Work Text:
10 years ago I bought a hamster from a buddy of mine who bred the little things as a hobby. I caught up with him a couple days ago. I was at a college party for some reason, though I don’t go to college and he just happened to be there. I couldn’t recognise him, he hadn’t aged very well. We chatted for about 15 minutes, and I can’t remember his name at all.
The hamster I bought from him is named, and I might add affectionately so, “Nibbles”. Nibbles wears a rich coat of cream, patches of peanut-brown dot his fur and cover his eyes and ears. It has all thinned out now and his fur now comes out in small chunks when I pet him. Though this must already be apparent to whomever this may concern, I admit (though I really shouldn’t) that I have not been the most reliable, prudent, responsible, whatever owner. There was once a 12 day period where I was away from home, and forgot to feed it. When I came back, I was dreading having to clean out its small cage. Arriving into the apartment, I was holding my breath. (If the thing was dead, it’d stink wouldn’t it?) I made my way to the cage, only to find to my complete shock that not only was it not dead, but it had seemingly become ‘muscular’. It was running on the small plastic hamster wheel, and as its four scrawny limbs hit the cheap white plastic with a pattering sound, I noticed how through the thinning fur, you could see the faint shadows of lean but slowly withering muscles. Nibbles is still with me, and I’m told he’s supposedly one of the healthiest or luckiest hamsters in the world. Apparently most hamsters die at the age of 2 or 3, with only an estimated 1 percent of hamsters making it past the age of 4.
Anyways, Last night I was at a college party, whether it was Valdivian State College or the vocational school across from my apartment, I am unsure. Either way, I went to a party where most of them looked old enough to go to college. While I was on my phone, some girl came up to me and she told me she liked my shirt- I wore a plain white shirt, so I figured she was just trying to make small talk or something (maybe she was told as a dare to go talk to me.).
In response to her weak attempt at starting chatter, I told her that she had good tast. In response to that, she let out a really grating laugh like pigs being slaughtered. I don’t usually like being polite but I humour her anyways because I’m hot and she kind of looks like Abby. (only if Abby had shorter hair, lost about 10 pounds and wore big hoop earrings.)
The girl; the one who I was talking to at the party, her name was Kaitlyn, and she was there with her friends. She didn’t go to the school either, so I guess we had that in common. It was very unnerving talking to her because it felt like she had so much going on in her life but she just couldn’t say anything. I can name at least 40 things she mentioned where you’d think she’d continue on with the story, but then just completely abandons it. Eventually I ended up taking over the conversation entirely, and she got bored, so I kissed her because why not? I’d probably never see her again or recognize her if I did.
I kissed the girl. She pulls away, gasps like I had just taken a shit on her shoe, then giggles. She pushes me away, and says “Stoppuh. Like…That’s so…I don’t know, that’s so funny.” And then she just keeps laughing. Then the drink fell out of my hands as some guy, presumably her boyfriend kicked me in the back, toppling me over. I turn around and I’m just about ready to fight him or something like that, but then Kaitlyn blocks him physically, and says something to him, whispering and laughing. Then he leaves and so does she, and nobody cares anymore.
I retreat to the table with the spiked punch next to another girl. She’s got short black hair and ugly translucent-pink glasses.
“What’s it like being kicked in the back?” She asks me. “Must not be a lot to you. I mean, look at you, you’re built like an absolute unit.” She has to yell this to me because they’ve started playing some loud house music.
“Thank you. It felt like a little tickle.” I yell back to her.
“Seriously?”
“No, it hurts like shit, I just have a high pain tolerance.” I move closer so she doesn't have to yell.
“So brave.” She sips more punch, then squints at me. “You don’t go here do you?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Cool. Do you go to that vocational school across the street then?”
“Nope.”
There’s an absolutely insufferable silence between us, before I break it again.
“D’you know if there’s a shoe-print on the back of my shirt?” She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then closes it.
“No, but I could check for you.” She says. I turn around, and lean my head back, I can’t see the shirt, but I can see her face, twisted into this disgusted look.
“It can’t be that bad.” I say.
“Oh no, it is.” I feel her jabbing my back as she tries to scrape the dirt off my back. “There’s like mud and twigs and shit-We’re not anywhere near a forest, how did you get like this?” She laughs, and I wonder if she’s actually getting stuff off my back because it just feels like she’s feeling up the muscles of my back after a certain point.
“She told me she didn’t go to the school either, they could probably be from up the hill.” I say, leaning back against the wall.
“ ‘She?’ ”
“Kaitlyn, the girl I was kissing.”
She goes glassy eyed for a little. “Yeah.” She clears her throat. “How did you find this party?”
“I’m friends with someone here.”
“Who?”
“Chance.”
“Oh! I know Chance, I live with him.”
I freeze, but play it off like it means nothing to me. “You do?”
“Yeah. He’s been with me since grade school. We’re family friends.”
