playboy shit - mcyt/dsmp

in the dining hall??? dawg-

tw/cw: mentions of drugs, alc, implied nsfw, swearing

$

Rocking with: Karl's POV

Today's meeting is really displeasing me.

It is the first one of the year, kicking off the second semester of college, leaving me nervous as hell because I have absolutely no idea what these fiends are planning that required all six of us, with different majors to be present at the same time. I got the message in my creative writing class, my ringer loud and clear considering I chose the seat in the very back of the room for privacy. Although, the eyes on me this morning enabled the opposite and now I'm for sure known as the boy who caused a great disruption on the first day of the course.

"Please. I promise, I won't scream—" I...listen! It remains a mystery how my ears caught such subtle sound waves coming from Alex across the table, but the quacking boy's words struck me like one of the balls the person they were eyeing would throw at me—but only as a joke, of course. I pause my reading abruptly, conveniently on the last word of the page, and I glance up for a second before turning it. Nick is ignoring him (purposefully, as I firmly believe he should if Alex is requesting what I think he is.) He pulls his black hood over his head momentarily, tuning out everything around him. Ugh, he needed some color in his life! If only the guy would let me lend him one of my twenty-seven sweaters; argyle, abstract, I've got a few solids if he wasn't about the multicolored thing, which he clearly wasn't. don't get me wrong here, he looks good in neutrals—definitely looked good. yeah.

Get a grip! He'll smash you and your mama!

Of course, he had to be one of those guys. The basic southern boy who majors in business communications so that he could continue playing a sport in college; the one that got with every other human being on campus, betting with multiple of them that if he made a goal during our home lacrosse game, that it meant that they owed him something: a kiss, a blowjob, or a body...along with a few things in between. We called him Sapnap. He made me growl under my breath at times, it's always the ones with the pretty faces and mouths whose heads got too big.

And I did nothing but fuel his stupid ego, being all nervous around him every time we hung out. He uses every bit of it to his advantage. Might have to slap him next time, although, I really couldn't do that because he's like super attractive—

"I don't understand what you want me to do like...?" A smooth voice struggles.

"Dream, you're stupid, look—" The posh British accent brings a small smile to my face. I hear soft typing next to me, followed by an encrypted sound, "There. That's all you had to do."

"You pressed like thirteen keys!"

"I don't want to hear it. Accept that you are dummy stupid."

Off Clay and little George go into their long-awaited (a term used loosely as I am sure they have seen each other within the last twenty-four hours) in person banter that the rest of us had to endure until they ran out of things to say to each other. I never understood what a mathematics student could offer to a computer science kid but somehow, George was always getting Dream out of his coding mishaps and fixing his various mistakes in the system. I also never understood how either of them could stand their major without wanting to throw themselves into a lake of garfish. English is wonderful, I like it. General writing and deeply descriptive literature did fit my aesthetic pretty well. But even William Goulding can't keep me from having a mental breakdown at two am on Thursday, and yet these two found so much comfort in pesky numbers and lines of gibberish that made something as simple as a block appear.