Fucking blond ass cocksucking motherfucker

Julian did not seem happy to be there. No shit, no one was happy to be there, but Julian especially. All huffy and yawning in his DUH sweats. What, was he already asleep at 9 pm? Not that Dick could remember ever seeing Julian happy to be anywhere. He was just about the least happy dude Dick had ever seen, and that included his stepdad. Dick remembered watching Julian make that catch in the Peach Bowl, the one time anybody from UNWG ever did anything notable sports-wise. Even Dick's stepdad had been happy that day, mostly.

But Dick had known Julian for a year now, and he'd never once seen the dude crack a smile. He looked like he wanted to murder you with his own boredom. It was understandable, Dick figured; how'd you feel if you thought you were headed to the NFL, but instead you're a glorified babysitter to a bunch of dorm-room dipshits? Especially this motherfucking blond piece of shit right here?

All right, so Drew kind of looked happy to be there, but that's because Drew was some kind of total idiot Jesus freak dipshit. Smiling-ass motherfucker probably broke Dick's nose. Why the fuck were they in Julian's office instead of the goddamn health center? And why the fuck did Chet run off and leave him with Drew and this worthless idiot, what's his name, Tim, all cowering in the corner now like he thinks he's about to get put on double secret probation?

Fucking worthless GODDAMN PIECES OF SHIT EVERY ONE OF YOU

Dick was really letting himself get all worked up. After all the time he put in over the summer working on that.

"Richard. I—"

Dick pulled the blood-soaked napkin away from his nose. "It's Dick."

"Right. Dick. I'd hoped I wouldn't be seeing you in here quite as much this year."

Dick shrugged. He held up the bloody tissue. "I'm the victim here."

"Uh-huh. Why don't you tell me what happened at the dining hall?"

Dick glanced over at Drew, sitting there with his stupid fucking innocent face on, his skin somehow still glowing here under the shitty fluorescent lights in Julian's shitty office – god, how sad it must be to work in this dump, for your body to betray you like that. You blow out your knee and a decade later you're the RLC of Wintertree, at least according to the nameplate on his desk, which fuck if Dick knew what RLC stood for; but what it meant was Julian was the boss of the RAs, which whoopty-shit, because Julian probably had a half-dozen bosses of his own, up to and including Ron Marston, the big cheese of DUH. Most of the kids in Wintertree only saw Marston once, in a freshman orientation video, and Dick was pretty sure if you ever saw him again it meant you were well and truly fucked. Dick was also pretty sure that Julian had to see him on a regular basis, so that meant Julian was well and truly fucked almost all the time, on top of the, like, cosmic knee-related fuckening that landed him here in the first place. Dick almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. He knew how this game was played. He knew what they wanted to hear. Plus he had visual evidence – Exhibit A, his fucking nose. He put on his Inside Voice, his dealing-with-authority voice: brought it up half an octave, dropped the drawl by 50 percent, expanded the vocabulary loadout a touch. "You see, Andrew and uh..."

"Tim."

"Andrew and Tim here are the new residents in 79A, and I thought it would be good to get to know them over dinner at Weston. We were having a lively discussion about our religious backgrounds—" Dick could see Drew rolling those gorgeous blue eyes so hard at this, just all the way back up in his fucking skull, and it made him so happy, because fuck Drew – "and Andrew suddenly got very upset. I can't for the life of me think what could have—"

The Inside Voice was having its intended effect. Drew was having just a hell of a time trying to sit there and take this. "You asked me why all the ladies love Jesus, and I said probably because he's the son of God and he died for our sins, and you said no—" Drew spread his arms out wide in a crucifix pose. "It's because he was hung like this."

Holy shit, that looked like a smile from Julian. A grin, at least.

"And I said you better take that back, and you said that Jesus could suck a dick, and I said he definitely could not and would not, and you said yeah, but only because he wasn't real. So I said go fuck yourself, and you flipped your Lucky Charms like a child, and that's when I punched you in your fucking face." Drew was still sitting, his voice dispassionate despite the, to Dick's ears, gratuitous cussing, but he was practically levitating with rage, his face purple again, the muscles in his forearms straining like steel cables.

"Well," said Julian. "Mr. Levitt, can you corroborate any of that?"

Tim looked up at Julian. "Me?" Dick turned to give Tim his best evil eye.

