para: fredrick: → kajsastina.
“Fuck.”
The short, muttered curse word rang out through the small dorm, and Kyle sat down on his bed with a sigh. Getting dressed with only one available hand was, as it turned out, quite hard. This wasn’t the first time he’d broken a finger, by any means, but it had been a long time since his last break, and he’d forgotten just how annoying it was to try and put clothes on single-handedly. It was at times like these that Kyle regretted not learning to do more things with his feet.
Mercifully, at least, his only class of the day had been cancelled, so that gave him some time to get used to navigating college life one-handed. As he sat on his bed, t-shirt half on (he’d tried, unsuccessfully, to put both arms through the arm holes and given up due to a mixture of pain and laziness), a thought suddenly drifted into his mind, and he turned his attention to a small stack of books by his door. They were mostly his father’s journals, and he’d brought them back from New York over Christmas, having finally decided to read them, even if they brought back some painful memories. There was only one small problem, though. He had nowhere to put them.
Just as he was about to give up on that thought entirely, an idea popped into his head, and Kyle stood up with a smile, briefly gritting his teeth to force his injured hand through the sleeve of his grey v-neck t-shirt, before grabbing his phone and keys and walking out of the door.
The drive to Fredrick’s apartment wasn’t a long one, and once he’d made the short trip up the stairs Kyle let himself in with a spare key he didn’t really remember ever asking for or being given. Pausing briefly to make sure that no noises (inappropriate or otherwise) were emanating from the direction of his friend’s bedroom, Kyle strode across the landing and pushed open the door to Fredrick’s room. “Put your pants on,” he announced. “We’re going out.”