“...I might have heard about you from him,” I say slowly. I can still salvage this conversation if I play my cards right.
“No kidding, I’m awesome.” She jokes. “But how do you know him?”
I’m not good friends with Chance. I’d even go as far as to say that he has some form of deeply repressed hatred for me. A year ago I was invited to some Dungeons and Dragons campaign by someone from this college. The campaign was, of course, run by none other than Chance. For what it’s worth, Chance is a good dungeon-master, or I think so at least, I’ve never played DnD with anybody else. Despite this though, any time I play one of his campaigns, I feel this urge just to ruin it. It’s all great of course; I like the plot, he makes very solid puzzles But sometimes I am simply overcome with the need just to kill off a significant character, or make a rash decision that gets my entire party killed. I still play DnD with him, but I’ve got a feeling he’s been trying to get rid of me for a bit.
“We play DnD sometimes.” I say sheepishly.
I see her visibly light up when I mention this. “Really? What’s your name? He tells me about his campaigns all the time, I might have heard some stories about you.”
“Doug.” Her face doesn’t falter, so that means Chance must have not talked bad about me behind my back.
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention you.” She shrugs. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool.” I then look around. I’m paranoid now, that when she next meets him, she’ll ask about me then he’ll tell her what an asshole I am.
“I just realized, I don’t even know your name.” I say. She doesn’t hear me though, she’s spotted Chance in the distance, and calls him over. A short burst of fear is let out somewhere within the bowels of my heart as Chance locks eyes with me. He walks over, smiling eerily.
“Doug.” He greets me with a grimace. “I see you’ve met…” His voice trails off, I can see the gears grinding in his head. “...You don’t mind if I have a little chat with Doug real quick do you?” He asks the girl. She shakes her head.
“Go right ahead,” She says. Chance then grabs my arm and begins dragging me out into the backyard of the house, his grip much stronger than I’d imagined for someone who didn’t look very fit.
When I got to the backyard, it was much darker than I imagined.
“What’s up?” I say casually.
“What’s your deal? What-What is this?” He splutters, thinly veiling his anger. “Why are you even here?”
“Whatever could you mean, O Dungeonmaster Chance?”
“Cut the shit, you’re up to something.” He snaps at me.
“Am not.” I say childishly, crossing my arms.
“Yes, you are!” He says, exasperated. “Just say what you want from me and leave. You don’t even go to Valdivian State!”
“Woah, coming on strong there buddy. I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me being here.” I can see Chance’s eye twitching as he racks through his brain to try and find something to say back.
He sighs. “Just stay away from her.” Then he walks away.
***
When I went back into the house, the girl was still there.
“What’d he show you?”
“Just some DnD stuff...Dices.” I lie to her.
“You must be great friends with him then, He doesn’t really show people his private dice collection.” She pauses, then says, deep in thought, “He must have mentioned you at least once.” She tuts. I nod along, agreeing with her.
“A little mystery is good though, right?” I say, trying to steer her mind off of the dangerous, dangerous thought train it was no doubt going on.
“I guess.”,she dryly sips on her drink. Then, it happened. “So. I don’t mean to be too forward or anything, but, you’re pretty cool, could I maybe get your number?” She asks this without looking at me, sipping her drink. I freeze up. A bit too long. “No pressure of course.” She adds hastily.
Un that moment, I imagine every possible way this could go. If I didn’t give her my number I would have made things awkward, and I like her. I don’t know in what kind way but she’s pleasant to be around.
If I did give her my number however, Chance would have to find out sooner or later. If that happens, or rather–When that happens, I don’t know what he would do. I’m not even entirely clear who they are to each other. She said family friends, and they live together, but I don’t think they’re dating. If they were, I would be very suprised. She doesn’t look the type to get other people’s numbers while dating somebody else. Wait. Chance. It doesn’t matter who she is, what would Chance do to me? Chance could ruin gameplay for me, but I don’t actually care about DnD, and I’m sure he knows that. What if he tries to beat me up? He’s somewhat well built from what I can tell, and I think he could…put me in a headlock, if he really tried.
“I can give you my number. Do you have like a piece of paper to write on?” I ask.
“I got one in my room.” She said, then gestures to the stairs. “I could go get it if you want.”
“You live here?” I say, but in a panic I accidentally emphasize the ‘you’ too much, and now it sounds like I thought she was broke. Relief washes over me as she laughs it off.
“Wow. But yes, I do.” She smiles. “It’s not my house, I don’t have home owning money. It’s Chance’s Aunts, or great aunt or something. I don’t know, but she let us use the house for college.”
“I think I’ll just tell you my number, then you can type it into your phone.” I say.
“Roger that.” She opens her phone, which nearly blinds me because the party is so dimly lit. I give her my number. We talk for a bit more. She tells me about her college course. I tell her about Nibbles. I leave.
____