas

[yaoiblackmold]

I don't have time for sex, I'm too busy running a blog that only 11 or 12 people care about

[kosmogrl]

august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good

[rainyfuneral]

ohmygodohmygod this is literally tim