Nobody quite like you.

Chapter 1

Tw: homophobia(internally), thoughts of infidelity, language, F slur.

Stanford spins the phone cord around his finger. Sighing as he was about to put the phone back into the wall.

This was a stupid idea anyway.
"Fiddleford computermicjigz." *he hears come from the other line. Stanford quickly pulling the phone back to his ear.

"Hello! Uh it's Stanford.. from collage." He says hoping Fiddleford has remembered him. Why would he forget? It hasn't been that long right?

"Stanford hello, I haven't heard from you for a while now have I?" Ford can hear the light laugh behind his southern accent. His eyes fill with hope as his sixth finger twirls around the phone cord.

"You know how in college you made an equation that proved the world was a hologram and everyone thought you were crazy?"

Fiddleford sat in his college dorm room, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. A paper in his hand writing a letter to home. He needed to leave, pop was right he was never fit out for a place like college. He could make plenty of money slaughtering hogs.

As he started to finish up his letter his door swung open sounding like a bomb had gone off. Fiddleford jumped up in his bed, his heart punching at his ribs as he might well have faced the same fate as his Nan.

There he was, staring at a fresh out of high school young man who wore glasses almost as big as his own and brown hair that flopped around his face like an old mop. He seemed to be running off peer energy and caffeine.

"Your theory is mathematically feasible, and we're not sleeping until we prove it!" The younger man who seemed like he had nothing to lose said, but hey what did a hog farmer like Fiddleford have to lose ether .

That didn't make him any less confused, and shocked? Maybe surprised is the right word to use there. His cheeks flushed as he saw the kid throw his luggage onto his, probably spider filled bed.

Who is he trying to fool of course it was spider filled.

There he was, in his stupid collage sweater, long hair and crushed ego. Staring at his future best friend.

"Who are you exactly?" Fiddleford asked, standing. His pre teary green eyes glowing with curiosity. He watched as the young man turned around looking a bit flustered.

"Right, sorry, I'm Stanford pines." He put his hand out.

Fiddleford shook it, a smile appearing on his face.

"Fiddleford mcgucket." He said letting go of the firm grasp, the freshman before him had oddly sweaty hands.

That night, Fiddleford and Stanford started working to prove this theory. Book after book read, numbers after letters after more numbers crammed with symbols.
Sticky notes everywhere and a good amount of 'coffee' that Stanford was somehow able to sneak into the room. Before they knew it both of them had sticky notes stuck to their face, maybe vomit somewhere on their shirts, or just sweat who knows. They both couldn't care after all they were just two social rejects with nothing to lose.

"We did it!" Stanford said hugging Fiddleford who hugged him back as they both hit one another definitely too hard on the backs.
"You genius! We did it, we actually oh my god! Take that Brandon!" Fiddleford said, trying not to shout too loud.

"Come on, let's take a picture!" Stanford said, setting up a small disposable camera, wearing his stupid sweater vest short-short combo that didn't match at all. Seriously, someone needed to teach this kid basic styling.

Fiddleford couldn't care though, after all he's been wearing this same stupid hoodie since he got here and tight jeans. He quickly got next to Stanford who was going to have the worst hangover in his life.