ＳＣＯＴＴ ＆ ＪＯＳＨ : things you said (or sounds you made) that i wasn't meant to hear, but i'm the only guy in this fucking frat who doesn't have to slap the top trim of every doorway i walk through, or listen to music without earbuds in, or just bounce basketballs on the bedroom floor or kick soccer balls around until i inevitably break something in a space where i clearly knew i didn't have enough room to play, so you probably didn't even know i was home.
“Yeah, he was being a little bitch about it.”
At first, Josh had looked normal–and Scott was from SoCal, so normal was a very generous term–but he seemed alright. Sure, a little quiet, maybe a little reserved, but all around a good guy. Scott didn’t judge. Until…
“It was just a couple of centipedes, but he hella flipped. Said something about privacy.”
Perhaps the prank of sneaking centipedes into Josh’s bed didn’t go over so well, but how else were they supposed to bond? Josh never seemed to want to hang with them.
“Like, there’s no privacy in Pike Nu Theta Epsilon. That’s why you come here. But, whatever. He’s just butthurt ‘cause he’s a nerd.”
He dribbles the basketball from his spot on the couch before passing it to his brother, letting it bounce on the coffee table on its journey across the living room.
“Like he’s always hanging out in his room. Said it’s ‘hard to study with us being so loud.’”
His voice adopts a deeper, nasal quality that sounded absolutely nothing like Josh, but it’s what the dude deserves.
“So maybe, like, stop studying? I had a 1.0 last semester. Didn’t see me whining about it.”
Dribble, dribble. Pass. If it wasn’t raining, they’d probably be having this conversation out on the quad, but stupid Washington rained all the time.
“If he thinks he’s so much better than us, why’s he even here? Like, move out, bro. Go somewhere else.”
He catches the ball and attempts to spin it on the tip of his finger, honing his inner NBA star, instead watching as it fumbles down at his bare feet. Lame.
“And I know his phone got stolen at the last party, but come on. If you have a bunch of people over, someone’s bound to steal a phone. Like, you know everywhere’s fair game. Maybe you should’ve locked your door.”
The sound of a door opening, the sound of a door closing; their house was a revolving door. He cranes his head to see who it is, but they’re already gone before he can see their face, so he shrugs and turns back to his brother.
“I don’t know, man. It’s just dumb. I can feel his beady little eyes judging me all the time. Like, dude, what’d I do to you, you know? Whatever. Let’s play Smash so I can own your ass as Pac-Man again.”
Send me a ship and one of these prompts for a drabble | Accepting
