Chapter Text
Please note before submitting this form that no applications will be considered until the start of the winter session.
"What the fuck ?" Jason stared at the screen. Form 23-C looked back at him, uncaringly flinging it’s devastating clauses in his face.
He sat back on his creaky desk chair and ran his fingers through his hair, groaning. They wouldn’t let you change roommates until the Folly? That was December; three months from now. What the fuck kind of policy was that?
Maybe he should rethink this college thing. But shit, he'd already paid tuition ( himself thankyouverymuchNOT Bruce), he'd already attended a week's worth of orientation classes and he'd loved every second.
He fucking liked college, okay? Baby Jay, that naive, spitfire, hell raising kid-that-was had dreamed of this back in the Bowery. He'd be the first Todd in history to go to college, get a fancy degree and a well paying job, buy his mom a house far away from dealers and pimps, the whole impossible works.
Shit went hella sideways after that, but Jason had been astonished to realize that a kernel of that innocent fantasy had survived all the cataclysmic shit that had happened to him. When Steph first bought up her college applications, Jason had at first felt really old; then a little worm of curiosity had burrowed under his skin. A planted ID and a couple of months research about the limits of the GI Bill later and here he was.
And it was fucking great.
Except for one thing.
The bed on the opposite side of the room let out a thunderous snore, followed by a congested gark gark gark.
Jason sent the mound of blankets a look that would have hardened mafiosos pissing their pants.
Oh, it wasn't the snoring that got under his skin. Jaxxon Drake in the waking world was such a terminal fucking asshole that Jaxxon Drake asleep was downright charm city. Even now Drake's half of the room was a complete fucking wreck. There hadn't been a day this week he hadn’t staggered in shitfaced from some frat party where he was begging for a pledge. He drove a state of the art, brand new Range Rover, flashed his three grand Omega watch, six grand pretentious gold jewellery, ten grand designer wardrobe and twenty grand caps in ways that made Jason itch to remove the latter with a Bowery style dental plan.
And when he was awake? The fucking dudebro would not stop fucking talking. Shit he'd seen on his Gap Decade, condescending little lectures on life hacks, ignorant shit talking about the scourge of social welfare for the poor and, because lately he'd been try to fuck an heiress with a social conscience, anti-war bullshit conspiracy theories. Or he was complaining about rough cotton sheets, or getting up for classes before 3pm or how ‘no one has a sense of humour around here’ when girls reported him for being a chauvinist pig when he was harassing them throughout the quad. Jason also doubted he'd been to a single class, which pissed Jason’s hopeful, deprived inner child right off.
He was a whiny, entitled child of privilege that had everything and still thought the world owed him shit. Jason had bunked with guys that would have killed him in his sleep, and if any one of 'em could take Jaxxon Drake’s place this minute Jason would praise the heavens and give them a fucking freebie shot at taking him out.
Speak of the fratbro… the mound yelped and squirmed, disgorging, among other, more unsavory things, a dishevelled girl in her underwear, swearing like a sailor. "Fucking hell, Drake! I told you to fucking wake me, you ass. I’m not gonna have time to get eats before class." Her accent was straight out of the Bowery.
“Wassamatter?” Drake mumbled. “Fucking hell, keep it down Lucy, my head’s killing me.”
“My name’s Katerin, you fucking moron,” she scowled. “Don’t bother to remember it and forget my number too.”
“Was a joookke,” Drake smirked, which he probably thought made him look Bond-suave and not like a complete prick. “Katty’s got her claws out.”
“And they’re all longer than your dick, asshole,” Katerin showed excellent if late-appearing good sense, yanking on her jeans and digging out her coat while Drake sputtered and went red.
“I don’t take size comparisons from a slag from the slums,” Drake eventually rallied.
“Of course you do, honey,” Katerin said sweetly. “Who else but a sexually free woman could even find it?”
Jason bit back a bark of laughter as Drake went purple. There was one good thing about Drake; he was such a sheltered, pampered failson that he was hilariously bad about responding to actual criticism.
“Hey,” Jason got her attention. She looked him over warily, which, fair, because he was six foot two and built like a brick shithouse. “Here,” he handed her a coupon from his orientation packet. “I got a couple of spares in mine. Free protein bars at the health section.”