You better not corroborate any of this, you little shit I SWEAR TO GOD

Tim stammered out something to the effect of he was so enthralled with the taste and quality of the offerings at Weston, he wasn't paying any attention at all to Dick and Drew's conversation. Dick was happy to know he hadn't yet lost his ability to put the fear of god into nerds. He'd felt it slipping last year. There was this bunch of dorks who gathered in the Wintertree lobby every Friday night to watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail in one tittering, onion-scented clump (always with the homemade ethnic food, the lobby movie crew), and they would cower under their blankets when Dick stomped past. There was this one particularly obnoxious kid with a fedora and a shitty goatee, always shouting some kind of nonsense in a terrible British accent, and Dick liked to stare him down extra hard. Just really focus in on him, pin him down with the ol' retinal lasers. One time Dick was so mad at Chet over something that he came down to the lobby and sat in a chair across from the movie group, and he stared at that kid so hard he forced him to take off his fedora. With his mind. It was so fucking satisfying.

But then by March, Dick would walk past and they would have the fucking balls to invite him to watch Buckaroo Banzai or whatever the fuck. They saved him a seat. No. That would not stand. That would not fucking stand. The second time it happened, he grabbed the kid's fedora and tried to punch a hole through the crown, but it was made of higher-quality material than it looked. His tough-guy mystique took a real blow that night. But at least they stopped inviting him to hang out.

"Come on, Tim." Drew was really losing it now. "Where's your roommate solidarity?" Dick laughed. Like there was any such concept. Drew leapt to his feet. "The fuck you laughing at?"

Now Julian stood up. "Andrew. That's enough." Julian was still a big guy. Dick saw him down in the gym in the basement of Wintertree every once in a while, and the dude could still put up some serious weight. Dick could see Drew running the options in his head, trying to decide if he wanted to step to Julian, weighing the potential loss of pride versus the potential loss of housing for the semester. Tim's eyes flicked from Drew to Julian, bracing for impact.

Drew sat down. After a beat, so did Julian. "Now, gentlemen. I have to say that I'm disappointed in both of you. All three of you, actually." He cast a withering glance at Tim. "This is the kind of shit that can get you suspended, or expelled. You want to whip it out and start measuring, keep it in your room. Not the dining hall."

Julian picked up the football resting on his desk, leaned back in his chair and tossed it up in the air a couple times. "But it's late, classes haven't even started yet, and I'm just not in the mood. So here's what we're gonna do."

Before Julian could say what they were gonna do, the door burst open and Chet strode into the office, purposefully, like it was his own. He opened his mouth to speak, before realizing there were already people in here. His eyes landed on Dick, perplexed.

Look perplexed, motherfucker

Chet hesitated a moment before turning to Julian. "There's a problem, Julian."

"Talk to your RA. I'm busy."

"This is beyond Dragan's capabilities," said Chet, in a tone Dick had never heard him use. "I think you'll find this a reasonable request."

Julian thought about this a second. It looked to Dick like he was really chewing something over. Then he brought his chair back into a sitting position. He sighed and set the football back on his desk. "What is it?"

"I don't have the answers to the questions."

"What?"

"At the gate? On Tier 3. Ben's asked me two dozen questions. I answer 'yes,' like always. It's wrong. I start answering 'no.' Now that's wrong too."

"Huh."

"You think?"

"Don't take a tone. You want to be reasonable, don't take a tone." Julian gestured to Dick, Tim and Drew. "Gentlemen. We'll have to pick this up later." As far as Dick was concerned, it was all Chet's fault he was even in here in the first place. Now it's Chet's fault he's probably going to have to drag his ass back in here tomorrow. Dick locked eyes on Chet as he walked out the door, tried to stare him down like he stared down the fedora kid, but Chet's eyes were hard and clear and sharp, and Dick had to look away.

Julian closed the door on them, and Dick was left standing in front of the security desk with Drew and Tim. "Come on, Tim," said Drew, deliberately ignoring Dick. "I need help setting up the TV." With that they walked away across the lobby, toward the east security door.

Fucking pieces of shit both of you pieces of SHIT just walk away WALK AWAY

The lobby was mostly quiet now, parents on their way home and the welcome-night festivities concluded. The only sound came from the TV in the corner, playing the opening scene of Edward Scissorhands to four regulars. Fedora Boy was there, an empty seat on the couch next to him. He looked at Dick, and though there was a hint of fear in his eyes, he nodded and patted the cushion.

FUCK THIS well now I guess I gotta go to the goddamn health center