Victim Of Love

Come On In

Micky pulled himself awake to find himself in a maze of unruly, curly, frizzy matts of hair. He blinked strands out of his eyes as he sat up. Just as his vision cleared, he caught the time that his clock was flashing almost mockingly at him, 11:50. His body reacted immediately, flailing about in a mess of arms and legs reaching out to brace his fall to the carpet.

"Fuck." He whispered pitifully into tufts of shag. He pushed himself up and just went for the door. Neglecting his regular already half-assed morning routine. But right before he reached for the doorknob, the door flung open.

Staring back at him was a smug yet displeased Peter Tork. "Hi." His eyebrows raised as he wiggles his thick stack of paper. In an act of defeat, Micky shrugged his bag off his shoulder and kicked it just before it hit the ground, knocking it into his surely over-invested hobby: Dirty laundry mountain.

"I'm guessing Dylan didn't wake you?" Peter sat in his roommates vacated bed.

"Nah. Asshole." Micky reached for the paper stack. Peter let him have it.

"Does he ever? Set an alarm, Mick. Whatever you got to do to get to class." Peter said with a parent sense of style. Micky flipped through his huge stack of built up missing work.

"I'll never be able to get through this." Micky whined, knowing full well it was because of his own doing.

"You're lucky Mr. Wilson's nice enough to let you make this stuff up." Peter reminded the pouting boy.

"I'll probably be in the library all night." Micky said passively as he played with the stack. "Dylan'll appreciate the space." He rolled his eyes. "Hey, any word on our transfer request?"

Peters face prematurely gave up the bad news. "Not yet." He sighed. They seemed to go quiet, stewing in the disappointment the news had left. Micky growing more and more tortured with every flip of paper. "I got some good grass in my dorm if you're interested?"

"Yeah!" Micky carelessly shot up and took his bag, shoving his laptop and papers inside for later. Peter led the way to his room.
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Peters room seemed to always be shared with the company of Friends, and none of them were his allusive roommate. Among other the smoke this time, were a few girls and guy or two, much to Peters annoyance.

Micky knew none of them, per usual it made him uncomfortable but half way into it he found himself entertaining them none the less.

Pulling its way out of Micky's ol' party trick bag was the reliable James Cagney impression that was far from being relevant to anyone as anything other than just a funny voice he could do. "You dirty rat.." he smirked as the girls giggled, a particularly amused brunette turned to Peter.

"And what can you do, Peter?" She asked slowly. Peter chuckled but once again, Micky took the lead.

"Now, Pete may play the fool at times but he's more than just a funny blonde with an ass that won't quit."

The girls giggled again, Peter joining in shortly after.

"Our Pete's a musician...a real one." Micky smiled at Peters bashfulness.

"I major in music therapy." Peter began proudly with that winning smile. But the more and more he droned on about his major, Micky's smile faded. His own unstable decision making and inability to figure out his own future internally killing him.

"What's your major, Micky?" Piped the blonde.

Micky rubbed the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. "Y'know, I'm not sure yet." He let out a pained chucks. "I'm gonna....." Micky trailed off, thumb jetted out behind him, pointed to the door.