“ Awesome ,” she beamed. “Finally, an actual gentleman. If you’re ever in the business management section look me up, hot stuff.” She winked at him and then left, not even looking back at the flabbergasted Drake.
“Bitch,” he muttered after the door closed. “Needy, whiny, cunt. Why’d you do that anyway?” Drake whinged to Jason. “She just a fucking whore. Pro tip, Peters, you don’t actually have to buy a girl breakfast. They’re all about independence and making their own money, we shouldn’t have to spend it on ‘em anymore.”
“Yeah, but bro, it pisses you off,” Jason flashed him a nasty grin. “And that’s fucking fun.”
Drake tried to stare him down. He lasted about five nanoseconds against Jason’s deadly green gaze. “Whatever, loser,” he dropped his gaze and shuffled into their shared bathroom.
Jason sighed. He hadn’t intended to actually live in residence for his entire college career. Given his actual job as the Red Hood, that would have been insane. But he’d wanted to have at least a little taste of the normal college experience, something a young him had dreamed about. Older Jay had had doubts - it was really fucking inconvenient to shift territories even with cooperation from the Bats - but Alfred had convinced him to try it.
He’d decided to do a year in the dorms, then he would ‘find an apartment’ - ie, a safehouse - where he could come and go as he pleased without the extra hassle of curious college kids mixing with Red Hood. He figured he could do a little work in Chinatown and the Upper West Side while he lived at the U, before going back to his turf in the Bowery and living with the commute.
A year. A ‘touchstone for normalcy’, Alfred had called it. A reminder that Jason, despite all the shit that had happened to him, could have normal things still. It was a pretty heady concept, Jason could admit that.
Meeting his roommate had made him reconsider his timeline in about eight seconds flat.
Drake eventually emerged from the shower, looking less hungover. He glowered at Jason but took no further action. Whatever else you could say about Drake, he was, at least, fit. He had a six pack and some guns going. Looked at objectively and with his mouth closed, you could say that Drake was handsome and not get any arguments. He was tall and broad, though not quite as much as Jason; more in proportion with Dick. Vivid blue eyes, sandy brown hair; interbreeding had been unexpectedly kind to him externally.
And he wasn’t - quite - stupid. He wasn’t dumb enough to try to physically challenge Jason. He’d earned his muscles at a four-figure gym; Jason had clearly earned his through actual use. He was smart enough to know Jason could pound him flat without breaking a sweat and since Jason’s accent was pure mean streets, Drake had to know he wouldn’t even hesitate to get violent.
Drake was probably banking on being the alpha dog of the dorms. Jason must have been an unpleasant surprise, which made Jason smile. Still, Jason looked forlornly at the application form. Three more months of this? He’d hate to break his no-kill streak for such an asswipe.
Drake was mumbling to himself and frowning and he swiped through his phone, texting to himself. “Stupid little bitch, where is he?” he muttered to himself. He jabbed his fingers onto the screen, sending more texts. “He’s fucking good for nothing, useless lump of parts. Useless little faggot….”
“Hey,” Jason didn’t look up from his laptop screen where he was reviewing coursework. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”
Drake opened his mouth, looked up at Jason’s hulking figure, clearly had a painful moment of thinking about what to say, then said. “Whatevs. Are you actually doing coursework? You really are a brainwashed little tin soldier, aren’t you? Dude, you don’t have to fucking work that hard; you’re doing literature, not medicine. Who cares? They give prizes just for showing up to that shit.”
Jason gripped the edges of the desk until it creaked, repeating in his once brainwashed brain, no-kill rule, three months, no-kill rule, three months.
Drake was distracted by another tweet, oblivious to the tension in Jason’s back.
Fuck this; he might be stuck with Drake at nights, but he didn’t have to be here right now. He snapped the laptop closed, shoved it into his bag and made for the door. He heard the light footfalls of someone just outside of it; one of Drake’s fratbro posse, no doubt. Well, they’d just have to get out of Jason’s fucking way.
He yanked open the door just as the person on the other side had raised their hand to knock.
Jason nearly dropped his bag.
The guy on the other side had practically walked straight out of Jason’s dreams.